Hope begins in the dark. - Queen Melannen, consort of King Turambar of Gondor

Chapter 15

May 3021, the deserts of Harad

Fanara had known all along it would not be a good idea.

Personally she held the notion that anyone with a sane mind would agree with her: capturing a man famed for his deeds in war, especially when he was nothing less than the king of a fierce people, could only end very badly. However, it was rather obvious her brother was so blinded by his revenge that reason or danger did not even occur to him. And so there was a tied, beaten up, lethal horselord imprisoned in their camp, and he was furious; at times, Fanara was afraid he was going to murder all of them while they slept.

Sapat knew her well enough to keep her in the dark until his plans were already in motion, and by the time the war party had left there had been nothing she could do to prevent her brother from executing his senseless idea. He had been completely indifferent when she had approached him and told him that this was a terrible mistake. And when they had returned, dragging the imprisoned man with them, she had felt like her ill feeling of foreboding was becoming true.

It was madness, she knew it was... but the true extent only began to slowly unfold when one of the guards came to ask for her help on the morrow.

He was one of the men ordered to watch the prisoner. Clutching a piece of fabric around his hand, he looked angry but startled as well.

"He bit me! That damned animal of a man bit me!" said the guard, waving his arm at her. When Fanara pulled away the cloth from his hand and wiped away blood, the teeth markings on the palm of his hand just below his thumb were indeed man-made. Though during her life she had seen many things great and terrible, this was new. She had never seen anyone fight back like this northman did.

But Fanara hid her frown and turned to look for some linen.

"I told you to be careful when I asked you to bring him some food. He's a very angry man", she said, keeping her voice toneless. A shiver ran down her spine when she regarded the biting mark again. To be honest, "angry" was a very mild description in this case.

The guard apparently agreed with her.

"Angry doesn't even begin to describe what he is! That man is insane, I tell you, and I'm not going near him again", he announced so firmly even Sapat would have hard time changing his mind.

"It's going to be safer once the lock for the cage is ready", she said quietly, but that didn't seem to reassure him very much. When Fanara had cleaned and tied up the wound, he went away muttering darkly to himself. She looked after the injured guard as he went, and she knew she had only just tended to the first of many injuries the horselord would cause.

Night was falling as Wrath of Sea, the proud ship of Prince Erchirion of Dol Amroth, headed for the port of Pelargir. As he stood by the bow he thought he could smell the storm coming from the sea, but they were making haste and would arrive next morning at the latest. Aragorn had told him to hurry, as the King had not thought it would do too good for Captain Éothain to be constantly on the move when his life still hang on the balance. Elessar was not a man to give up hope just like that, but Erchirion had seen the doubt in his liege-lord's eyes when they had set from the small natural haven at river Harnen's mouth, where he had met with the King. Aragorn would come to Pelargir soon as well, but first he had to speak with Elfhelm. Sea had been restless and the voyage had not gone as fast as hoped, so the ship would arrive two or three days before Aragorn at the best; the man was known for his ability to travel fast great distances when he needed.

"I have done all that I can for Captain Éothain, but these conditions are not ideal, and his injuries are indeed very grave. A lesser man would surely have died already... it seems the rest depends on him now", Aragorn had said quietly. His was the face of a man who had not felt peace in a long time, and Erchirion knew how deeply the man grieved for his fallen friend. The loss of Éomer was a great sorrow to all of them, but mostly the prince feared his sister's reaction. The way she dealt with things sometimes... certainly during the past two years she had grown up a lot, but that had not done anything to quench the fire of her temper. And she loved her king fiercely.

Erchirion sighed and rubbed his forehead. He looked ahead towards the darkening sky. As he stood there, his captain came to tell him they were making such fast travel that they'd probably arrive earlier than intended. Having received this report he sent the man on his way and thought about catching a bit of sleep before the morrow.

But first he went the check on Captain Éothain, although by now he had learned that the passage of days brought little change, and he was starting to wonder if the poor man might ever recover. Nevertheless, he knocked briefly on the door before stepping in and entered to see the only man who could shed any light on the circumstances of the death of the King of Rohan.

Captain Feran had come along to see that the King's second in command was securely transported. The man obviously did not like ships or travelling on sea, but he had never complained once during the journey. He had stayed with Éothain through the voyage and now he was focused on carving some piece of driftwood. As Erchirion entered he looked up and nodded at the prince, who glanced towards the bed.

"Any change?" he asked, as he had every time he had visited the cabin. But like on the previous times, Captain Éothain was out of it.

"None whatsoever", said Feran and shook his head. He too shot a glance towards the injured man, who lay quiet and still. Only the even rise and fall of his chest signalled he was still alive. Aragorn had apparently done all he could to have the man return among the living, but in south there wasn't really much he could do. The King had wondered if athelas might help Éothain, but he had not been able to test this theory, as apparently the plant did not grow in the southern parts.

Erchirion regarded Éomer's captain silently for a moment, until he looked again at Feran.

"Do you think he saw anything significant?" he asked.

"I can't say. But what could he have seen? There was a body, so most likely is that Captain Éothain witnessed them slaughtering our king. If I should guess, we'll find him a very disturbed man should he ever come around", said the captain. The prince sighed and though it was unpleasant, he could not help but agree with the Rohir. He hadn't seen to body himself, but Aragorn and Amrothos had, and as far as Erchirion was concerned, he considered his King's word a fact.

"What do you suppose will happen in your land now, Captain? How will your people react to hearing your king is dead?" he asked. The question kept bothering him. He could but guess how this mess could ever be cleared out.

"I'm not sure yet. He was Théoden's heir and dearly loved by our people, but he wasn't the only descendant of Eorl..." Feran said softly, at which Erchirion nodded. He thought of Éowyn and what she and Faramir would decide now. After all, she was of the House of Eorl too, and though she wouldn't probably welcome the crown, she'd consider it her duty. The Captain continued, distracting Erchirion from his thoughts: "We will grieve for our king of course, but we shall endure, like we have always endured."

The prince wasn't sure what to say to that. Personally, he felt the Rohirrim would do much more than just grieve, and truthfully speaking he wondered if Elfhelm and Lord Húrin could keep them from going berserk on everything that even remotely resembled a pirate.

To shake off that slightly unnerving thought he said, "It is very kind of you to come all this way and stay with the captain."

Feran shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was just thinking he'd like a familiar face if he comes around. As I said, if he saw them kill Éomer King then he is probably not going to react well when he understands what has happened. It is widely known that Captain Éothain was good friends with our lord", he said, focusing his eyes on the piece of wood he had been working on.

"Indeed", Erchirion said quietly. Seeing there was nothing he could do he bid then good night to Captain Feran and headed for his own cabin. Tomorrow, they'd arrive in Pelargir and he'd see his sister. Despite himself, he shuddered when he thought of how she had reacted to these hopeless tidings. What would Lothíriel do now that the course of her future was so irrevocably changed?

Damn you, Éomer. Why did you have to die?

The cage was built of wood that probably came from the great jungle far in the east, as trees didn't grow in such abundance on the deserts. Fanara had never travelled as far as to see the wonders of the East, though she had sometimes dreamt of it. In Umbar, you might sometimes see people from that part of the world or even beyond.

She didn't know if her brother had been the one to have the cage build or if it had come to him in some other way. Be it as may, so far it had kept wild animals – mostly great beasts like lions. In the City of Corsairs there were men who liked to show off their power and wealth by purchasing exotic animals, and Sapat made an occasional business out of it. The men of their tribe were fairly competent hunters, and they'd catch lion cubs or perhaps leopards, and then transport them towards the coast. They rarely went as far as Umbar, but that didn't matter: the merchant caravans were often encountered on the road and they were usually more than happy to buy beasts they could then sell to their own contacts.

Fanara supposed it wasn't so wrong to say it was a lion that would soon be put in that cage again. This lion, however, would know how to open latches, and so the smith of the tribe was busy building a proper lock for the cage. While Fanara herself found the whole affair more than just a little disgusting, Sapat was not of the mind to listen to her opinions. And the feeling of foreboding persisted. She looked at the cage and shivered... and she wondered how many men would still have to die because of Sapat's lust for vengeance.

Two days afterwards they were moving forwards. They would not have made for the road quite so quickly if not for the northmen at the coast: Sapat wanted to put some space between the tribe and the horsemen of Rohan who should already believe their king was dead. If things had gone after his plan, Rohirrim should blame pirates for it and be busy storming the coast, but one could never be cautious enough.

For the wounded this meant transport either on biers or wagons pulled by mules. Those animals didn't grow very large on the deserts but they were strong and well adjusted to the heat and dry conditions. As for the captive king, for now they had tied his hands and the rope was attached to the cage on wagon, as the lock of his prison was not ready yet. For the moment he was complying and walking unforced, but judging by the look on his face Fanara knew he was just biding his time.

And the day proved her right. Around afternoon, when his guards had fallen under the impression he was cooperative, the lion did make his attack. When Fanara arrived to the scene, she found him strangling one of his guards with the spare rope: it was the very same one they had used to tie his hands and attach him to the cage. Using the distraction of his guards, he had tossed it in a loop around the closest man's neck. Only thing he had to do was pull hard, and by the time they tore him away, the guard was already dead.

Erchirion had sent a messenger to Father as soon as the ship had docked. He was hoping he'd still be at Aunt's house, as had been the plan before the tragedy in the south had taken place. Arriving to the city of Pelargir had presented him with a problem he hadn't thought about during the journey: Captain Éothain needed a place to stay for now, until he was well enough to be moved... or whatever his fate would be. Despite himself, Erchirion was already starting to wonder if the man would recover at all.

When they were unloading the ship, Father did ride to the port with several of his guards. He looked like he had some sleepless nights behind him, which Erchirion could understand. But altogether he was glad Father was in the city. Most likely he had stayed behind for Lothíriel.

"Father! It's good to see you", he called from the deck of the ship, waving at his sire. The Prince of Dol Amroth gave him a tired little smile.

"Welcome back, son. I'm glad you return in one piece", he said and dismounted, then striding towards the ship in haste. The crew, bustling about the dock, instantly made way for him.

When Father had entered the ship and approached his son, he cast aside all formality and gripped Erchirion in a tight hug. Though he trusted in all his children and knew they could take care of themselves, he was their father, and never really stopped worrying for them.

"Is it very bad?" Erchirion asked under his breath.

"I... to be honest, I'm not sure. The word has not yet spread in the city, though it is but the matter of time. And your sister refuses to believe the news", Father answered and pulled back so that he could regard his second-born son. Erchirion conjured a humourless little smile.

"That sounds like her. Did she try to ride away when she heard?" he asked.

"Indeed she tried. The first night, I had guards in the stables watching the horses. She guessed that and the next day she tried to buy a horse from the markets, but Faramir got to her before she could make her flight. I'm not sure what he told her but she has stayed put since then", Father said and shook his head.

"I'm just surprised you didn't put her in ropes", Erchirion muttered. Imrahil made a sound that vaguely resembled a chuckle but was too hollow.

"We did consider that, in fact", he said darkly. He tried to rid himself of the frown that seemed to have made a permanent home on his face and attempted for a genuine smile, "Did your journey go well?"

"A storm hindered us somewhat but once we got on the move it was mostly steady travel. Has Aragorn arrived yet?" asked Erchirion.

"No, but his messenger came just this morning – he should be here tomorrow or the day after at the latest. The man does make haste as though he was the wind itself", Father replied. The prince nodded emphatically, as he was well aware of King Elessar's extraordinary abilities.

"Father, did Amrothos tell you that Captain Éothain made it alive?" he asked then, at which the older man nodded.

"Indeed he did. How fares the man? Is he any better?" inquired Father.

"The same as before. He has yet to come around", Erchirion said, suppressing a sigh. "He's on board in fact. Aragorn asked me to bring him here, as he deemed a journey by land might be too much for the poor man. Could he perhaps stay in Aunt's house for now?"

"Of course he can. He's a friend, after all. I think Lothíriel would demand it as well", Father said instantly, which made Erchirion smile. His sire was very right in surmising that she'd want it... and Éomer would appreciate it too. The thought of the fallen king dampened his mood, though. But now was not a time for dark thoughts and he shook himself.

"That is good to hear. I'll make sure everything's ready to move him", Erchirion said. Then, speaking in softer tones, he continued, "Let us just hope that waking up alive is what he does want."

They made camp in a deep valley that also had a small fountain at the end of it. Covered by rocks and some withered bushes one wouldn't know it was there, but places like this were something passed down from father to son, and were crucial if one meant to survive especially in the deep inland. For the tribes of Harad it was common knowledge: this was their world. And the deserts were in the blood of Fanara, as it had been in the blood of her mother and grandmother, all the way to the mists of time when Haradrim had first settled in this place and claimed it as their own.

Fanara was in the middle of settling down with her daughter Nata when she noted the look on the girl's face. Of her three children only Nata had accompanied her here, as she was still a girl. Fanara's son now lead the tribe of his father, and her second-born daughter had found a companion for life in another friendly tribe.

The young one looked troubled, which was not like her character. Nata was barely paying attention to the fabrics she was arranging, and eventually Fanara put aside the small pots where she kept her fine perfumes she'd sell to merchants, who in turn would pitch them to the wealthy Umbarian ladies. It may be hard to believe but on the deserts there grew some extremely rare plants that could be used to prepare some of the sweetest perfumes imaginable.

"Now, what is it, sweet one?" Fanara asked her daughter and regarded the girl sharply. "What is on your mind?"

Nata glanced at her, looking worried as she did. So Fanara conjured a smile on her face to console her daughter.

"Mother, is it true? The girls are saying that horselord will kill us all, like he killed Motsham and Kafsog", said the girl, fidgeting her hands as she spoke. Fanara sighed and moved closer to Nata. Damn that Sapat! Now even the children of the tribe were growing fearful because of his selfish machinations!

"My dear, you shouldn't listen to everything that the girls say. The guards are doing a good job, and... Nata, I don't think that man would ever hurt you. You've done nothing to harm him. The only thing you need to do is stay away from him and everything will be all right", she consoled the girl. She could very well see why her daughter was so distressed. The horselord was a fairly scary man, the way he could kill men so easily. There had been no remorse on his face when they had torn him away from Kafsog's body, and Fanara doubted such emotion would ever occur to him in this place, where he was surrounded by enemies. Even so, her instinct told her he was not someone who harmed innocents. The only ones in this camp who should be fearful of his retaliation were those who had actively participated in the slaughter of his guard and his capture.

"Why did Uncle bring him here? Why didn't he kill that man?" Nata asked angrily. Fanara frowned to herself, wondering how to answer that question. In Nata's mind, the northman was an entirely evil thing. But that was because she didn't understand... didn't see how this was all but a consequence of tangled of fates and opposing forces, and just as Tanfuksham and Nata's father, the King of Rohan had just been doing what he thought had to be done.

"Your uncle thinks this horselord deserves something else than a simple death", Fanara said slowly, reaching to stroke her daughter's hair. "But it doesn't mean he's right about it, especially when he is letting his anger cloud his judgement. As for Motsham and Kafsog... if you were taken from your home, and your friends were slain and you were made captive, wouldn't you be very angry? Wouldn't you be hurt?"

Nata's brow furrowed as she thought about it.

"It's not the same thing", she argued, at which Fanara raised her eyebrows.

"Why isn't it? Is it because he seems different and doesn't speak our language? He may look strange to your eyes, but in the end we're all the same. We're all the children of this world. And two wrongs will never make one right. Killing people and taking prisoners will not bring back your father, Nata. This man is not guilty for what happened, and at any rate it is not Sapat's place to make such judgements", she said as gently as she could. The girl lowered her eyes and sighed, didn't know what more to say. Fanara patted her shoulder.

"He's but a man. And somewhere out there is a home he'd like to return to – perhaps he has a wife and children there, and they are worrying themselves to death while waiting for news of him. Remember that, daughter, when you look at him", said the chieftain's sister. Sensing her daughter was satisfied with her answer, she turned back to her earlier task, and Nata did the same.

Later that day when she was returning from the fountains, rising shouts from the other side of the camp captured her attention. So she hurriedly made her way towards the shouting, only to arrive to a scene of brutality.

The first thing she saw the cage was ready now, and they were trying to make the captive king get inside it. Six men there were, all threatening him with their short battle spears, and they were poking at him as though cruel children tormenting a defenseless beast; his hands were still tied, but he was trying to avoid the spearheads. He was moving fast for a man of his size, but on the other hand it didn't seem like he had much choice.

For then, as Fanara got to the scene, she saw one man unfastening a whip from his belt. He lashed it, hard and unrelenting across the back of the horselord, and he was forced to leap towards the cage. His face betrayed a look of pain but he did not make a sound. Instead, he bared his teeth to the crowd that was watching this show... and spears were there to usher him, and the whip lashed again and again...

Without hesitation, Fanara fought her way through the spectators and hurried over to her brother, who was inspecting the scene in the cold satisfaction of a cruel man.

"Stop it! You're treating him like an animal!" she exclaimed as she grabbed the arm of her brother. He flashed a freezing glare at her.

"Oh, that is precisely what I want to do, dear sister. This man deserves nothing more", he announced. The whip lashed again and the horselord fell on one knee; the crowd roared with laughter, but though he refused to cry out, she saw his pride and dignity murdered, and in his eyes there was plain, primal fury.

"Then what do you deserve for doing this to him, Sapat?" Fanara snapped angrily. "How are you any better?"

Her question was not a welcome one. Anger took the place of satisfaction on his face and his eyes flashed in a way that would have meant danger for anyone else than her, who was his sister. He pushed her away from him.

"I did not ask your opinion, Fanara. I don't need it", he informed her coldly. Seeing that angry remarks were not the way for it, she tried to calm down and reach him the other way.

"Sapat, what happened to you? You were never this cruel before. Please, stop this madness while you still can", she pleaded, searching his dark eyes, trying to find the sibling she had once known and loved.

However, her brother was too far gone.

"Perhaps I have changed, sister", he said darkly. He gestured to two guards who were not participating the inhuman treatment of the northman. "Take my sister away. She obviously doesn't understand this at all."

As they escorted her away, she yelled at him over her shoulder: "You are digging your own grave, Sapat!"

They had brought Captain Éothain to Aunt's house around midday. Erchirion's ship had arrived already on the morrow, but it took a while to get the poor man ready for travel, and Father's healer had advised them to move the injured Rider slowly. Meanwhile, Lothíriel had made sure a chamber was ready for the captain. Seeing Éothain carried in had filled Lothíriel's heart with unimaginable sadness. She remembered him as a strong, vital man nothing could bring down. But now they carried him on a bier and he was just barely alive.

A man called Captain Feran had stayed with Éothain since they had first found him in the merchant camp, but now towards the end of the day and on Father's insistence the Rohir had retired to a chamber of his own to catch some sleep. Lothíriel, however, was not tired in the slightest. So, when the uproar over the arrival over the injured man had died out, she had gone to see him. She did not know what she was waiting for, considering Éothain had not woken up until now. And yet she could not help but hope for... for anything.

She hoped for a hint – something to lead her from this place of doubt and fear and uncertainty. And if there was anyone now who could help her, it was this poor injured man.

As he lay in the bed they had made for him, Captain Éothain looked somehow diminished from what she recalled. This man who lay so still and quiet was not at all like the one she remembered striding beside Éomer, and she felt troubled regarding him. He was so pale and his cheeks looked hollow, and everything was so wrong, because Éothain was not a man meant for laying half-dead like this. And Éomer wasn't meant to die in such a way.

But he's not dead, she reminded herself stubbornly, rubbing her hands across her face. Elbereth! She could not give up on him!

Yet if she was right and he was alive... where was he now, then? Where should she look for him? What should she do?

"Please, wake up. I need your help. I need you to tell me what you saw", she pleaded softly, reaching for Éothain's hand and holding it tight between her own two. Tears filled her eyes as she murmured: "Please."

The captain lay silent and she bowed her head, fighting back the despair that threatened to take the place of her stubborn hope. It couldn't end like this.

She felt so lost, so confused. Her heart told her he wasn't gone, and still her head didn't have any idea of what she was supposed to do now. And there was the terrifying possibility she was wrong...

The servant arrived at last, bearing a tray as she came. There was a bowl of steaming hot water and a small bag, which she knew to be filled with athelas. Since Aragorn had healed Faramir and Éowyn and Halfling Meriadoc, news of this plant's qualities had spread, and some had even been stocked in Aunt's house. Lothíriel was now very glad for that.

"Here are the things you requested, Princess", said the servant. Quietly Lothíriel gestured her to lay those things on the table nearby, and after having done so, the maid left the chamber.

The princess got up from her seat and went over to the tray. The bowl she moved next to Éothain and then poured some of the contents of the leather bag in the water. The plant reacted almost instantly and a fresh, pleasant fragrance filled her nostrils. She breathed it in and felt like her strength was renewed. That was not the only thing that felt like recovering: her hope rose again in her breast and she looked at Éothain, waiting for something to happen. This was what Erchirion had said, after all. He had mentioned Aragorn had wanted to try if athelas could help Éothain. The blessed plant had brought Faramir and Éowyn back from far darker places, after all.

"Elbereth", she whispered, grasping again for the captain's calloused hand, "bring him back. Return him to life."

Was it minutes or hours that passed by? She didn't know, as she was too busy watching the face of the Rohir and muttering quiet prayers to herself, sometimes in Westron but more often in Sindarin as though that would make her plead heard. Once she even tried in her broken Rohirric, invoking the name of Béma and wildly thinking maybe the great Huntsman might look kindly upon this Rider. Most she called for Elbereth, though, pleading for the light which the Queen of Stars held most dear. And then at last Éothain moved and he muttered something in Rohirric so quietly that she couldn't make out what it was, and she leaned closer.

As she was trying to hear what he was saying, he made an abrupt movement and grabbed her wrist. His eyes flew open wide and wild and she froze there, momentarily certain he'd attack her even if he had to be very weak.

"Éomer", he rasped. The wild look did not disappear from his eyes.

"What happened to him?" she asked right away. Éothain blinked and seemed confused; his gaze wandered about and he took in his surroundings, but then she used her free hand to turn his face back towards her. She had to know.

"Is Éomer dead?" she demanded. Her question appeared to sober him, as he went even paler than he already was.

"No. He's not dead", he instantly barked. Hearing that, the pace of her heart grew fast with the hope that grew bright in her mind and soul. But she needed to stay calm and find out everything Éothain could tell her.

"King Elessar said he saw Éomer dead", Lothíriel said, intently searching the face of the captain. He seemed confused and he frowned, and she knew he was trying hard to remember exactly what had happened. Then at last a more clear look appeared on his face as he focused.

"I don't know what your king saw, or thought he did. It's not true. Éomer is not dead. I saw him! I saw them strip off his armour, put him in ropes. He fought until the end, I tell you. They dragged him away and he was alive", Éothain insisted. In his eyes, there was now a desperate light burning. But then it turned dark and regretful, and his voice was barely a whisper, "They took my king and I could only watch. I couldn't rise up and help him..."

"It's all right, Éothain. What happened is not your fault", she told him steadily, holding tight his hand.

"I'm his captain!" he scowled angrily, though she could see that anger was not directed at her. "If my King is harmed it is my fault."

"Éothain, you couldn't have done anything. You didn't know you would be ambushed by those pirates or that there would be so many of them. You are warrior, captain - you know that sometimes even extraordinary valour is not enough", she tried, trying to ease his horrible self-hatred.

Again he grabbed at her, pulling her close.

"It wasn't pirates. I heard them. It was a Haradrim tribe that took him. I saw. They want us to think pirates killed him, but it's not true. He's alive, he's out there. Some bastard has him as a prisoner!" Éothain ranted. He tried to rise up but Lothíriel gently pushed him down - meanwhile, she had to hold on tight to her calm, for her mind was running fast now. It hadn't been pirates! It had all been but a ruse! This all went much deeper than just simple vengeance by sword.

"It's all right. You have to rest – you have only just come around", she told him firmly, though she could well understand his restlessness. She was just as anxious to go and find Éomer. However, this was not a time to make any hurried decisions, and she had to make sure Éothain understood that.

"No! No, I can't just lay here when he's in danger. I must go, I must find him -" he tried, but determinedly she forced him back down.

"I hear you. He will be found. I promise", she reassured him, her voice gentle but resolute.

Éothain stared at her. His dark blue eyes held hers and she wondered what he was seeing on her face just then... it had to be something grave and terrible, for what else could hold him still like this? What else would calm him and convince him?

"You swear this to me? You swear my King will return alive?" asked Éothain, the shimmer of his eyes growing strange.

"I do swear so, Captain Éothain. He is my king too", Lothíriel answered. Her voice rang stark and headstrong, and perhaps there was something to it that consoled him, as the captain's expression turned calm eventually. He relaxed on his bed and let out a sigh. Then he closed his eyes and slept, and Lothíriel sat there for some time more, and as she did, a feeling of resolution grew in her heart.

And she knew what she needed to do.

When Captain Éothain came around again, it wasn't Princess Lothíriel who sat beside him. Gone was her face, fierce in her determination, replaced with the assessing look of Captain Feran.

"So, it's true then. You're indeed healing", said the man, watching sharply the injured man.

"Looks like it", Éothain uttered hoarsely. Why should Captain Feran be here? He barely knew the man beyond the matters of war-waging. He cast a look around and deemed by his surroundings he must be in Gondor. That they had brought him this far and he had not known any of it could only mean some serious injuries. He felt weak indeed and though that was a hateful thing he had to admit the Princess had been right to hold him back and tell him to rest. There was no way he could have gone to find his King now.

He tried to reach for a cup of water beside his bed, but suddenly Captain Feran moved and pinned down his arm, and moved closer.

"What did you see, Éothain?" he asked sharply. "What happened on that battlefield?"

Something was wrong. Éothain had been a warrior and Éomer's second in command far too long; he knew threat and danger when they came his way. Only, why should it arrive in the form of this man? Why would Feran want him ill?

"I saw battle", he said quietly, unsure of how much he should reveal. The conversation with the Princess had already confirmed one thing: they thought Éomer was dead. He wasn't sure what was the basis of that belief, but they must have found something convincing enough... and as his mind raced, he understood he and Princess Lothíriel were the only two people who knew it wasn't true. Looking at Feran, he knew this man at least would not welcome the good news he had.

"And the King? Did he fall?" asked Feran, trying to hide the urgent tone of his voice. Éothain was good enough judge to see this was not because the captain was desperately concerned for Éomer's life. No... there was something else behind this.

"I..." started the King's Captain, but as he hesitated, Feran suddenly pressed the hard, calloused palm of his hand against Éothain's windpipe.

"He survived, didn't he? They didn't kill him. I can see that in your eyes! It wasn't about taking his life, was it? They wanted him alive, and they got him", Feran snarled and pulled back his hand enough to let the other man gasp for air.

"They didn't kill him", Éothain uttered hoarsely. "Where is Aragorn? He must know – I have to tell him-"

"No", Feran said, his voice terrible and final. "No one will know."

"What?! Of course everyone must know! We must gather our forces! We have to go and-" Éothain tried, but again Feran added pressure on his neck, and his voice died as he fought for air. But he was too weak. If Feran decided so now, the man could easily kill him.

"I said no one will know!" snapped the traitorous man, glaring at the injured captain with a crazed glint in his eyes. "It is high time new winds started blowing in the Mark. Another line of Eorl's descendants will rise, and Éomund's children will be forgotten."

"You traitor! You have no right!" Éothain gasped. "Éomer is your king and you are bound by oath and honour to defend him!"

As soon as those words were out his mouth, Feran moved. The small blade appeared as though from nowhere and the deadly sharp point of it was pressed against the tender skin under his eye. Éothain froze and said no more, though his mind ran away with shocked thoughts. Who could have guessed there was such a snake living right under their noses?

"I am of the blood of Folca, who sired Folcwine. I have every right", Feran snarled. "And someone ought to renew the seat of Eorl. Someone ought to end the unnatural friendship with Gondor, end these wars where our sons and daughters spill their blood for the sake of some beggar who was crowned king! Don't you see, Éothain? They keep bringing those southerners to our land, and even plant them on our very throne! That precious king of yours would take that Gondorian wench to wife and spoil the blood of Eorl, just like Thengel did! It will end now."

"Rohan will never follow you, Feran. As long as Éomer lives, he is the King, and the Mark will know that as well! When Eorlingas hear of this, you will be known for the scum you are, and they will rain fire and death on Harad until our King is found!" Éothain argued. But Feran slapped him and pressed the blade of his weapon against his throat.

"The only thing the Mark will know is that Théoden's heir is dead. That is all", he growled, his face only inches away from Éothain's. "You're married, aren't you? I seem to recall her name is Scýne. She's a very lovely woman for a man like yourself. And she was expecting your second child when you left for war, wasn't she? How do you think they would receive the news of your death?"

"Feran, you can't -" Éothain started, feeling horror suddenly grow in his heart. But the man before him only smiled.

"Or what if you were spared, but they died? They say orcs still roam in our lands. You know how they are – they kill men and women alike and they have no mercy for children. It would be such a pity if anything should happen to your family, especially now that you can't even protect them..." he spoke, his voice turning very soft, even gentle. Perhaps it was that tone that made it so horrifying.

"Please, don't hurt my family – they haven't done anything", he pleaded, and his heart twisted and turned before this impossible choice. Should he truly have to choose between his king and his family?

"Of course they haven't. It's only a very small thing I ask of you, Éothain. You only need to keep silent", Feran said, his smile widening as he saw how tightly he had the injured man under his thumb. He asked: "What will it be, Éothain?"

The King's Captain hesitated, trying to see through this terrible moment, and what was the right thing to do... if he had it in him to sacrifice his family for the sake of his land.

But then... then he thought of Lothíriel, and he knew he didn't have to make this choice. She knows the truth.

And he remembered that first time he had seen her, how she had charged from the shadows of the evening; how her bow had sung and orcs fallen by her arrows, and she had shrieked at Éomer fearlessly, for she was intimidated by no man. She had ridden like one of the Shieldmaidens of the North and Éothain remembered all the times she had seen what strong will and spirit she possessed, and witnessing a fierce woman emerging from behind the antics of a wild girl. Éomer himself had called her Lioness and the captain had deemed that name was entirely deserved.

Most importantly, he remembered how passionately she loved Éomer.

She knows the truth, he thought again, and then Éothain knew what she would do.

And he decided he would trust her.

He fell back on the mattress and what little strength he had left him. Perhaps he'd hate himself for this, for being too weak to fight for his king... but maybe he had already done everything that Éomer needed him to do.

So he sighed and let out the defeated whisper: "All right. I surrender."

Éowyn was sitting by the window, staring out in a way that could only be called dejected. It was strange, to see someone so steadfast and strong see diminished in this way, as though she had lost something essential. She had taken the news very heavily and was deeply grieving her brother, and Lothíriel knew Faramir was very worried for her. It was no wonder: the White Lady had watched all of her family and kin die, and now it looked like Éomer too was gone. Having to bear that pain time and again would wound anyone badly.

However, Lothíriel hoped she might have just the thing to help her friend.

When she entered the chamber and knocked at the door, Éowyn briefly glanced at her. The older woman did not even attempt to smile, but at least she did not tell the princess to go away.

"How do you feel?" asked Lothíriel softly.

"I'm surviving", Éowyn said quietly and sighed. She looked out to the courtyard and tonelessly muttered, "Aragorn is expected to arrive soon now. Faramir rode out to receive him... I think he's hoping to hear something more. It seems to me your determination has started to affect him – he has started to doubt whether it was really Éomer Amrothos and Aragorn found in that tomb."

"It wasn't, Éowyn. It wasn't your brother they saw. Maybe that dead man wore Éomer's armour, but it wasn't him", said the princess heatedly. The older woman glanced at her doubtfully.

"How would you know?" she asked.

"Think about it, Éowyn! They say there was no head – just a body in an armour. You could take any man roughly Éomer's size, put on that armour on him, and take off his head. No one would know the truth. It simply doesn't make sense, to just attack him in that valley and slaughter him and his men there. No, my friend - this shows malice and planning that go far beyond a mindless ambush", Lothíriel said, leaning closer towards Éowyn. She took her friend's hands in her own and mad joy made her heart race. It had to be true.

"I've spoken with Éothain. He was awake and he told me Éomer lives. He said they stripped him off his armour and saw him dragged away from the battlefield alive. And he says it wasn't pirates but tribesmen of Harad. I don't know why, but they took Éomer captive – they obviously wanted him alive. And I'm sure he's still living! They wouldn't have taken him away if they just wanted him dead!" she spoke quickly.

Éowyn stared at her in silence. The Princess of Ithilien didn't seem to know what to say or think, and a multitude of emotions crossed her face. Doubt and hope and uncertainty mixed there, and she frowned.

"But why? Why would anyone go through such pains just to capture my brother?" she asked.

"I don't know. The only thing I do know for sure that he is still out there and he needs help", Lothíriel said. Then, seeing the look on the face of her friend, she went on, "And even if Éothain was mistaken... I can't just be content with this – I can't count on what others have witnessed, not when it is about him. I need to see for myself. Otherwise I'll never have any peace as long as I live. And if Éomer is alive..."

The White Lady understood, even though Lothíriel did not finish that sentence. And looking at her expression, the princess knew she shared the sentiment. The doubtful look dissolved then and in the grey eyes of Éomund's daughter some hope was reborn.

Slowly, a smile dawned on Éowyn's face. It was not a light or glad expression; instead, it was terrifying in its fierce determination... and Lothíriel knew it was identical to her own. Had someone seen the two of them now it would probably have looked like they were planning something terrible. Perhaps it was terrible. And seeing the face of the woman before her, she understood that the exact same thing had occurred to them both.

That moment, the two women were in complete, perfect agreement. Lothíriel's smile widened.

"We are going to take him back."

A/N: *dramatic music* And the plot thickens! There's a lot going on in this chapter, and hopefully I've remembered to weave in all threads I need for this story.

This chapter has the reason I had to spend some time establishing the relationship between Éowyn and Lothíriel. That they would come to this resolution requires a friendship between them, and for Lothíriel to trust Éowyn enough to know they would both think like this. In case you're wondering why Lothíriel doesn't go to her father or anyone else, I'm afraid I can't answer it right away - it'll hopefully be explained in the next chapter.

I'm not sure what you guys think of Éothain's actions in this chapter, and the fact that he lets Feran blackmail him. Well, we should remember he's just recovering from serious injury and he's not very well at the moment. Not to mention he has gone through a pretty traumatic experience. He has decided to trust in Lothíriel to act now and make undone Feran's scheming.

A word on history: Folca was the King of Rohan, and he was the father of Folcwine, who in turn was father to Fengel and grandfather to Thengel. Feran (who is of course an original character of mine) is the grandson of Folca and does indeed trace his ancestry back to Eorl through his maternal line, but his claim to the throne is in truth pretty shaky, and I doubt he'd be considered a member of the House of Eorl proper. However, he's the classic case of seizing one's chance when an opportunity presents itself, regardless the consequences. Obviously there's the matter of Éowyn and at this point everyone is probably thinking that she should be the one to succeed Éomer... but we'll see how that goes, if Éowyn indeed does decide to accompany Lothíriel. In case you don't remember, Feran was first discussed in chapter 4 when Éomer asked Elfhelm what he made of Feran, and I tried to foreshadow there this development.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you continue to enjoy this story!

Quote in the beginning originally by Anne Lamott.

Inspiration for the chapter: Hans Zimmer - Rise

Kiiimberly - Oh, she definitely keeps on holding on to hope! She's not someone to lose their way just so easily.

wondereye - I see. Thanks for explaining, I was very confused and thinking I had accidentally revealed something essential!

Talia119 - Good to hear you liked the chapter! I'm actually curious now: what did you expect the last chapter to be? As for Éomer staying tough, I believe that's what he'd do. He indeed is very angry for having to watch his friends killed, and I don't think he's someone who would react very well to being captive. He really doesn't want to give Sapat the satisfaction of seeing him broken.

This is probably what you expected Lothíriel would do, but hopefully you like it anyway!