When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself. - Eldacar, King of Gondor

Chapter 14

May 3021, Pelargir

The busy atmosphere of the markets was something Lothíriel had always enjoyed. She liked watching people as they ran their errands, bickering and bargaining with each other and the craftsmen. As the port was nearby the markets also had rather colourful variety of merchants: Dwarven smiths and Dalemen from the north, Rohirrim with their wool and leather, Southrons selling spices and silks, and even people from beyond the deserts of Harad. Visiting this diverse, noisy and slightly chaotic mixture of goods and smells and people was a nice way to spend time, especially when Éowyn came along.

Lothíriel had arrived to the city only couple days before, and would stay there waiting for the host of Gondor and Rohan as they returned from the southern campaign. Father and Faramir had come from Minas Tirith too, and Éowyn from Emyn Arnen. They all stayed in the house that belonged to Aunt Ivriniel; usually the spacious but slightly deteriorated residence only had a staff of only two people, but servants from Dol Amroth had followed to make it fit for a visit of two kings. Indeed, Éomer and Aragorn would stay there for a few days and then head towards Minas Tirith. It was the last time Lothíriel would meet her betrothed before the bridal escort would set for Rohan and she was much looking forward to spending time with him.

As for Éowyn, she had come to welcome her brother and accompany him first to Minas Tirith and then to Edoras. When Lothíriel had asked if Faramir and her new people in Ithilien would miss her, Éowyn had given her a gentle smile.

"Oh, no doubt they will, just as I shall miss them. But I want to do this for my brother. He is looking forward to your wedding day so much and I'd like to be there to help with the final preparations", she had said.

Since the courtship between Lothíriel and Éomer, a friendship had started to grow between the Princess and the King's sister. At that time Éowyn had been betrothed to Faramir, and though she loved him very much Lothíriel had soon learned that her cousin's intended also had much uncertainty. For one, Éowyn was not certain of how she'd fit in the Gondorian society. Moreover, there had still been many things she wanted to learn of her future husband. As a result she had eventually come to Lothíriel, who was cousin to Faramir. Perhaps it was also easier for Éowyn to ask her about how things were done in Gondor, as Lothíriel in her unconventional ways was rather more approachable to the Shieldmaiden of the North than some proper lady of the realm would be. In the process they had become friends, and eventually the roles of teacher and pupil were reversed. Now it was the White Lady teaching her future sister-in-law the ways of the Rohirrim, their language, and what would be expected of her as a queen.

Presently the two friends were strolling through the streets of Pelargir, enjoying the beautiful day and watching the people come and go. Since Aragorn had claimed the throne this city, so ravaged by pirates in the past, had started to flourish again. Merchants came from afar again and people had returned their old homes, and the King of Reunited Realms had many plans for improving the haven.

"I must say", said Éowyn as they walked, "When I started here from Emyn Arnen, I was expecting to find you a lot more anxious now that the wedding is getting closer."

The princess chuckled.

"There's still plenty of time for numerous maddening antics. For the moment, I'm just delighted in the knowledge that your brother will be here soon. After you two leave the city and I return to Dol Amroth for the last time as a maiden, I intend to run completely amok and enjoy every minute of it", she said lightly. That made Éowyn laugh, and the older woman patted her arm. For a while, they continued their stroll in companionable silence. From one stand, she bought them some sugared almonds, and then for the curiosity the two stopped by a Dalish merchant's booth. He was selling some jewellery and small daggers from the north. Some of his goods were obviously Dwarven origin of Erebor, and Lothíriel briefly recalled talking with Éomer if they could some time visit that northern land; after all, the men of Dale were distant relatives of the Rohirrim, and legends had it Eorl the Young and Lords of Dale were descended from same family tree.

"It does feel strange", she said after a while, when they had turned to return to Aunt's house, "how things are about to change, that is. It's never going to be the same again, is it?"

"Marriage tends to do that", Éowyn replied with a slight smile. "For the most parts, personally I like it."

"Do you ever miss Rohan?" asked Lothíriel.

"Sometimes. But more than that, I miss the people there. Uncle, my brother, our cousin... only Éomer remains now. And I do admit I was worried about him – especially how he'd handle being the king. Now I know he'll do fine. He'll be all right", said her friend. She glanced at the princess, "You'll be too, because if there is anyone more stubborn than Éomer in this world, it is you. And somehow your stubbornness compliments his."

Lothíriel couldn't help but laugh at that.

"I hope that's a good thing", she said. Then she took note of the thoughtful look on the face of Éowyn, and she asked: "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

The White Lady did not answer right away. When she spoke, it was slowly and softly.

"I did have my doubts in the beginning. Truth is, I wondered if you would make a very good queen for Rohan. My brother was... back when he was still chasing after you all over Mundburg, he was very new to being the king. He never expected to inherit the throne, and with all that madness of war still raging I don't suppose he had much time to think things through or to prepare for taking our uncle's place", Éowyn spoke softly. A frown touched her face, "What I'm trying to say is that when he saw you, he wasn't thinking like a king. He was thinking like the man he was before Théodred died. And Marshals don't usually have to consider whether their wives would make good queens... I wondered if a wild thing like yourself was really a good choice for a royal consort."

"And what are your thoughts now?" Lothíriel asked carefully. It was an odd thing to realise that if Éowyn – or anyone – had told her this only a year ago, she might have been very offended by it. She'd have felt very insecure as well. Now, however, she saw the reason behind the words.

"To be honest? We still have some work to do, but I think you'll be fine once you get the hang of it. And anyway... you know that life has not always been happy or kind to our House. Had you seen us on those last years before the war, you would have found us both different than we are now. We were both angry and miserable and we were losing hope, my brother and I. Since then, I've seen him acquire peace of mind. No doubt the war ending is partly the reason, but it's because of you as well, Lothíriel", Éowyn answered slowly. She smiled then, "And if you ask me, that is more important than whether you are the ideal queen and the perfect noblewoman. Rohan now has a strong king who is happy."

Her smile became slightly uneasy, "Hopefully I have not offended you by speaking so bluntly."

"Oh, you haven't. I'm used to blunt talk and if I couldn't take it, I'd never have agreed to marry your brother. I suppose you're right to have worried. The girl I was when I met him... I wouldn't have made a very good queen", Lothíriel said and shook her head. "Father was being very level-headed when he insisted on a long engagement."

Éowyn smiled and linked her arm with that of the princess.

"He's a wise man", she said, and they walked forward in silence.

Aunt Ivriniel's house was located in the part of the town where most of the high-born inhabitants of the city had lived in the more prosperous days. The buildings there still boasted splendour, though more or less deteriorated. The return of the king had brought new life into the city and some houses were already being restored to their former glory, but there was still much to do.

The house where they lodged had not come to Aunt by her own family, but by her husband. Lord Calemir had been a son of an old but diminished line, and he had died within five years after the marriage. He had not left his grieving wife with children – only a crumbling house in Pelargir, and what little wealth there remained. Aunt Ivriniel had never remarried and she rarely came to the place where she had been so happy with the man she had buried over twenty years ago. Now the old house was maintained by only a staff of two: the elderly cook and his widowed daughter. Lothíriel had wondered if they would have liked to move on from the large, quiet house, but the pair seemed somehow attached to it. She suspected they had grown into being a part of it, to the point where it didn't even occur to the two of them that they could leave if they wanted.

One of Father's guards let them in through a gate into the small courtyard before the house. An ancient oak grew in the middle of it and there were outbuildings on each side, including stables which were now filled with the horses belonging to the guests of the house. Idle thoughts of trying to persuade Éowyn to join her for a sparring session were running through Lothíriel's mind when another guard hurriedly strode from the house.

"My lady Princess, your father requests your presence immediately", said the guard after bowing at the two women. He glanced at the Rohir woman as well, "Lady Éowyn, he asked for you as well."

They exchanged a confused glance. From Éowyn's face the princess could see that her friend had also sensed something was afoot. An unpleasant feeling twisted and turned in Lothíriel's stomach, but she pushed aside the sense of foreboding.

Nevertheless, they wasted no time as they made way to the parlour, where the guard said Father was waiting for them. It was a spacious room, mostly furnished by pieces that had been ancient fifty years ago. The large windows let in showers of light and the stained glass painted the air golden. But the guard's anxiety had awakened Lothíriel's uneasiness as well and she paid no attention to the way afternoon sun glittered.

Father was sitting on the couch, his shoulders slumping and his entire posture as though crushed under some heavy weight. His face was hidden in his hands and everything about him breathed deep grief. Faramir was there too, and the expression on his bloodless face was a mixture of horrified shock and unhappiness.

"What is it, Father? Faramir? Has something happened in Minas Tirith?" Lothíriel asked cautiously, but even as she spoke those words her eyes fell on her brother Amrothos, who was in the room as well. Wind-blown and travel-worn, he looked like he had only just arrived, which must be true, as the last she had heard he had been away hunting pirates. Though the southern sun had given him a glowing tan, now it seemed he lost some of his colour. And his expression... he looked grave, and that her cheerful brother would appear so meant something was terribly wrong. She asked, "Amrothos? Why are you here?"

Father lifted up his face and she could see that in his eyes tears were glimmering. He and Amrothos exchanged a look that spoke in volumes, and then her brother turned towards her and Éowyn.

"Lothíriel, I... I think you and Lady Éowyn should both sit down. I bring some very bad news."

"I will not believe it!"

The shriek echoed through the halls of the house, making the windows tinkle in their frames and startling more than just one guard enough to make them jump and look around in alarm. Then there was the sound of someone throwing open doors as they walked – or stormed – through the halls. Servants and guards alike leaped from way: Princess Lothíriel was in the middle of one of those moods, looking like she was out for blood.

"Lothíriel!" called Amrothos as he hurried after his sister. He had known she'd not receive the news well, but this violent outburst was even beyond what he had expected.

"I don't care what you say! I won't believe it! I won't!" she exclaimed again, though now there was a slightly hysterical note in her voice. When she flashed a glare at him over her shoulder, her eyes were blazing very bright.

"Please, sister, you have to calm down", Amrothos tried and attempted to catch her by arm, but she flinched away.

"No! I won't calm down before I've seen him and made sure this all is just some horrible mistake!" she snapped and turned to proceed again, and he knew unless she was stopped, Lothíriel would go and saddle a horse, and she'd ride all the way down to Harad.

"Sister, I saw the body", Amrothos tried, but that only fuelled her fury. She looked a bit like she was about to punch him, but then came the voice of their father.

"Lothíriel", he called. He had followed them too, but Amrothos saw no sight of Lady Éowyn. He guessed Faramir was currently trying to bring her what little comfort there could be at the face of a loss like this.

"Don't 'Lothíriel' me, Father!" she shrieked furiously. But then he pushed past his youngest son and took a hold of her shoulders and pulled her close.

"I'm sorry, daughter. I'm so sorry", he murmured.

"He's not dead! He can't be!" she yelled and struggled against her father but his hold was firm; her yells turned into sobs and then howls, and her resistance crumbled. She cried, the way Amrothos had never seen her cry. And seeing such raw, tremendous grief he wondered if it could ever be soothed.

Éowyn's eyes were bloodshot and pain was written on her features when she came with Faramir to ask Amrothos for details of what precisely had happened in south. Upon his arrival, he had only been able to tell the basics... and once he had announced that Éomer was dead it had not looked like his sister and betrothed could really receive anything more. But now the White Lady had calmed down enough to listen to the full story. Father was still with Lothíriel. She wasn't yelling or screaming anymore but Amrothos didn't dare to take that as a good sign.

"I would like to hear precisely what happened and why my brother is dead", said Éowyn steadily, though the look in her eyes proved how difficult it was for her to speak those words. So they sat down in the parlour, and quietly Amrothos explained what had taken place: the arrival of the false news, the departure of King of Rohan, and then the chilling message in the form of blood-stained standard and horse-tail helmet... Amrothos described how he and Aragorn had then travelled to the merchant camp and found the badly injured Éothain there.

"So the captain is alive? What does he say? Surely he has some information on Éomer?" Éowyn asked anxiously, but Amrothos shook his head. Somehow, all this made him feel like it was his fault – like he had dealt the strike that had killed the man his sister would have married.

"If he does, he's in no condition to tell about it. Most of the time, he was in and out of it when I was in the camp. Even when he regained some consciousness it didn't seem like he knew where he was... he seems to think Éomer is with him. Aragorn was trying to get Éothain snap out of it, but if he has had any luck with that, no word has reached me", Amrothos said, shaking his head.

"He could be alive, then? Perhaps Éomer survived?" Faramir asked hopefully, glancing from Amrothos to Éowyn, whose hand he had been holding all along.

"I'm sorry, but... there was a body. I saw it – there was no mistaking his armour. He's dead", said the princes softly. Faramir and Éowyn both bowed their heads and the faint shaking of her shoulders betrayed the tears she was trying to fight back.

"It's not right", she mumbled under her breath. "And it's not fair. He deserved life!"

"I know", Amrothos said heavily and sighed. There was a burning behind his eyes now and the weight on his heart had not grown any lighter. Even now, after he had opened the tomb of the King and his Riders with Aragorn, this was the worst thing. Having to deliver the news and seeing the sorrow of those who loved Éomer was just as difficult as it had been on that moment when he had uncovered the dead body in the cairn.

"What of Rohirrim who rode with him to south? Do they know what has happened?" Faramir asked after a long, heavy silence.

"A word was sent to the camp when I left for the road, and I'm sure the message has already reached them. I dare not imagine what might be their reaction", Amrothos said, cringing at the idea of what would happen now. "Elfhelm is in charge there and he should be ready to expect the worst... Aragorn thought he'd be able to contain the explosion, and I hope he was right about that."

"And the body of my brother? Did Aragorn plan on bringing him home?" Éowyn asked then. Her voice was weak and speaking was obviously a struggle to her.

"I don't know. We didn't decide yet what to do, and Aragorn was hesitant... he'd like to bring Éomer back to Rohan – back home to have his long sleep among those who came before him. But Captain Feran, who rode with us to seek that merchant camp, was very reluctant. So were his men", said the prince.

"Why is that? Why wouldn't they want to bring their king home?" Faramir wondered out loud.

"A caravan of merchants came across the battle-field. They didn't just save Éothain from the ruin of it – they also collected the bodies of the fallen and built a great cairn for the tomb. Éomer rests there too with his men. Captain Feran said he and his men will not disturb the peace of the dead, not even to recover the King's body", Amrothos explained. He trembled as he remembered the task of opening the grave, seeing the faces of the dead, and finding Éomer there too... since then, he had not enjoyed a restful night's sleep.

"We Rohirrim feel strongly about our dead. It's not decent to move him now", Éowyn said quietly, staring at her hands. She looked a bit like she might start crying again any time now. "Once the tomb is finished, we don't open it again. And my brother... I think he'd like to share the grave with the men he fell with, even if it's far from home."

"But would bringing him home give everyone a sense of closure? He was a king, after all", offered her husband.

"That he was, but you won't find a man or woman of Rohan who would agree to transporting him from south. It's not the same as it was with uncle. He has already been laid to rest, and that is final. Perhaps a mound of Simbelmynë will be raised for my brother... but it will be empty", said Éowyn, her voice becoming more strained the longer she spoke. She bowed her head and let out a wavering sigh. Faramir wrapped his arms about her and looked concerned.

"What happens now?" Amrothos asked as the silence was starting to grow longer and heavier. Really, it was actually a scary thing to consider how Éomer's death would impact not only Rohan, but also Gondor. What little time he had spent as the King of the Mark had been a prosperous time and full of promise, but his work was far from finished, and if he was gone... well, he had a feeling his sister and Éowyn were not the only people who would take this very heavily.

Éowyn and Faramir exchanged a look before either of them spoke. Turning away, she frowned.

"I will probably have to go home. I'm of the House of Eorl too. And I think uncle would want it, if he... if he was still here", she murmured. Only then did Amrothos understand how much she still grieved the man who had been like a father to her.

That she should go home and do what she could made sense, but the young prince dared not to ask what this would mean for herself and Faramir. After all, as the Steward and the Prince of Ithilien he was needed in Gondor.

"I do not think we should make any rash moves just yet. We should wait for Aragorn to return and see how the Rohirrim receive the news. Perhaps they will demand for Éowyn to come back to Rohan, but that is a concern for later and we will deal with it then. For now..." Faramir spoke, until he fell silent and hesitated. Then he spoke again, "For now we should grieve."

The coat had belonged to Éomer. He had forgotten it behind during one of his visits to Dol Amroth, and Lothíriel had claimed it for herself. Originally she had meant to return it to him, but then she had started to wear it when she was alone in her chambers. Of course it was too large for her, and she had to roll up the sleeves in order to be able to use her hands, but it didn't matter. It was his, it had his smell, and was closest thing to being near him when he was gone, so she had kept it.

Now she was huddling under it, pulling it tighter around herself, and trying to resist the horror and grief and anger that all boiled together inside her. Father had gone already, but that was mostly because she had pretended to sleep. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his attempts to comfort her, but she just couldn't bear the looks he kept giving her. It made her feel so pitiful and hopeless.

Amrothos entered the room quietly. Only now did she take note of how tired and worn he looked like, and she knew he must have raced all the way from the south just to deliver the news. The thought of that made her tremble and she had to close her eyes to hold back the agony.

No. I won't believe it. I will not believe it until I have seen him with my own eyes.

Her brother came to sit by her. Gently, he lay a hand on her shoulder; a quick glance toward him confirmed he had noticed what she was wearing and knew whose it had been, but Lothíriel was grateful to see there was no pity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sister. You deserve none of this", he said softly.

"It's all right, brother. I don't think he's dead", she replied, trying to sound calm and collected. That made him frown and he sighed.

"I told you I saw the body. There wasn't... they had taken the head, but I saw the armour. It was him, Lothíriel. He's gone", he said in a low voice, watching her warily as though expecting her to react badly to those words. And it did make her feel profoundly sick. She had to close her eyes again and take several deep breaths before she could speak again. When she did, her voice was calm and steady, her words final.

"I refuse to let him go."

Her brother looked at her in stunned silence, blinking as he searched for words. But why should he be surprised? It wasn't like she had ever done things by halves before, and she was not going to start now.

"Sister, it's just going to get harder if you keep denying it", Amrothos tried. He sounded like he was trying for a delicate tone, but this was not something you could be sensitive about.

"Do you think I care how hard it's going to get?" Lothíriel asked, flashing a furious glance at him. "When it comes to him, I... Amrothos, I will keep denying it to the day I see the body with my own waking eyes. Until that moment he's not dead to me. Never."

He looked helpless as he pulled back to regard her.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn, Lothíriel?" he asked and anxiously threw his arms in the air. But then he must have seen something on her face, as his expression turned alarmed. He looked like he'd have said something, but she was faster.

"Because that's all I have right now", she said softly. He spoke no more, but wrapped his arms about her and gave her a tight hug.

"It's going to be all right. I promise", Amrothos murmured into her hair, though she didn't see how he meant that could be, if Éomer truly had died. Lothíriel said no word but nodded anyway.

He patted her shoulder.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine. I'm not going to fall apart now", she replied. That is only if he is gone.

"Father has sent for Aredhel. She'll be here in a few days. Just... try and get some rest. It's very late", he told her half-heartedly. If the situation had been any other, she'd have told her brother that he was the one who needed rest. But now was not a time for light talk. So she mumbled something affirmative and watched her brother go – he seemed to understand she didn't want company right now.

She sat there, long after Amothos had gone and the candle on the table grew small, until the lingering little flame died out. Night had come and it felt like all of Pelargir had fallen into dark brooding. The would-be queen sat quiet and alone, huddling under the coat of the man she had meant to marry.

"There was no head", Lothíriel whispered to herself, wrapping the coat tighter around her shoulders. "There was no head."

The sunrise was always a vision on the deserts. Since he had been very young Sapat had always risen up so that he could watch the rising of new day. He'd marvel the way skies lit up and coloured the world, revealing all the life that existed on the deserts. Foreigners often thought it was a dead land, unfit for living and thriving, but he knew better.

Down in the camp, which rested in a small valley below, the moans of the wounded had mostly fallen silent during the night. The losses had been far beyond his calculations, as he hadn't thought they would receive such furious opposition from the horselords. However, each and every one of them had given hell to their attackers. Sapat forced aside the thought of the price they had paid for his revenge, and instead thought of victory. After all, he had got what he had wanted.

As the sun began to ascend, he heard steps from behind and a quick glance confirmed what he had already expected. Krual, his friend and a chieftain of another tribe, was approaching him. Quietly his friend came, until he halted beside Sapat, and let out a heavy sigh.

Krual looked like a man who had aged for the worth of an entire decade during the course of one night. It didn't seem like he had slept, which did not come as a surprise to Sapat. He had seen Krual sitting beside one of the wounded, and that he was here now could only mean one thing.

"My men and I are leaving as soon as we are able to make ready the wounded", he announced in a low voice. He still did not look at Sapat.

"So soon? You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you like", said the other man and hid his frown.

Krual did not answer right away. Instead, he watched the sunrise in silence. The lines of his face seemed to become deeper in the light of a new day. Standing unmoving and with his hand on the handle of his scimitar, he looked like some statue of old.

When he spoke at last, his voice was loud and harsh.

"What was it for, Sapat?" he asked.

"You know what it was. We got our vengeance, Krual, and now Tanfuksham may rest peacefully", Sapat pointed out. Now Krual's eyes flashed at him.

"I did not want slaughter, Sapat! And what does this vengeance of yours mean, now that some of our best warriors are dead? One man's life in exchange of so many does not seem like a fair trade! What did it avail us, killing those horselords and taking their king as a captive? Will it bring back those who are now dead? I saw him, Sapat. I saw his eyes. He's going to be your end", Krual said angrily. His hands had become fists, but the other man knew his blood-brother would not hit him, no matter how desperately he wanted.

"You're wrong, Krual. I'm going to end him first", said Sapat and shook his head. Krual shook with hardly stifled rage, until he went still again. When he spoke, he sounded tired.

"It was supposed to be dozen men at best. What did we get in the end? My sister-son is dead, Sapat! Who do you think will have to tell his mother?"Krual asked. At those words, Sapat flinched. He remembered his friend's nephew – a promising young man, who might have risen to inherit the place of the chieftain after Krual.

"I am sorry. Truly, I am", he muttered listlessly.

"Maybe you are. But it's not enough", Krual sighed. His shoulders were hanging low now, and what anger he had felt had grown cold and bitter.

"I did not force you to join me", Sapat said quietly. The face of his old friend shifted just barely.

"No, you didn't. I alone bear the blame for listening to you and your mad plan. And I feel it will be the ruin of you, Sapat", said the other chieftain. Then, as a sign of goodbye, he touched fingers to his forehead, and he turned to climb down the hill they were standing on. Sapat did not watch him go, but instead turned to look at the sun, which was now climbing higher. Down below the camp was already waking up.

One moment more he stood there, but at last Sapat made for downhill and returned the settlement of tents. Women were starting their morning chores but the atmosphere was not the lightest and he did not miss the way they were avoiding the small tent, the one made of ragged old fabric. It wasn't much of a cage for a man some called lion, but it would have to do for now.

His thoughts were then disrupted, for his sister Fanara had arrived to his side. She was few years older than him and she had been a wife to a great chieftain. But like so many she too had lost her husband to the fields of Pelennor in north, and she had returned to her own tribe along with her youngest daughter. He didn't understand how and why that was but she had none of the anger that had driven him to take this road of revenge. Fanara had been a great beauty in her time and one could still see it on her face, and moonlight had not touched her thick braid. She did not know it, but their father had wished she had been born a boy... and even then he had considered making her the chieftain.

However, the man had not lived long enough to announce it, or to tell her of his decision. Sometimes, Sapat felt their people would have followed her if they had known. Now they certainly would have, as his choices had lead to the death of so many warriors of their tribe. But Sapat hardened his heart: he had got what he wanted.

"Motsham is dead", she informed him. Her voice betrayed no emotion and he wasn't too surprised to hear this news. Late last night, when they had arrived in camp, the horselord had briefly broken free. Motsham had been one of the men assigned to make sure the prisoner did not cause any trouble – perhaps it was only fair that the young man had paid for not watching the northman closely enough.

"It was to be expected", muttered the chieftain, recalling the wounds Motsham had received. His voice sounded more nonchalant than he actually was. His sister made a gruff noise at the back of her throat and Sapat could practically feel her glare on him. He knew she had liked Motsham – she had been close friends with his mother.

"Krual is right, Sapat", said Fanara in a quiet voice that disturbingly reminded him of their father. He wasn't terribly surprised to hear that she knew what the two men had talked about.

"You think so, sister? Were you the one who talked him into thinking so?" asked the chieftain. He shot a sharp glance at her, but as always her expression was inscrutable. Grudgingly he had to admit their father had not been wrong to consider making her their leader. Had Fanara been born a man... what a chieftain she would have made!

"He doesn't need me to tell him anything", Fanara said calmly. Now he answered Sapat's look. In her eyes there was steel and fire. "But you obviously do. How many times did I say it's not a good idea?"

"You may say it a thousand times and have no effect whatsoever. You washed your hands off this vengeance and so none of this is your business, Fanara", he said patiently.

"Oh, it actually is! If you're going to get half of our tribe killed for the sake of some idiotic vengeance, then it's very much my business! How many more men will have to die to satisfy for your bloodlust? Sapat, do you have any idea of what will happen if the northmen ever learn the truth? If they find out not only it wasn't pirates who attacked but also that the horseking is alive, they're going to storm the south and they will flood these deserts with the blood of Harad!" she hissed, and only her voice revealed her anger.

"I've already told you it has been taken care of. No one knows the man is alive, and so no one will ever come looking for him. And the sands of this land have devoured armies and hidden nameless secrets before. I see no reason why that should not happen again", he said coldly, starting for the small tent that was located at the edge of the camp, separated from the others.

"Don't underestimate the horselord. That man has murder in his eyes", Fanara said. Her voice had fallen quiet by the end of the sentence, and she turned away. Sapat paid no heed to her ominous words but walked faster towards the edge of the camp. The guards at the doorway silently made way for him and he entered.

It was dim in the tent as they had not given any source of light for the prisoner. And why would he need it, anyway? They had tied him to the pole in the middle of it, hands behind his back. He had kicked so violently when they had brought him here that the guards had also tied his feet. They had stripped off his armour too, and now one of the dead tribesmen was wearing it. Sapat had ordered to behead the man, but a body wearing this king's gear should silence all questions about whether he still lived.

The chieftain stepped quietly but the northman still heard him coming. This did not surprise Sapat, for he knew the horselord was a famous warrior in his own land, and no man acquired such reputation by being deaf and blind. The golden-haired head shot up and dark eyes fixed on Sapat as soon as he came, glaring him down. Fanara had been right: there was murder in that gaze.

It meant nothing, though. He was in ropes and they had beaten him rather badly when he had tried to break free. He was not a threat, not anymore.

"The man you stabbed last night is dead", said Sapat in cold, strong voice. He met the horselord's eyes calmly. "But make no mistake. He was the last man you shall ever lay waste on."

The northman said nothing. He sat quiet, staring unblinkingly at his captor. Blood had dried on his face and beard, making him a rather unsettling sight.

"You're tough now, but you'll see. There are many ways of breaking a man. I prefer the subtler kind, now that you're at my mercy. I know your kind and the fact that acts of violence rarely work on you. Personally, I find that shackles are the best treatment for a wild beast", Sapat continued. He even smiled, "So fear not for your life – not yet. I do not intend to kill you quickly."

The King of horselords smiled. Though his face was bloody and battered and he was so utterly beaten that one could not imagine him rising up from this abyss, he smiled.

"You should kill me when you still can. For if you spare my life now, I promise I won't do the same for you when the day comes. You can torment me all you want, make a slave of me, whatever you will... but I swear you will never break me. And one day, I'll cast down my chains and I will kill you."

A/N: And I'm back! The holidays have flown by like on wings and I haven't been able to write that much, but here's an update at last. Hope you like it, my dear readers!

So, the news are now delivered to Éowyn and Lothíriel and the situation progresses. I don't really think Lothíriel would agree to believe it, not unless she saw the body with her own eyes. As I've kept saying, stubborn people are stubborn in bad and good. Though she refuses to buy the news I don't think she's so sure yet of what she should do, but perhaps she'll come up with something in the next chapter at least.

I know the pace is kind of slow now, but I need to establish some things first, and building relationship between Lothíriel and Éowyn and them receiving the news is (I think) important - though I must say I'm now thinking I should have established their friendship in the first part already. Oh well, you can't always remember everything!

It's pretty weird to realise that it's almost a year now that I posted the first chapter of Heart's Desire. Even weirder is that since then, I've written three full length stories (four, if you include Náhwaer) and I'm still brimming with ideas! In fact, I feel like I have a story for a House of Sun sequel and another Éomer/Lothíriel story with an AU spin. I am starting to think I need professional help. Anyway the year has gone by madly fast. Let's hope the next one will be great one as well!

As usual, thanks for reading and reviewing!

Quote in the beginning originally by Jodi Picoult.

Inspiration for the chapter: Muse - Map Of The Problematique

annafan - I'm glad to hear you think so! It wasn't the easiest thing to write, though. Still, I think Aragorn would be very disturbed by the news of Éomer's death, and it's good to know that I've managed to convey that.

solar1 - Yep, she's pretty much the last now. We'll see how it goes for her!

wondereye - Umm, what do you mean? What spoiler?

Talia119 - I'm afraid Éothain is still pretty much out of it for the moment. He must have hit his head to pretty bad. I guess this is indeed very dramatic when compared to the first part of the story, which was all fun and games. And it seems Éomer isn't doing that fine for the moment! I hate myself a little for doing this to him.