There are other forces at work in this world besides the will of evil. - Mithrandir

Chapter 22

Sapat's camp

The hour before dawn was dark and quiet. Chill ran down Nata's skin, chasing away the lingering warmth of sleep. She had woken up really thirsty, but apparently Mother had not remembered to go and fetch any water before going to sleep, and so she had to get up and head for the waterhole to fill their flagon with fresh drink. Sun had yet to show her face, but the stars were growing dim, and soon another dawn would grace the great deserts of Harad.

Her errand took her past the cage, and that was when he saw it. Or rather, him. In the wan light of this pre-dawn hour his robe should not have glowed so blue, but Nata took that for the lingering sleep in her eyes. It was a rare shade, the kind she had never seen before in these parts.

What was truly peculiar about him, however, was the fact that apparently no guard had noticed him, and his approach had not even awakened the imprisoned horselord, who usually slept so light that the smallest noise could alert him. But the man knew nothing of the stranger standing by his cage, or the hand reached through the bars of the prison.

There was a soft sound in the night, as though a name whispered in a sweet dream – a woman's name, Nata knew somehow, though she had never heard such names in this part of the world. But whatever that name meant and who was the northern lady it belonged to, Nata was not left wondering about these questions... for the man in blue turned, his robe rustled softly, and he smiled at the girl. He lifted a finger on his mouth, like there was some secret here. She didn't know what that was, but she stayed silent when he turned and fell away – almost diminishing as he went... disappearing into the night.

Another shiver ran over her, and Nata darted away as well, heading straight back to the tent that belonged to her and her mother.

Once she was safely under the covers again, she was certain she had seen a ghost.

That was the day Dhaub the Man-eater arrived.

Watch of the Wold, Rohan

The dreams came almost every night now. Éothain did not know if they all counted as nightmares, but disturbing and strange they were, and the part where he had to watch again and again how they dragged away his king certainly was evil. Sometimes he'd relive the battle too, though for him it was just the agony of having to watch his friends die without being able to help. He mused perhaps the nightly visions had something to do with how disturbed were his day hours: here, far in the lands of the Wold parted from his family by the degree of the traitor, he was positioned with men who had no reason to trust or love him. Partly it was because they answered to Feran... and partly because he felt they hated him. He was, after all, the man who had failed their king. He couldn't even tell them the truth... and who would have believed him anyway? After all, everyone knew King Elessar himself, along with Prince Amrothos, had seen the body. People were more likely to believe the great king than a distraught and crippled man. As he brooded away his nights he figured they'd either consider him a traitor, or if he did actually start to preach what he had seen they'd probably take him for a madman who just couldn't accept his king was gone. He didn't know which was worse.

But this night, after a long day of work of building barracks (meant for securing new establishments in the Wold – it had been Éomer's idea but Feran was apparently taking the glory for himself) that had left sore his crippled body, the dreams came slightly different. It started out the same as always, and once more he had to watch them take his king – once more he had to lay there unable to move when his friend and liege-lord was taken away. And the pain! Oh, the agony of his injuries, the feeling of life bleeding out of him with his blood... the thought occurred to him: I should have died too.

He should have died, and yet he hadn't. For now there was something in the dream he had not seen before – or maybe he had just not remembered.

The face of the man above him was unfamiliar, but he was talking as though he knew Éothain. His beard was silver-white, his robe was sea-blue, and the Rohir had never seen him before. Why it felt like he knew the captain he couldn't tell, because the tongue this stranger spoke was not one he had heard before... until he began to recognise some elements there he had heard in the Elven tongue.

"Nalyë cuilë!"

His breath came out, and the wind caught in the blue robes that shone bright in the blazing of the sun, and all the colours of the world seemed somehow more vivid for one instance during which his heart hammered in his chest like thunder... but the man was gone and Éothain was alone, until suddenly -

"Father! This man is still alive!"

Varanat's camp, deserts of Harad

Chieftain Varanat's camp was located half a day's travel from the place he had ambushed the men sent by Opash. It was a settlement of colourful tents, almost large enough to be called a village, and certainly it was similar to one in the neat orderly fashion it had been erected. The camp stood in the lap of hills slightly taller and broader than what they had seen so far, and there was even a small oasis there, which provided all the fresh water one could hope for – even some lush greenery grew there, which sight brought Lothíriel an acute wave of homesickness.

"You have some very fortunate conditions here. One would think there would be more competition for the rule of it", she heard Aragorn saying to the chieftain as they approached the camp.

"Maybe so, but my tribe has dwelt here on these lands for a very long time, and our reputation for fiercely defending our lands has travelled far. It is said in the tales of Haradrim that some of the greatest warriors of our people come from this tribe", he replied calmly. He looked ahead and went on, "Usually we are on the move more often, but my wife is soon to give birth, and since her health has not been the best as of late we have settled here for the time being until the child is born and they are both strong enough to travel."

They moved towards the centre of the camp, and on their way Lothíriel tried to absorb as much of this place as she could. The colourful tents, men and women going about their labours and briefly stopping to watch the travellers, children running about in their games... she had grown up on hearing stories about the terrible Corsairs of Umbar and the evil men of the southern lands, but here she saw no evil – just ordinary people living their lives with no interest whatsoever in waging war. Really, it seemed that much of she knew, or thought she did, was probably due to centuries of prejudice and misinformation.

It also brought her the alarming idea that the people who had caught Éomer were just like the members of Chieftain Varanat's tribe.

In the centre of the camp stood a tent that was really more like a pavilion, which apparently belonged to the chieftain. As they surrendered their dromedaries to couple of men assigned to look after the animals, Varanat gestured them to follow him into the pavilion. It was richly decorated by veils and rugs and hangings, and different parts of it were divided by the use of screens and curtains. Lothíriel noticed the Sun was a favoured symbol in the hangings, much like it was in Rohan, though it was depicted against red or orange rather than a field of green. The area Varanat lead them to looked like a Haradrim equivalent for a parlour where the guests were received.

Once they were seated on pillows and each had drinks in their hands, Chieftain Varanat cast a searching look at the faces of the three travellers.

"Now, it is quite clear to me that you're not journeying in these parts just to amuse yourselves. Usually I do not make it my habit to pry the business of travellers. However, it is a curious situation and the word sent by Master Hashat, by whose request we were out there in the first place, did raise some questions in my mind", he started, speaking evenly as he regarded his guests. He went on, "I have heard of this Opash before, and not good things. I do not fear him, for Umbar is far and he has no power over the tribes of Haradrim. Yet with men like him I like to know what I am dealing with, and if he might send more thugs after you. So, I would much appreciate if you told me why does he pursue you, and what is the purpose of your journey."

Aragorn glanced at his two companions; Éowyn frowned, but Lothíriel nodded just slightly. She felt they could trust this chieftain, and one could say he deserved an honest answer after lending his aid to them. Still, upon the first encounter with the chieftain they had given him the same names they had used while they had travelled on Captain Cairon's ship.

He turned to look at Varanat and spoke carefully: "We had business with Opash, for we were told by an old friend of mine that he is very efficient in finding out information. So we sought him in Umbar and he agreed to search for what we needed. Things went as expected and he delivered the tidings we needed, but on the road we soon became aware we were pursued by his men. According to our guess he had some uncouth intentions towards the Lady Tangiel here."

"And what information did you have him find for you?" Varanat asked.

"Just the location of a man who is dear to all of us. He was lost and presumed dead, but we believe he is alive and kept as a prisoner by one of the tribes of Harad", Aragorn replied, shaking his head.

"Which tribe, if I may ask?" inquired the chieftain, his eyes sparking with growing interest.

"Chieftain Sapat's, or so we gather from the information Opash gave us", said the King of Gondor and Arnor. His answer made Varanat lean back and gaze at the three with some surprise.

"Chieftain Sapat is my uncle", he said, his brow creasing. "It is true: he has been queer since the war ended. But to take northerners as prisoners? I do not understand why even he would do such a thing."

Aragorn's expression did not shift, but his figure was tense, and Lothíriel knew he was choosing his words very carefully now. And no wonder! What were the chances they find themselves in the company of a chieftain who was kin to the very man who had designed Éomer's capture? It presented a new problem as well, as they did not yet know if Varanat would side with his uncle or not.

"I do not know what his reasons might be", Aragorn said carefully, "but this is the information we received, and for the moment there is not much else we can do than to follow this lead."

"You truly do wish to take back that friend of yours, don't you?" Varanat said in a soft voice. He leaned forward and regarded the travellers attentively. "Who is he, may I ask? No ordinary men of the North would have their friends defy the many dangers of these lands."

"He is dearly loved by all of us, Chieftain Varanat, and if you knew him, you would not wonder at us daring to face these perils for his sake. I'm afraid that is all I can say, as his salvation depends on our discretion", Aragorn replied gravely. He let out a small sigh, "I would tell you more, as would be right after you so helped us, but we cannot endanger our captured friend."

Varanat remained silent for a moment, absent-mindedly stroking his chin as his dark brown eyes travelled between the faces of his guests.

"You don't trust me", he concluded after a moment. "That is understandable, after the chase those men gave you..."

"And you are kin to Chieftain Sapat", Éowyn pointed out in a low voice. She was staring hard at the man before them, as though trying to read his mind.

"That I am", allowed Varanat, "but I am also a chieftain of another tribe than his, and there was never great love between myself and him. Now my mother lives among his tribe again, and if she and my little sister are somehow endangered because of Sapat's schemes..."

He shook his head, but Aragorn was frowning.

"Is your mother named Fanara?" he asked, at which Varanat nodded.

"Yes, that is her. She left to live among the tribe of her birth after Father died – I suppose she wanted to give space to me and my wife. She never said anything of the sort, but I believe it was also to keep an eye on her brother. As I said, since the war ended he has become strange."

"I knew your mother long time ago. We were hoping to find her, as I rather wished she'd be willing to help us on our quest", Aragorn said, and his words seemed to make Varanat slightly relax.

"Am I then to understand you were meaning to seek a peaceful solution? That you don't seek a fight, even if my uncle is keeping your friend as a captive?" he asked. His voice was not exactly sharp, but it was keen.

"You understand correctly. We hoped to negotiate the release of our friend with the help of your mother", Aragorn confirmed.

Now the chieftain smiled and his figure became fully relieved.

"In that case I would be happy to offer you my aid. It is not in the best interest of our tribes that we take prisoners from the north, as that could result in serious troubles if your lords begin to think we are trying to make it into a slave business. The war is ended and I have other concerns than seeking to continue fights that will not end well. I do not know who you people are, but I do get the feeling all of you could cause us some very serious problems if this knot is not untangled quickly", Varanat announced, which words had Lothíriel wanting to give him a mighty hug, but that wasn't probably the proper behaviour.

"I'm not sure I understand", she spoke out loud then, as a doubtful thought occurred to her. "Why would you go against your kinsman to help some strangers?"

"As I said, there was never great friendship between myself and Sapat. And with all due respect, I hold the notion these lands do not need another attack from your northern lands – which is what my heart tells me will happen unless this matter is quickly dealt with tact and delicacy", Varanat said, pouring himself a drink of lemon water. He frowned to himself, "And whatever it is Sapat think he's doing, I must make sure he's not causing any harm to my mother or my little sister."

He shook his head and looked at his guests again, "Not to mention Master Hashat is apparently your friend, and I made a promise I'd look after you for him. I do make a habit of keeping my word. So, if you wish for it I should be able to accompany you to my uncle's camp."

"I am very grateful, Chieftain Varanat. Once we have found our friend and made sure he is unharmed, I should hopefully be able to answer all your questions", Aragorn said. In his tone there was a relieved note as well. And no wonder, as Varanat's support should mean negotiating with Sapat would be easier... and perhaps it was precisely his help and that of his mother that they needed to make it through this alive.

"Now, I gather you three are anxious to get going and find your friend, but I am afraid I must ask you to wait for a little while. As I said upon our arrival, my wife is pregnant and expected to deliver our baby any day now. I should not leave before the childbirth, as she might need me", Varanat spoke then. "You are welcome to stay here until then of course, and we shall make for the road once the baby has been born and I've made sure all is well with my family."

Lothíriel's first instinct was to argue, but she saw the look on Aragorn's face; she felt perhaps he too felt frustration for having to wait. But if waiting was what it took to get Varanat's support then there was no choice. He must have known this too, as Aragorn bowed his head as a sign of thanks.

"We are happy to wait, chieftain."

Sapat's camp

Of the plants and herbs that grew on the deserts dreamroot was perhaps the most extraordinary. It was somewhat rare, but it was mostly considered little else than a weed – at least by those who did not realise its value. For dreamroot, as its name implied, could be used for making some of the best sleeping draughts one could possibly imagine.

But the dreamroot had some special qualities that were even less known, and it was for a good reason Fanara deemed. Herblore and the art of potions was something one could use for evil ends, and so in the lands of Haradwaith they were not things lightly taught. All Fanara knew of herbs and plants she owed to her grandmother, and the old woman had been especially strict when she had taught her the secret recipe to prepare dreamroot. For this plant could be used to make a potion of living death. It would put a dream so deep on you that it went beyond ordinary sleep: it would slow your heartbeat and stiffen your limbs and cool your skin, and you would appear as though one of the dead.

It was beautifully simple. Fanara could hardly believe she hadn't thought of it before, and frankly she was very disappointed in herself for being so slow. She could have spared the northman a lot of pain if she just had... but it was no use to dwell on what ifs. What mattered was the help she could give him now. And like she had told him she could give him death, so Sapat would think him beyond all the harms and vengeance of this world. But when the effect would wear out, he'd have again life, and he could finally be free. If they had luck and Sapat would have him buried, Fanara would leave some supplies for him, and then he could defy the fates on his own terms and seek for a way home.

Of course there was no question about the risks of the attempt, and she had no idea if this plan even had a chance of succeeding. After all, she could not say what Sapat would do once he thought his prisoner was dead. The other matter was that the potion would have to be exactly right, or otherwise she might kill the northman for real, or he could wake up before the way was clear. But it was either this or leaving the horselord to Dhaub, and when she had explained her idea to the man he had agreed. At this point he was willing to grasp at any chance that was presented to him, no matter how dangerous.

And sometimes, there is no choice but to take the risk.

So Fanara sat down and bowed her head, trying for the clarity of mind she'd need to make the potion exactly right. There was not much time, but she had until nightfall... and perhaps then she would be able to make the first move to free the king of the horselords.

Varanat's camp

On a purely rational level Lothíriel did know the waiting could not be helped – it was quite necessary, if they hoped to make it through this alive. Chieftain Varanat was their best chance of freeing Éomer without endangering not only their own lives but his as well, and so they would have to move when the chieftain was ready.

But these entirely logical considerations could not take away her anxiety and the growing need in her heart. The anger she had used to drive herself in the beginning had already lost its edge and it was turning into something else. A tired feeling had begun to take its place... and above all, there was just the plain wish to see her beloved. She wanted to find him, hold him close, and be reassured that he was all right. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him and make sure he would be safe. And most importantly, she wanted to go home.

"I don't suppose we really have a choice about it", Éowyn sighed when the two women decided to take a walk about the camp, if just to pass time.

"So you think it is possible for us to get him free peacefully?" Lothíriel asked her friend.

"It's starting to look like the only way we can hope to do this without getting ourselves killed. It's true, what you said when we set out from Pelargir. If Chieftain Sapat is ruthless enough to attack my brother's guard and take him as a prisoner, then it is more than likely he's not going to let Éomer go just because we ask nicely. And the three of us are not strong or numerous enough to ask him rudely", Éowyn reasoned, her brow creased. "But after that show of strength back on the deserts I'm very convinced of Varanat's ability to persuade his uncle. We do need his help – and with it, we have much better chances of succeeding than if we had just sought out this Fanara Aragorn spoke of."

"Do you think we should have told him everything? About ourselves and who we are trying to find?" Lothíriel asked, lowering her voice. They were talking in Rohirric, though it was not necessary here. Perhaps this journey had made them both paranoid.

"I don't know, but fewer the people who know who we are, the better. Varanat may very well be wise enough to understand another war would do no good for anyone, but I don't suppose Sapat is the only vengeful maniac out there who would enjoy having two of the most powerful men in Middle-earth under his thumb", Éowyn said darkly, and the princess agreed. Certain Umbarian scoundrel did come to Lothíriel's mind and she shuddered in disgust.

When evening fell, Chieftain Varanat invited the three travellers to share the supper with himself and his heavily pregnant wife. It was very cosy in their tent, with oil lamps spreading warm light around them, and the scent of food was more delicious than anything Lothíriel had smelled in many weeks. It was very tasty as well, though the spices were almost too hot, and Lothíriel couldn't tell which animal had provided the meat served with steamed groat and vegetables. Varanat's wife was a very pleasant hostess: she didn't ask questions about the travellers but told them many endlessly entertaining stories, even managing to make Lothíriel laugh long and heartily for the first time ever since Éomer had been captured. She couldn't really remember when she had last felt so at ease.

After dinner, she took leave of her companions with the intention of a quick bath by the oasis. Since they had left Pelargir she had not enjoyed a real bath – just quick washes every now and then if there was an opportunity for it. Certainly this journey had made her appreciation for personal hygiene tenfold; especially on the deserts one might have to go many days without a chance of washing up. She just hoped she would not be too sweaty or haggard when they finally found Éomer.

Out in the camp the bustle of the day had already quieted down as the members of the tribe enjoyed some food and the company of each other after the day. As she made way through the settlement towards the oasis, she wondered if this was much like the tribe where Éomer was kept. The thought of him brought her also concern: how had they kept him? Had they given him food? Would he be injured when they found him?

And what if... what if he wasn't all right?

Lothíriel had to breathe deep and fight for a sense of calm. Chasing away the cold fist around her heart was difficult, but she knew she couldn't have any breakdowns now.

I have to be unbending and unbreakable, she reminded herself harshly. And a part of it was not allowing dark thoughts take a hold of her. She would face things as they came, and she would not let anything shatter her resolve.

It was quiet and calm about the oasis, and Lothíriel found a nice private spot behind some large rocks. She had rid herself of all clothing except for a linen shirt – there was only one man she'd let watch her bathe naked and he wasn't here, and then she crouched by the edge of water and began washing as well as she could in these conditions. She scooped some water over her head as well and ran her fingers through her hair. The shortness of it still felt odd, even though it was weeks now that she had cut it. There was a strange sort of crispness to it as well, as though the Sun of these southern lands had burned her very hair, which might not be so far from the truth. What would Éomer say when he saw what she had done to her hair? Aunt at least would be horrified and she could already imagine all the lectures she'd receive when this would be over.

When this would be over...

Lothíriel sat back and stared down into the waters of the oasis. What would it be like, then? She had been so concentrated on that instance of finding her beloved that she had not given any thought to journey home and what would happen once they got back with the lost King of Rohan. And that was only if they would succeed. What if something went wrong? What if Éomer was already dead? What if...

"Stop it", she snapped out loud to herself. She couldn't let those thoughts enter her mind, not now when they were getting so close. They would find him alive and they would bring him home; and then she'd marry him, and life would go on... she wondered what Éomer would say when they came for him, and if he would be hapy to see her. Wryly she smiled as she thought he was more likely to be angry at first, and tell her she had been foolish to endanger herself so for his sake. But perhaps eventually he would be glad when they left the deserts behind and stepped on Gondorian soil again. And then, once they reached the familiar lands of the north, they could continue with their life at last.

Yes, life would go on. That was what she would hold on to, no matter what happened. She let out a small sigh and briefly closed her eyes, and muttered that familiar promise: "I'm coming for you."

When she was done washing she pulled back on her clothes and turned to head back to the camp. But when she did she saw an old man sitting on the top of that rock she had meant to use as a cover. How and when the stranger had climbed there, and especially how he had done it without Lothíriel hearing anything, she had no idea.

Before she even had time to voice out her surprise, he looked down at her in interest. He was dressed in sea-blue robes and a headdress, and the shade of them was somehow very bright against the dying light of the day.

"You have interesting bearing, young one", he commented from the top of the rock.

"And you have an interesting habit of spying on bathing people", Lothíriel commented back bluntly. It made the man laugh and its sound was a strange croaking noise.

"I said you have interesting bearing, but not that interesting", he replied lightly. The princess blinked at that.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I have many names, half of which I have forgotten. I suppose that is one of the things about living so long... in any case, on these deserts they occasionally call me Luinion. The old chieftain sometimes asked for my advice, sometimes not. Young Varanat mostly seems to think I'm senile and slightly mad, but he does not drive me away at sight", replied the strange fellow. Lothíriel tilted her head, unsure of what to make of this encounter.

"Well, are you senile and mad?" she inquired. Again he laughed.

"What do you think?" he asked back. "Now, don't just stand there gaping at me like I had three heads. Give me a hand and help me down."

"Didn't you just get up there?" Lothíriel asked but offered a hand to him anyway.

"Perhaps I was there all along but you just did not see me", Luinion replied, climbing down clumsily and reaching for her hand. The grip of his hard and wiry fingers was surprisingly strong for an elderly gentleman.

"Hmm. Then you must have a very wonderful image of me, talking to myself like that", Lothíriel commented, but that made the old man snort.

"Hmph. What is odd about talking to yourself? I do it all the time, as that way I get to converse with the wisest person in these parts", he said nonchalantly and finally lay his feet on the ground. However, he did not let go of Lothíriel's hand. The princess meant to say something, but then Luinion pulled her hand closer to his eyes and studied it as though he had never seen a human limb before.

"Interesting... you have finally arrived. I was already starting to wonder if that poor fellow was not able to deliver the word", he muttered to himself. There were so many questions she could have asked about that statement, but decided not to, as she did not think she was going to get a clear answer out of this stranger. She was starting to feel like Varanat was quite right in believing he was mad.

"What is interesting about my hand?" Lothíriel asked and frowned, wondering what she should do.

"The King will be known for his sword... and his life lies in the hands of the Queen", Luinion said then in a soft voice, staring hard at Lothíriel's hand. Then suddenly he looked up sharply, "He does not have much time left now. You must make the choice – I can't save him, for I can but help people to help themselves and each other. But you must be quick about it, young one. Otherwise, all my hard work to achieve peace in these lands will go to ruin."

The princess stood frozen, staring at Lunion in silence. A dreadful feeling was growing inside her now, and there was no trace of doubt left: it was all too clear and the stranger's words made all the sense in the world. Somehow this man knew of Éomer, for what else could his words mean? You must make the choice...

He met her gaze evenly, "They are in camp about a day's ride from here to the north. If you go tonight, you can make it in time."

She understood. The choice was going now and taking the risk, or staying to wait for when Varanat would be able to accompany them. The King's life lies in the hands of the Queen.

"Thank you, Luinion", she said hurriedly, and then she ran.

Sapat's camp

Sun was setting at the ending of yet another day. How many sunsets had gone by since the day his guard had died? How many sunsets had he spent in imprisonment? Somehow, his life before this hellish period was starting to feel like a dream.

From between the bars of his prison Éomer watched how Sun sank behind the hills in the West, setting the sky in fire as her vessel made way for the approaching night and the pale Moon. In a way, one could say it was the last sunset of his life. Hopefully tomorrow he'd awaken to a new one, and then... the road home would be long, but he was not afraid. The only thing he regretted was Sapat: the villain would be getting away with all the suffering he had put his prisoner through. Worse yet, the sword of Éomund, the only thing Éomer had left of his father, would be left in his enemy's hands! But perhaps tomorrow needn't be the end of it. Once he got to Mundburg and found Aragorn, maybe his friend could be persuaded into helping him with another campaign to south. For one thing Éomer knew: his fallen Riders deserved justice.

The sounds of drinking brought him back from his musings. Shaugit was presently in guard duty with one of his friends. How Fanara had switched their wine into stronger sort he didn't know, and he found he did not care. It was a part of the plan: once the drink made them pass out, Fanara would come and bring him the potion she had told him about. He'd drink it, and when he'd wake up again he'd be free.

The idea was more hopeful than anything he had felt since this nightmare had begun. Of course there was the possibility it wouldn't work, and instead of freedom the next day would greet him with the arts of Dhaub the Man-eater. But he was willing to try, and at this point he truly had nothing more to lose. All he could do was to hope Fanara would succeed.

Shaugit was laughing loudly at something and bitter thoughts briefly crossed through Éomer's mind; apparently it didn't even occur to them there might be something obscene about such merrymaking next to someone who was waiting to be tortured to death next day. He reminded himself he would not see these men again after this night, not as a prisoner at least. Tomorrow he would be free. Tomorrow he would begin a long journey home.

Béma be so kind, that it should happen... or whichever of you Powers are responsible for this kind of thing, he thought to himself and leaned back his head. Just let me see her again.

He closed his eyes and thought of his bride, and how she would look like when she saw him again. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he imagined her running at him, laughing and crying at the same time, and then she would be in his arms again... he would hold her tight and kiss her until she saw stars, and Béma help any who tried to interrupt them.

Somehow, he knew Lothíriel would make all this better.

Laughter died eventually as the night fell. With the shadows came Fanara as well, and so quiet she moved that he almost didn't notice her arrival at first. Her clothing was dark and the twilight swallowed her shape; without a word she placed the small vial in his hand. She had told him she'd also take it away once he had drank the potion. No one would suspect foul play, she had said. It would look like he had just died in his sleep.

Éomer did not mutter his thanks. He only regarded the vial very briefly: small and clear, bearing no tell-tale signs of what it was. She could very well be poisoning him, to put him out of his misery, and he wouldn't have known. Now he found he wasn't sure if he cared. An end to this torment was all he wanted.

So he opened the vial and downed the contents in one go. A bitter taste touched his tongue and it was thick and almost syrupy. He closed the vial and placed it near the bars so that Fanara could take it away.

At first nothing happened. The bitter taste in his mouth remained and slowly he began to wonder if she had tricked him, or if the potion was not viable. But then...

… the feeling of heaviness came, beginning in his toes and his fingertips, and spreading. The palms of his hand felt more than he could carry, numb and clumsy and weak... and the feeling continued spreading, but now it was faster, and it was starting to get cold as well. He tried to lift his hands to rub some warmth into his arms, but the limbs would not obey him, not beyond a clumsy gesture that only made the feeling of numb cold spread faster.

It spread, and he could feel it getting closer to the centre of his chest, closer to his heart, as though a cold wave enveloping him. He fell back, gasping for air that did not seem to fill his lungs quite sufficiently, and stared at the rising Moon as the world grew blurry and dark.

For some reason, a memory came to Éomer as he lay there, or perhaps it was just a dream: a man with silver-white beard.

And then everything went dark.

You are alive.

A/N: This is a weird chapter. I don't know if it's because I'm just so done with this part of the story or the symptoms of cold I've been treating with massive amounts of tea and other hot beverages. Also I know I continue to engage bold devices but what I've brought into this chapter is actually something I've done before (what can I say - I'm a sucker for obscure Arda facts and particularly this one). So, do you guys guess what is the man in the blue robes? (More of this matter in the next chapter's AN, as I want to hear you guys' thoughts first. But let's just say I only brought him in now because he's the kind of gun you don't toss into the game before you actually want to use him).

Now, I know the part with Éothain raises questions, but I left it vague on purpose. Let's just say I want to keep you, my readers, on your toes as far as that story thread goes. Also, that matter is not the one we should plunge into quite yet! One thing can be said however and that is the fact that Feran has kept good care Éothain doesn't get to spin any tales about Éomer's fate: for one, he is placed in a station where he doesn't meet too many people, and those with him are the kind of men who have no reason to believe him... or if they did, they won't do anything about it.

Also we have now properly met Varanat. Feeling out his character was surprisingly difficult for me, but I did know from the beginning he wouldn't be Sapat's biggest fan. So I figured he'd remain benevolent even when learning that our travellers have a bone to pick with Sapat. Varanat is the kind of next generation chieftain who has not been scarred by the war in the sense that it would leave him vengeful - rather, he has been convinced of the futility of war and he has turned his eyes towards future. Certainly he figures out these three strangers are something else, and he probably also knows they're not your ordinary adventurers. That is also why he decides the smartest thing he can do is to see these people get what they want, and get gone before someone gets hurt. Also, as we see he has his own emotional investment in the matter: he needs to make sure Sapat's schemes haven't caused harm to his mother Fanara and his sister Nata.

As for Fanara's plan to help Éomer, I'm afraid we will have to wait until the next chapter to see if it works out! I've mentioned the dreamroot in previous chapters, but of course just the mention of a plant of that name isn't enough to really give out what will turn out her plan to help him.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Nalyë cuilë! is Quenya and should translate into "You are alive!". However it is possible I didn't get it right and if anyone actually knows Quenya I'd be happy to hear if I translated it correctly.

Inspiration for the chapter: Hana Pestle - Need

UntilNeverDawns - Thank you for your comment! I'm glad to hear Varanat made a positive impression on you. :) And you're right - there are plenty of ways Fanara's plan can go south, but they both agree it's either taking that risk or facing Dhaub the Man-eater. Compared to that old monster, the risks of her plan don't seem so bad!

As for Feran, perhaps this chapter gives some light to that matter!

MairaElleth - That is good to hear! I confess I'm rather paranoid about my writing, especially these latest chapters. I feel like my writing has been deteriorating lately (probably due to stress I've been having in real life) and I haven't been able to think through everything as well as I wish I could.

Fanara's messenger has not yet reached Varanat, but he does intend to help our travellers. We'll see how that goes, now that Lothíriel has made up her mind again...

Good to hear you're okay now!

Jo - And as a writer I'm very happy to hear that! :D Shocked readers are my favourite thing.

wondereye - It could be a slightly more complex thing in the end, however...