Part 3: Found

We look into each other's eyes as we shake. His are still full of death and horror, but in them I see my face reflected, and inside my tiny eyes inside his, I think I see some hope.

- Ned Vizzini

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man. - Prince Galador of Dol Amroth

Chapter 26

August 3021, Rohan

The day had been altogether dismal.

Rain had started to pour down at morrow and it had not stopped since; it had crept even through the thick cloak of wool, which usually kept a rider very well protected against the weathers. Elfhelm reflected it just suited his general mood, which had been grim ever since his King had died. At times, he wondered if he should ever feel at peace again.

Wiping wet hair from his face, he looked ahead and thought he glimpsed fires through the grey of rain. The village of Harrow was waiting there at last, unless it pleased Béma to lead his company astray. That would not have surprised him at least. As of late it seemed fates took great pleasure in making him the most miserable man in all of the Mark.

"We are about to arrive", Elfhelm said to the elderly merchant he had been assigned to escort to Harrow. Of course, there was no real need for a warrior of his skill and rank to escort some merchant company, and in the only reason he could think was Feran made him do it as a joke at his expense. That unworthy miscreant probably enjoyed the chance of humbling the man who had formerly been the King's lieutenant.

"That is Harrow?" asked the merchant now, sheltering his eyes from the rain. The company consisted of him, his three sons, and their ten packhorses. In addition to Elfhelm two more Riders had come to protect the merchants. One might have thought Feran took trade very seriously, but the former Marshal knew better.

"Aye", Elfhelm merely replied. He was in no mood for conversation: all he wanted was to get to their destination, change into something that wasn't dripping wet, and then drink away the night.

"We should have arrived hours ago already", complained the eldest of the merchant's sons. The former Marshal had not made the effort of memorising their names. Soon he'd take his leave anyway, and hopefully he'd not see this lot again.

"We would have, if not for this weather. Keeping you safe also includes making sure we don't stray into a bog, which is not the simplest task in rain and dark", he said patiently, which apparently was explanation enough, and the young man fell behind again. As far as he could see, the merchant and his sons were adequate with their horses, but they were not Riders. The thought made him cringe to himself, for the thought reminded him of the deep, consuming frustration that lived in his bones. Elfhelm knew he was not meant to a life like this - he was a Marshal, a man of action. Oh, to ride in a proper éored again...

He urged forward his horse, keeping his eyes on the shimmering lights of Harrow. He sighed to himself as he imagined the place where he should have been now: back in Meduseld he might be sharing a mug of ale with Éomer and Éothain close to a fire, and perhaps listen to old Gamling's war stories from years ago... if the wedding had already taken place, there would be Queen as well, bantering with her King and his men. He couldn't see Lothíriel busying herself with needlework, but he could imagine her taking part in the conversations... sitting beside Éomer, idly caressing the back of his hand with her fingers, and him giving her the looks a newly-wed man saved for his wife. The image was so clear in Elfhelm's mind, it was almost more like a memory than a wish that would never come to pass.

For Lothíriel would never come to the Mark now, Elfhelm's King lay in a grave far in the south, and in Meduseld another man now ruled.

They were getting closer to Harrow and the lights of the village were growing larger. There was a fairly good inn in there and he fully intended to make use of its services. The ale they brewed was thick and strong and very much suited for the weather and his mood. Well, as of late ale felt like the only thing to really suit him in any way. Had he been a married man, his wife might have told him it was a poor way of coping, but he had no wife and who would take to a husband someone who had been so humbled as Elfhelm had been? Less than a year ago, he had ridden beside the King of the Riddermark, been his trusted lieutenant... now he was escorting hapless merchants!

And yet, Elfhelm had to admit Feran had done a damn good job. What in truth was a coup did not seem like it, unless you looked closely. Gamling had explained how it had gone – he had had time for that before Feran had sent the old man to Dunharrow.

Feran and his company had been the first to return from south. They had made haste on their way to the Mark, but the captain had not gone directly to Edoras. Instead, he had ridden for the lands near Helm's Deep. There he had roused men: some of them had served under him, others were his friends and kin. Be it as may, he had come to Edoras with a full éored behind him, bringing news of the death of Éomer King. The shock of this horrible event was probably partly the reason he had been so successful.

But the man had been smart enough not to try and have his men raise him a king. He had not come making demands – instead, he had posed as something of a saviour and a protector of the throne in the king's absence. They had called him an underking... and he was king in all but name. Elfhelm had no illusions as to how it would turn out in the end. Perhaps Feran would never claim the title, but if he were able to find a lady of sufficiently high birth, maybe a woman who could claim ancestry back to Eorl's line, and conceive a son on her... that son would no doubt be named king when Feran died. And then all that Éomer had stood for would at last die and the land Elfhelm so loved would fall into darkness.

At last they reached the muddy road that ran through Harrow. The weather was abysmal enough not to raise curiosity towards travellers among the villagers – they were content by their hearths, enjoying supper, watching their children... how he envied them and the simple things that offered them escape from the ill tidings of these days!

Their arrival didn't mean his duties were finished for the day, though. The task of unloading the packhorses and caring for the animals remained still, and the Riders escorting the merchants were required to take part in this. As they began to unload the horses Elfhelm's mind travelled again far. He thought of his dead king, who had held such promise, and the idea of the hopeful future he had believed to be theirs... and he thought of Éowyn, on whom he had placed his faith. When Elfhelm had travelled home and heard of what was happening, he had briefly wished perhaps she could soon come and restore the House of Eorl on the throne, as she was the last of that line. But she was reported to be gravely ill, and though Faramir kept the underking updated on her condition, no word had come from Gondor in last couple of weeks. At this point, Elfhelm knew to take it as a bad sign. As for Aragorn, wild and wilder rumours kept trickling west, and all of them were worrisome: some said he had lost his mind for grief and had left his realm, and others claimed he was turning the south upside down as he obsessively tried to find out everything about the death of his fellow king. Indeed, it looked like Éomer's death had triggered a chain of events that was proving to be destructive and without hope.

When the goods were at last unloaded and safely out of rain, and the packhorses had been cared for, Elfhelm turned again towards the merchant.

"Are my services needed again tonight?" he asked flatly.

"Not at all, my good Rider", said the man; Elfhelm did not miss the glitter of mock in his eyes. I was the King's lieutenant. Now I ride and watch merchants to make a living.

It was a bitter cup to drink but he bit back his pride - arrogance would avail him nothing. He nodded to the merchant, turned sharply, and made for the inn.

When Elfhelm made way inside, his mind went back to the events following his friend's death. Upon returning from the south with the host of the Rohirrim and hearing what had taken place in the realm, his first instinct had been to overthrow Feran. The man had no business acting as an underking as Éomer had not appointed him to that task, and clearly if anyone should have such position it was Gamling, who had been left in charge in Edoras. Erkenbrand had agreed with him, and Gamling had agreed albeit reluctantly, and Elfhelm had thought they were together powerful enough to force Feran to relinquish his position. But to their surprise, Eorlingas had not risen to support them. According to Gamling's reasoning it was because the death of their king had been a deeply traumatising event to the mind of their people. It had shocked them to the point of losing their nerve, and after all Feran had made a very good job of making it look like he was just maintaining the throne for when the rightful king would return. Furthermore, the past years of strife, and especially the campaign that had claimed the life of Éomer King, had left them only wishing for peace. In this situation, the two Marshals and the dead King's adviser had only appeared as though troublemakers.

So Feran had made sure that the three men were effectively separated: Erkenbrand remained in the Westfold, Gamling had been sent to Dunharrow, and Elfhelm he kept in Edoras where he could keep an eye on the former Marshal. That position Feran had stripped from Elfhelm, claiming that the realm needed new fresh winds and that surely it would be painful for Elfhelm to continue in his position now that the king was dead. And Éothain... the poor captain Elfhelm had not seen since the fateful day he had departed with Éomer. It was said Éothain had lost his mind, and Feran had sent him to an effective exile in the scarcely-inhabited Wold, where he was kept busy with the task of building a new garrison. And it just happened Elfhelm was kept so busy he had so far had no chance of seeking out the captain and finding out if there was anything more Éothain could tell of Éomer's death.

In the inn it was dry and warm and as soon as he had stripped off his armour and wrung out from his clothes what wetness he could, Elfhelm headed for the common room, dragging his feet with the weariness of the long day he had behind him. The innkeeper brought him a bowl of hot stew and a tankard of ale, and he was half-way through his meal when he saw the face of an old friend.

Heming stood on the door of the inn, looking about as weather-beaten as Elfhelm felt himself. Rain-water was dripping from his long greying hair and the hems of his cloak, and he had got older since the last time Elfhelm had seen him. Well, that he could understand, as Heming had lost his son in the Great War of the Ring. Heming and his wife had always been content in their own company but that had only increased since their son had died, so Elfhelm was rather surprised to see the old man here of all places.

"Heming!" he called out to his friend, lifting his hand in a greeting. Heming's hearing was sharp as it always had been and he quickly spotted the younger man sitting near the fire. A slight smile appeared on his lined face.

"Elfhelm, old friend! What are you doing here?" he asked, approaching the table where the former Marshal was sitting.

"I could be asking the same of you. I don't remember you ever frequenting alehouses", said Elfhelm. He was actually smiling now, which had to be the first time since... he couldn't even remember.

"I had some business in the village. Buying and selling provisions, things like that. But this weather caught me by surprise and I decided to stay here rather than get lost on the plains in the middle of a night", Heming replied, sitting down before his friend.

"Won't Eadgyd worry?" Elfhelm asked.

"She probably will, but she can take care of herself. She's a tough woman", Heming said calmly and wrung rainwater from his hair.

Heming had been a rider in his day, serving in the same éored as Elfhelm; he had been very young at that time, and for a while Heming had acted as something of a mentor for him. But he had not pursued warrior's trade for long after that, though he had clearly possessed the makings of a legendary character. For after marrying Eadgyd he had put aside his sword and instead taken a plough in his hands. The young couple had moved to a farm that had been in Heming's family for generations, keeping some cattle and tending to the fields his forefathers had lovingly looked after before him. In his soul he was never a warrior but a farmer, and took delight in seeing things grow and flourish.

"It is good to see you, old fellow", Elfhelm said with a smile. The last time they had seen each other had been after the Ring War, when Éomer had been riding up and down the land to prepare and begin the restoration of the realm.

"You as well", Heming said, giving the younger man one of those discerning looks Elfhelm still knew years later. In a softer voice, he commented, "Though you don't look as good as the last time we met. You have lost weight... but it looks like you have enjoyed your ale."

"Aye", Elfhelm allowed, knowing it futile to try and deny this. "Days have not been kind as of late."

"No", Heming said softly. "They haven't."

A short but heavy silence fell between them and they both brooded on all the evil things that had lately taken place. Then Elfhelm shook himself and sought the eyes of the innkeeper.

"Please, bring some ale to my friend here", he called. "On my expense."

"You don't have to -" Heming tried, but Elfhelm lifted up a hand to interrupt him.

"I insist. It's been too long since we last sat like this", he said, which had his friend relenting.

When Heming had the drink before him, he asked news of Edoras. There wasn't really many joyful tidings to be told, and Elfhelm grew grim as he spoke of reordering of things Feran had been busy with as of late, using his power rather to his own fancy than the good of the people. Frustrated anger stirred in him as he told his friend about everything he was forced to watch, and all the ways the underking was disrespecting the very memory of Éomer King. Perhaps Feran had not claimed the throne for himself but what he was doing still felt like the desecration of Rohan's crown.

Heming listened to him in silence and it was clear on his face he saw how very deeply this all troubled Elfhelm. His expression was gentle and compassionate as he reached over the table to pat the younger man's arm.

"It will turn out all right. Somehow, it will. We'll see a new day dawn in this land again. Perhaps Lady Éowyn will return soon and bring hope back to us", he said softly. Elfhelm would have liked nothing better than to believe those words, but he had seen too much to allow himself to hold on to something so light. He sighed and finished his ale with one long gulp.

"That is a nice thought", he said as he put down the empty tankard, "but I don't see how it can become true. Our King is dead. His House is all but finished, and now come the wolves and the night."

Near Harad

It was some strange feeling of uneasiness that startled Lothíriel and awakened her. She swallowed her gasp as she rolled on her back, hoping not to wake up others. The night sky was clear above her and the camp-fire crackled somewhere close, but otherwise the night was quiet and calm. When she sat up to look around she saw no outward reason for the stark awakening.

A nightmare, then.

"Trouble sleeping?" asked the soft voice of Aragorn. He was sitting close to the fire, smoking away the night. It was the first time during this journey she saw him handling his pipe - a remnant of his days as a Ranger.

"Same as you, looks like", she replied in a quiet voice as to not disturb the others – though Éomer at least lay so silently he could very well be awake.

"You should be resting, my friend. We'll be leaving early tomorrow and the journey before us is long", said Aragorn softly, his eyes kind and warm.

"I know. Something just startled me", Lothíriel muttered. A shiver ran down her spine and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

"Don't worry. Chieftain Varanat's men are keeping guard, as he promised", said her friend gently.

"Then why are you awake?" she inquired.

"Just thinking", he answered and she didn't miss his brief glance towards the turned back of the King of Rohan.

For a moment, Lothíriel hesitated in silence. Then, dropping her voice as low as she possibly could while allowing him to hear, she spoke, "Will it be all right?"

When they had been making way towards Sapat's camp, she had asked something similar. But the question had never seemed more pressing than it did now. Aragorn hesitated like she had, and his words revealed he possessed no better idea than she did.

"Time will show."

On the morrow, Fanara came to their small camp to bid farewell to the travellers. She had offered tents in the tribe's campsite to the four northerners, but swiftly Éomer had rejected her, saying he did not wish to see that place again. His companions understood his reason very well and agreed silently to stay with him. So the travellers had spent the night some way from the settlement of Fanara's tribe, protected by Chieftain Varanat's men. After their long journey and the stressful days of not knowing Éomer's fate, a chance for good night's sleep had seemed like a very welcome thing. However in the end Lothíriel at least had slept very fitfully, pursued by some nameless shadows in her dreams.

When Fanara came along with her daughter and Varanat himself, the four were already awake. Making ready for the road had gone by in quiet; since the night of yesterday Éomer had been mostly silent, speaking nothing unless it was necessary, and this did not change with the new day. A wordless agreement seemed to have fallen between the three who had come to seek him, and they all felt perhaps right now it was for the best not to push him into conversations.

"On the packhorses there are provisions for your journey. These should last until you get to your destination. There are also spare clothes, as my Lord of Rohan requested... it was not easy to find clothing for a man so tall, but hopefully my late husband's garments will suit you. I also took the liberty of packing some soap for you as well. I imagine you will find that useful once you reach the banks of river Harnen", Fanara said in steady tones that did not hold her grief of yesterday. Still, Lothíriel saw it linger in the woman's dark, wise eyes.

"Thank you, Mistress Fanara", Éomer said, nodding his head at her.

"I would like to voice my gratitude as well", Lothíriel spoke up, wishing there was some more adequate way of telling how thankful she felt for this woman's aid. "It's because of you that we came here to find a living man, and... I at least would not have known what to do if he had died."

She glanced quickly at her King, who answered the gaze silently - his eyes did not reveal what he might be thinking.

"You are her, then?" Fanara said, seeking Lothíriel's face as though she could read more on her than what her appearance gave. Something of a smile appeared on her features. "King Éomer was indeed right when he called you extraordinary. Not many women would travel so far to seek for their men."

At that the princess could but grin at her, and at Éomer as well.

"I am grateful as well, for my brother is the last that is left of my kin. Rohan will remember what you have done", said Éowyn for her part, bowing her head to the older woman.

"As will Gondor", Aragorn continued. "Thank you, old friend. We are in your debt."

It looked like the goodbyes were then fully exchanged, and they were about to turn and make sure for one last time that everything was ready for the road. But then Lothíriel saw a young girl approaching Éomer. Closer look revealed the resemblance between the girl and Fanara, and she guessed she was her daughter.

He looked at her with a slight frown, but the girl was smiling up at the tall Rohir. Gingerly she placed something in his hand.

"This will bring luck and guard your dreams", she said in heavily accented Westron. Before Lothíriel even knew what to make of it, the girl had already hurried back to her mother. As for Éomer, he was staring down at the object on his hand, and approaching him she caught a glimpse of it. Its shape was a hexagon, inside which a complex pattern of threads was woven. From it some braided ribbons and strings were hanging, decorated by colourful beads.

Then Fanara spoke one more time, "Safe travel to you. May your roads bring you back to your homes."

The travellers mounted their steeds, and last words of good luck and farewell were exchanged. Varanat said something to his mother and sister in their own tongue... and then the company turned, starting at last the long journey home.

Around afternoon, when they had been on the road for several hours, there finally came a chance for Lothíriel to catch Éomer alone. So she lead her dromedary next to the horse he was riding; the animal was one of Varanat's own, and though she knew these horses were fast and sure-footed, she could see her beloved was slightly uncomfortable with his mount. No doubt he was thinking of the horses of his own land. Even then, his handling of the animal had already earned him the admiration of the tribesmen. Éowyn's ease with the dromedary was similarly considered exemplary, and with a wry smile she had reported to Lothíriel she had actually received two marriage proposals. As far as the princess could gather, her Rohirric friend couldn't wait to get to tell Faramir about all this.

But now her mind was fixed on Éomer as she approached him, and her arrival caused a strange reaction in her beloved. When he heard her, he jerked sharply and turned to look at her in a swift movement; as he did, his eyes staring at her were dark and wild. Briefly she felt shock and nearly something wounded at seeing him looking at her like that, but then she understood what it meant.

I should not go to him unannounced.

"Hello there. May I join you for a bit?" she asked, pushing away those uneasy thoughts.

"Of course", he said quietly, leading aside his steed to make space for her. She lead her dromedary forward so that she could ride next to her beloved, and seeing the tenseness of his from, Lothíriel felt she needed to be delicate.

It took a moment for her to gather the right words, but eventually she spoke up.

"I know you aren't probably feeling like talking right now, and... you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Just as long you know that if there's ever anything... I'm here, and I will listen any time, that is", she said, slightly awkward. That feeling was sad and troubling, because she had never felt so in his presence, certainly not after they had talked things through in Minas Tirith after the war. Éomer had always made her feel like she needn't guard her words or hide what moved in her mind, but now she knew she had to watch her step.

A faint ghost of a smile quickly appeared on his face before fading away, but it was enough. He had not entirely forgotten how to smile, and that was hopeful: she might find a way to make him do so again.

"You are the third person to tell me that precise thing today. I was expecting when you would make your case", he answered wryly. Seeing her frown, he continued, "Aragorn and Éowyn already came to me, telling me something similar."

"Oh", Lothíriel managed, though she knew she shouldn't be surprised. She glanced at him, "I promise I'm not trying to pry, and neither are they. It just means we care about you."

"Aye", he said, his voice growing soft and colourless once more.

"I mean it, though. I'm not just saying it because I think it's expected of me or something like that", she said quickly, trying not to sound too forceful. When she looked at him again he answered her gaze. Now, perhaps for the first time, his eyes visibly grew warmer and gentler.

"I know that, Lothíriel", Éomer murmured, and then turned to gaze at the road before them.

She worried her lip as the silence grew longer. She desperately wanted to speak with him, hear him say anything at all – even if it was just comments on the weather. On one hand, she did understand he wasn't ready to talk yet, but on the other, after all they had gone through to find him, she just...

She wanted to feel like he was happy for her being here. She just wanted to know he felt something at seeing her.

"I missed you", she said at last. "A lot, you know."

That brought his eyes sharply back to her, but before she could read anything in his eyes he had already pulled on that mask that was so very difficult to read. Then he lowered his eyes.

"It was not my intention to cause you concern", he said quietly.

"Of course not. I never thought so in the first place", she said, and just as she was busy hiding her disappointment, he spoke again, barely audible now: "... I missed you as well."

"We're together now", Lothíriel said, letting out a small breath of relief. We'll get there... eventually.

Another silence rested between them, until suddenly Éomer looked up and now bore a stark expression, the kind that reminded her of before this. When he spoke, it was not in those quiet tones; it was the first instance she heard any colour entering his voice after last night, when they had told him that Éothain had survived the battle and it was the captain's word that had lead them on this road.

"I understand there was some Umbarian man giving grief to you. So Éowyn told me before. I would hear more of this matter", he said sternly. Briefly she entertained the idea that if Opash had been closer than ten leagues right now, he would probably have met a quick and pitiless death.

"He was an associate of an associate. You remember that ship we took to Umbar from Pelargir, the one Aragorn told you about? The captain happened to be familiar with this man who supposedly knew everything and more about what goes around in this part of the world – or at least had the means to find out about it. We thought it would be a good idea to seek his help to find you, and..." Lothíriel explained, frowning to herself as her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat again and went on, "When we got there, he made it clear he'd bargain with me about it. The price was – well, I'm sure you can guess. But I lost my temper and threatened him. He complied, got us the information we needed, and we left behind Umbar. However, he apparently started to regret letting us go just like that."

"And he sent men after you to bring you back", Éomer concluded. His expression was even darker now and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

"I gather that was what he intended. But Chieftain Varanat and his men took care of the matter. Permanently, I should add", Lothíriel told him. She thought of the incident with some morbid satisfaction. "I was hoping Opash would take the hint from that and leave us be."

"But there is a chance he might come after you again?" he asked, not sounding entirely convinced. He cast a sharp look a her, but she thought she saw something worried there as well. He spoke again, but now he did not sound so stern, "Did he... Lothíriel, please tell me he didn't harm or mistreat you in any way."

She could guess what he was thinking, and she hurried to reassure him.

"No, not at all. He looked as though he would have liked something of the sort, but as I said I lost my temper before it got too far, and... I told him I'd cut off his manhood and make him eat it", she confessed sheepishly, embarrassed at her own behaviour. Still, she hoped it would convince her horselord.

Indeed, he blinked in surprise. He even let out a coarse sound that resembled a chuckle.

"Of course. I'm not even surprised to hear that. I should know to trust you", Éomer said, and again his voice fell quiet.

"Hmm. I was just really desperate. And I wanted to find you. Éowyn said it was gruesome and she's probably right, but he was very disgusting", she told him, grimacing at the memory. She looked back to the man by her side, "But please don't think you need to go and rough him up for me. I don't think we're going to see more of him."

"I hope that is true", he muttered and grasped the hilt of his sword in a way that looked like he wasn't entirely aware he had been clutching his blade all this time. A troubled look had come to his face, "All these dangers... I keep thinking of the numerous ways your quest could have gone awry. It is a wonder you did not lose your lives."

"If I had kept thinking of that, I would never have got this far. And we'd never have found you..." Lothíriel said, cringing at the idea. It was still too close to her heart. "Don't torment yourself by what ifs. I won't deny it was dangerous, but some things are worth taking the risk, and I'm glad that we did."

"Aye. Despite all, I am thankful that you came for me", he muttered; she had to lean closer to him in order to hear.

"It's like I said before. I will not give up on you", she said, speaking softly now. A wish to touch him had come to her, and she almost reached over to catch his hand if only for a moment, but somehow she was starting to feel even she should not approach him so spontaneously. The way he kept flinching... with some concern, she wondered if it had been a very bad idea to jump on him just after the battle against Sapat's men had ended, and she hadn't just realised the danger.

Nevertheless, something that resembled a smile graced the lips of her beloved, and as they continued their journey, Lothíriel felt slightly more at ease.

Before sunset, they reached the river Harnen. It was agreed they'd camp there for the night and so they settled down, preparing fires and tending to their steeds. Close to the river upon their arrival Lothíriel spotted a small herd of animals that looked like goats pasturing on the stunted vegetation that grew there; with the use of her bow she brought down one of the animals to the joy of the rest of the travellers, as they only had salted and dried meat along. A hot meal would suit them all very well, as they would mostly be dining on wayfood Fanara had given to them.

When the camp was made for the night, animals had been watered and the supper was in the making, she saw Éomer heading for the river, carrying in his hands the clothes that Fanara had found him... and about an hour later when he returned, his long hair hung wet on his shoulders and he was dressed in a tribesman's attire. Of his old clothes she saw no sign and would not have been surprised to learn he had no intention of taking them along, except for his boots which were good sturdy Rohirric making. She was used to seeing him in either his armour or the earthly-coloured Eorling attire, so the clothes looked odd on him: he wore loose trousers, thin and elaborately embroidered shirt, and a quilted vest. But these clothes were clean and intact, bearing no signs of captivity or torment. That the garments seemed to fit him adequately made her wonder if Fanara's husband had been very tall, for very few of the men she had seen here in Harad were like Aragorn or Éomer.

As he returned from the river Lothíriel approached him, and he did not protest to the hug she gave him. Briefly, she rested her head against his shoulder... and noted that the smell of death and decay was gone, washed away in the river.

But when she looked up at him in the hopes of a kiss, she could see that there was no river on this Arda that could wash away memories.

The camp fell quiet with the night. Varanat had organised watch turns for the hours before dawn, but insisted the northerners they needn't participate; he said they all needed their rest after the trials of late. Éomer supposed some proper sleep would indeed be good for them all, but he was not sure he welcomed it. At least last night had proved it was not restful place that awaited him. Dreams had been his one solace while his imprisonment lasted, but now in freedom their safeguard was gone.

For the moment, he was seated on his own bedroll, leaning his back against the smooth surface of a large stone. In his hand, he turned around the strange object Nata had given him. The device depicted inside the hexagon was made of threads of many colours, and it did seem to possess the strange endlessness of a dream.

Sound of steps distracted him then and he sharply looked up to see Aragorn. Why his hand flew to the hilt his sword Éomer wasn't sure, but was not surprised either. If his friend took note of that, it did not show on the older man's face as he sat beside the Rohir.

"I did not know such things still existed", Aragorn said, looking at the object in Éomer's hand.

"You have seen these before?" he asked.

"No, not really. But I recognised it from a description I once heard", his friend replied, glancing at his friend. "When I was very young Glorfindel, an Elf of Lord Elrond's household, told me of the Edain of the First Age in Beleriand, who were fathers of Númenóreans, and thus the ancestors of Dúnedain. They made devices not unlike these. When they learned of the Valar, they started to call them Shields of Lórien."

"Lórien? You mean..."

"One of the Valar, the Powers that reside in the West. The Eldar say he is the Master of Visions and Dreams and the giver of rest", Aragorn said.

"And this is one of those shields?" asked Éomer, looking down at the object in his hands.

"It looks the way Glorfindel described them, and the girl did say it'd bring you luck and guard your dreams. Many things have passed from the world since it was young, but others persist.. I do not think it so impossible that bits and pieces of our ancient ways might linger", Aragorn said. The younger man made a soft noise at the back of his throat and stared down. He remained silent for a while before speaking, and when he did his voice was quiet.

"Do you think his shields can help?"

He spied a glance of Aragorn's face and saw there a gentle smile. His fellow king touched a hand to his shoulder.

"I don't know, brother. Maybe it can, if you believe it does."

Whether Aragorn was right or not Éomer could not tell. It could just be there was no such faith left in his heart that he'd be able to place hope in good-luck charms and talismans. All the same, sleep did not come easily that night, and some time after midnight Éomer gave up the attempt. His body craved for rest but his mind remained unquiet, and he feared what sleep might have brought for him.

So he got up from his bedroll and quietly started for the hill, from where one could see the river. But on his way he passed by Lothíriel. She was fast asleep, curled up on her side. Out of impulse he crouched beside her sleeping form... touched her hair ever so gently, as to not wake her. She had looked so tired today, and no wonder - the way she had travelled had been long and difficult. Though he knew she had cut her hair for a good reason, he still regretted its loss. The last time he had seen his princess, her hair had been long and soft like a veil of shadows, and he liked few things better than running his fingers through it.

She shivered under her blankets and carefully he pulled them better around her form... and in her sleep she smiled, as though sensing he was near.

Perhaps talismans can't help me. It could be I just need you.

A/N: Here comes an update for you to enjoy this Sunday! I hope you all have had a nice weekend. :)

When I started with this chapter I quickly realised I should perhaps begin with Elfhelm's point of view, to show a bit of what is going on in Rohan. As you probably knew to guess already, Feran has indeed taken control in Éomer's absence, but he has not tried to make himself the king. I believe this is why he has been so successful in his seizing of power. He gets to look like a good guy - he's just overseeing things while the rightful king is gone. Altogether he has been able to make it look like he's protecting the throne, possibly for Éowyn's return. I believe Elfhelm and Erkenbrand would have seen through this and tried to overthrow him, but as Elfhelm notes they didn't have much success with their attempt. For one, Feran is acting as an underking and thus it looks perfectly lawful, and personally I believe that the Rohirrim at this point are just so tired of strife and war that they simply won't rise to overthrow Feran. In their eyes, there's no reason for such dangerous and lethal thing that would tear at their wounds even more.

As for our travellers, they are now making way for home. I know my readers would like to see some bonding between Lothíriel and Éomer, but I think it's too early for that. I believe all of them are presently dealing with their respective issues, and Éomer would have a whole load of those. I will explore this matter as we venture into this part of the story, but for now I'd ask you to consider perhaps he's not quite ready to talk, or to open up to anyone - not even to his sister or his betrothed.

The talisman Nata gives to Éomer is my own invention, based on Native American dreamcatchers. I've always loved the idea behind those and I thought it'd be an interesting detail on the early Mannish culture - one that would be devoid of Elvish influence except for the name. I see no reason why such thing couldn't have survived through the ages, perhaps preserved by some Númenórean fractions, brought to Umbar around when the city was built, and moved from there to the Haradrim tribes.

Hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for reading and reviewing!

Quote in the beginning originally by Heraclitus.

UntilNeverDawns - I'm glad to hear that! It always makes me very happy when someone says they love my writing so much. :)

MairaElleth - Oh, don't apologise for sharing your thoughts! I love to hear from my readers and especially when I've managed to bring such emotional effects. I was indeed aiming for this bittersweet feeling with that chapter.

Concrete63 - And thank you for reading!

Wondereye - Yes, he's not someone to just give up.

Talia119 - It has indeed been a heavy journey for our characters, but I'm not sure that journey is close to ending or that the turn for the better has come yet. We have ways to go still. :) As to your question how long this should be, I'm thinking we're roughly half-way through the story now, unless something comes up.