How weary this heart,
how exhausted these old bones,
breathe life into me.
- Queen Melannen of Gondor, consort of King Turambar

Chapter 31

The night rolled into a morning at last.

It had been the longest, the most difficult night ever since Éomer had been freed. The nightmares had come very violent that night, and had he been alone he did not know how he should have endured them. But before those dreams had a chance of pursuing him to the point where he could not take it anymore, he had been shaken into awakeness, and the first thing he had seen was Lothíriel.

She had been there by his side and he had remembered he was a prisoner no more. In her embrace the terrors of the night had dissolved... and something had come to him – something that reminded him of a time before this.

He had wanted her, that was true. But his reason was strong enough even then, and he had known this was not the time or the place - he shouldn't make her walk that road. She should not have to be the comfort of a haunted man. So he had pulled back before it was too late.

As far as he could tell she was not disconcerted by that. She remained there by him, steadfast and patient, and he knew he would not have got this far without her. He watched her fall asleep again, found relief and reassurance in her peaceful face, and quietly he promised: I'll be again a man you can love.

He too had eventually sought sleep once more, and this time his dreams were as bland as they were forgettable. In the morning he woke up before her, and while she still slept Éomer lay quietly... watching the extraordinary woman who had come to look for him and was still doing her utmost to save him.

Where she got her strength and how she kept looking past all that ugliness his imprisonment had filled him with, Éomer did not know. But he hoped she would hold on... if she believed he could get better, then he had a reason to try.

Please... do not give up on me.

Perhaps it was odd after such a long and troubled night to awaken into something so sweet as the closeness of one's beloved. But as her mind cleared of sleep and she felt him close by, Lothíriel felt content and calm and for a while she hoped they could stay here forever. There was nothing awkward to waking up and seeing Éomer watching her quietly, and she felt a fluttering sensation in her heart when she realised this was the first time they had slept the night together without one of them having to sneak away before the dawn. She thought of kissing him then, but decided not to push this too far, and instead she just hugged him tight. They remained so for a while, reassured in each others' warmth.

The village was already up and about the time they emerged from their hut. The men had gone to the sea and the women were busy in their labours, but a lady who was apparently Kartart's wife supplied the two travellers with some fish stew and fresh bread, and they sat down to break their fast.

Lothíriel thought to herself the ways they would have to go yet, planning already how they would search the shores of this distant land for their friends. They would need supplies and some kind of a weapon for her, because they couldn't trust every stranger they came across to be as friendly as Kartart's folk were. But before that day had a chance of growing old, a lad came running from the beach, and though he was shouting in the language of the south she quickly gathered it was because a ship had appeared from the south.

She shared a glance with Éomer, and his face appeared to bear similar thoughts. They both put aside their empty bowls of food and they made way to the beach, to see what manner of ship was here on this morrow.

It did not take long for the princess to recognise the vessel as it glided slowly from the southern waters, keeping close to the coast as though it was searching for something. The ship was very obviously Gondorian. She knew the kind when she saw them, their light build and the wood they were made from, and the sight of it was as though a sight of home.

And the pennant flying in the wind...

"It's from Dol Amroth! It's one of my father's ships!" she exclaimed in joy, grinning at Éomer. If they just could get the attention of that ship, they could find help to seek for Aragorn and Éowyn, and also acquire a way back home.

Her beloved did not speak – instead he gazed out to the sea in silence.

"It's not going to be easy to keep it secret that I'm still alive, though", he commented in a low voice.

"You wouldn't want people to know that?" Lothíriel asked with some surprise. He glanced at her, frowning slightly.

"Not right away, at least. If this news spreads too fast, it might do more harm than good", Éomer said quietly. She considered his words and decided he was right to think so. He should be the one to set the pace, for too much pressure too soon would not be good when he was still recovering.

"We'll take what precautions we can. My father will help us, if need be", she said steadily. She straightened then, "Look! They are sending a boat here!"

Indeed, a boat had embarked from the ship – she was not certain what was their business in this small village, but if they were looking for something...

It was soon revealed to her exactly what the vessel was searching. When the boat began to approach and she saw the faces of three people there, Lothíriel did not know whether she wanted to cry or laugh in happiness. For not only were there Aragorn and Éowyn on that boat, both very much alive and well, but also her brother Erchirion. Her dear older brother was here, making her feel already halfway home.

He had seen her as well and was waving at her, and she could hear him calling her name over the distance. In tears Lothíriel dashed into the sea to get to her brother faster; he jumped from the boat as well and swam to meet her. When they met at last he caught her and hugged her tight, mumbling nonsensically what sounded like a litany of reprimands.

"You little idiot! How could you do something so dangerous!" Erchirion demanded.

"It was for him, brother. I had to find him. I couldn't just let him go", she replied weakly, and her brother shifted, and she knew he was looking at Éomer, who still stood on the shore, quiet and still as though some statue of old watching the sea in eternal vigilance. Erchirion was silent for a moment, regarding the man whom the world thought dead. Then her brother looked back at her and she could see concern in his eyes. But before he could speak she glared at him.

"Don't even think of treating him like there was something wrong with him", she hissed. That seemed to startle her brother at first, but then something gentle appeared on his face, and she felt he understood.

Then the boat reached them and Aragorn looked happy and relieved, but Éowyn wore a face like she might hit Lothíriel if she got that close.

"You! How could you do something like that? Do you two even understand what concern you caused to us!" she bellowed.

"I understand very well, because I thought you both perished in the sea! Do you have any idea how difficult it would have been to explain that to Faramir?" the princess shouted back. For a brief moment, the two women stared at each other, and then Éowyn too jumped from the boat and floundered to her friend; her hug was so tight it almost hurt, but Lothíriel welcomed it, for it meant her companions were all right and they'd all return home alive.

When they got to the shore at last, Éomer received a similar treatment from his sister, and she hugged him for a long time, while the princess hugged Aragorn tightly and gave him a quick explanation of how they had got here. Meanwhile, her beloved and his sister spoke in quiet voices so Lothíriel could but guess what words were exchanged, but she was glad: they were all alive and in one piece.

Eventually the White Lady pulled back and Erchirion came to greet the tall Rohir. The princess knew her brother well enough to see more than joy he felt discomfort and uncertainty but was trying to hide it, mindful of what she had hissed to him before.

"It's good to see you, my lord. Though I must admit even now when you stand before me in the flesh, I have difficult time believing my eyes", Erchirion said. He lifted his hand as if to pat Éomer's arm, but then he changed his mind and pulled it back again.

"It is fine. I occasionally don't believe it myself", Éomer said wryly.

"That I can understand", Erchirion commented. He glanced about then, "Now, my friends, what do you say we get back to the ship and turn homewards? I don't think I'm wrong in saying we've all been away from home for too long."

"And you're very right about that. But I think we should give our thanks to the good people who helped us", Lothíriel said, glancing towards the crowd of people that had gathered on the shore without her noticing; she had been too busy rejoicing her friends' safe return to have observed the spectators this event had attracted.

Éomer nodded quietly in agreement and as she fell to his side, she took his hand in her own. If he had noticed Erchirion's discomfort it did not show on his face, but Lothíriel hoped her brother wouldn't continue to act awkward around the Rohir.

Together they made way towards Luinion, who stood foremost and was regarding the scene with the pleased look of someone who has just witnessed their plans coming to pass. The old man approached to meet them, leaving the villagers some way behind.

"So, I gather you have found again your companions?" he asked, at which Lothíriel smiled.

"That is indeed so. Or you could say they found us, really. It's thanks to you that they did", she said, holding Éomer's hand a bit tighter.

"And we are grateful", he added in a soft voice.

The smile on the old man's face widened.

"You're welcome, my friends", he said, crossing his hands inside the sleeves of his blue robes.

"Before we go, may I ask something?" Lothíriel asked, having remembered something she ought to inquire him.

"Of course, and I will try to answer if I can", replied the old man.

"When we first met in Chieftain Varanat's camp... you told me that the King would be known for his sword. What did you mean by that?" she asked. Beside herself, she could feel her beloved faintly tensing; he wanted an answer to this question as well.

Luinion tilted his head slightly and regarded her quietly before replying. When he did, he reached over to touch her shoulder.

"The words were not for me, my young friend, and what they mean or might come to mean depends on many things that have yet to take place. What do you think?" he asked back. That moment his eyes seemed endless and she felt slightly dizzy.

"I don't know", she mumbled with some confusion.

"Then take them to your heart, and keep open your eyes. And what I said about the King's sword were not the only thing I told you. Words do not begin or end just in one place. Beyond that I can't help you understand", he said and pulled back again. Lothíriel shared a glance with her horselord, but he didn't look like he comprehended the old man's answer any better than she did.

Luinion smiled and regarded them with a bright, gentle smile.

"Now, it is time for you to go. There is still a long journey ahead of you", he said, bowing at the two more gracefully than one might have expected of such an old strange man. "And hopefully, your roads will be smoother from here on."

"I hope the same", Éomer said, bowing at Luinion as well. "Farewell."

"Farewell", she echoed, and then she took again her King's hand and they turned to return back to the shore, where the boat awaited.

After all the strife of late, the quiet felt odd as it fell that night with the knowledge they were now heading for north, and for home. There were no cages or locked doors on the ship of Prince Erchirion of Dol Amroth, and Éomer knew his princess slept peacefully in that cabin she shared with Éowyn.

He did not feel peaceful, but he rarely did these days. Sleep did not seem such an inviting idea either – he'd have sought that option only if he could have crawled next to Lothíriel. There was something soothing about her presence, her calm and even breath, and her touch made all the demons of the night that much more bearable. However, sharing her bed was not an option on this crowded ship, and her brother was not likely to appreciate it either.

So he left behind the cabin he had been given and ventured out to catch some fresh air. The longer he stayed inside the more caged he felt, and that had nothing to do with what had happened on Captain Cairon's ship. Éomer did not just generally like being confined on a ship with that vast body of water around him, because multiple things could go wrong here, and he might not be able to get his princess safely to the shore again. He'd rather have travelled by land, even though the journey would then have taken longer. However, he was not sure how his companions would have reacted in that case. At any rate he did not want them thinking he was close to losing his grip.

He sighed to himself and rested his hands on the railing, gazing away to the sea. The other reason he'd have preferred to travel by land were the men on this ship, although Erchirion had insisted his crew were honest and reliable men and they would not be singing any songs about this voyage when they'd arrive in Pelargir. One of the few things Éomer knew for sure at the moment was he didn't want any news of his return spreading before they actually got to Minas Tirith. But if the ship's crew did not consist of imbeciles, he was certain they'd quickly put together two and two.

"They may guess what is happening, but I've already had a strong-worded conversation with my men, and they know anyone who speaks one word of this will be spending next two years on the guard on the isle of Tolfalas", Erchirion had said, at which Lothíriel had cringed.

She had leaned closer to Éomer and murmured to him: "Tolfalas is an island some way to the sea. No one lives there, except for some guards and lookouts. Weathers are often very rough there and unless you find sea-birds good company, you're not left with many entertainments. In Dol Amroth, being posted on Tolfalas is usually considered a rather harsh punishment, even if it's just for a little while."

Her description did not sound pleasant and so Éomer hoped it'd be enough to cut wings from tales concerning him.

Steps from behind distracted him then and he sharply turned to see Aragorn approaching. Quietly he considered his friend and mused that though all the other things might change, this man remained ever the same. There was something comforting about that.

"It feels odd to be on a ship again, doesn't it?" Aragorn asked as he halted beside his fellow king.

"Aye. I still expect someone to jump at me", Éomer muttered, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. Objectively he did know it was not necessary to remain armed on this ship, but since he had been freed he had not been able to feel the smallest ounce of reassurance without a weapon at hand.

"That doesn't surprise me", Aragorn said softly, gazing off to the sea as well. When he spoke again, his voice was very quiet, "We are going home at last. Though I'm glad to be so, this is not really how I thought we'd return from the south."

"Indeed", Éomer sighed, frowning as he lowered his eyes. "And to be honest, I am not certain that man who rode with you to war is returning at all. Some days I... it seems to me he may just lay in the grave you saw."

"If that is true, then who are you?" asked his friend gently.

"... I don't know", he replied at length. Aragorn looked at him steadily and reached over to touch his shoulder.

"Éomer, I will not claim to know or understand what you have suffered and lived through. But I do not think the man I called my brother is gone. I still see him when I look at you, and I do not need other proof he is still here", said the older man. There was warmth in his voice but firmness as well, and the Rohir knew not to try and argue. At any event he wasn't even sure what he should have said.

They stood there in silence for a while, both their eyes turned towards the sea. Éomer supposed it was rather beautiful, but in an unpredictable and dangerous way. He felt no longing for it, the way some men especially in Gondor did. Rather, he had the North in his blood, and his bones were rock and earth and grass.

After some time Aragorn spoke again, awaking his friend from his thoughts.

"I know you're feeling restless, but we'll be in Pelargir soon. We'll spend a few days there before heading upriver... we will make way slowly", he said, and the younger man could tell his mind was already bent to all that awaited them once they'd arrive in Gondor. But when Éomer tried to imagine that, he couldn't see anything - not the feasts or the wondering faces, not even his friends and advisors back in Rohan. The path before him was in shadows, and he felt like a blinded man stumbling in a strange land. He said none of that, but just grunted quietly in agreement.

The more he thought of Aragorn's words the more he felt anxious, and he had already learned anxiety did him no good right now. So, to interrupt that line of thought he turned towards his friend.

"Aragorn, could I perhaps borrow me your razor? I should like to tidy up before we get to Pelargir, and Lothíriel keeps telling me one day soon I'll find a bird making a nest in it", he said. The older man turned to look at him and smiled faintly.

"She does have a point, to be honest", Aragorn said lightly. "Of course I'll borrow my razor to you. But perhaps tomorrow, as you might just cut yourself without proper light."

"Thank you", murmured Éomer and looked away again.

"I was thinking of going back to bed. Maybe you should go too and get some rest?" Aragorn suggested gently.

"Aye. In a moment, perhaps", said the Rohir in a low voice... but he wasn't so sure if he would indeed do that.

Would that I could rest, my friend...

Morrow came at last, chasing away the long dark hours that beckoned to sleep but also held so many shadows on the paths of dreams. What sleep Éomer had that night was brief and fitful, and the arrival of dawn was a relief.

He joined his companions for breakfast in Aragorn's cabin, which was the most spacious one on the ship. As far as he could tell Erchirion usually lodged there, but the Prince had felt obliged to surrender it to his liege-lord's use for the time being. Food was simple but nutritious; Imrahil apparently kept his ships well-stocked.

Lothíriel and Éowyn dominated the conversations for the most parts, bantering of this and that, and occasionally Aragorn put in his comments. By now none of them were expecting or pushing Éomer to join the conversation. As a matter of fact, they had made something of an art form of making him feel included even if he did not speak much. And Lothíriel would sometimes reach for his hand under the table and give it a gentle squeeze. It took some effort of self-control not to grab those strong lean fingers and not let go.

When they had eaten and the women had gone out, the Rohir stayed behind long enough for Aragorn to find him the razor he had promised before. He borrowed some soap and a small mirror as well, but those things the younger king quickly gathered without looking at them twice. Then he returned to the cabin he had been given when they had boarded the ship, and once there he started with the task of tidying up his beard. As Éomer laid out the objects he tried to remember when he had last done this, but try as he might he could not recall. Many things of his life before the southern campaign seemed from like a different lifetime now.

And nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he looked in the mirror.

As he could not remember when he had last shaved, so could he not tell when had he last seen his reflection. In a way, he felt like looking at a stranger as he regarded the face staring back at him. His beard had grown haggard and ugly and he could very well see why Lothíriel had suggested tidying it up. He looked older and more gaunt too, even if the southern sun had turned his complexion darker than it had ever been in the Riddermark.

But it wasn't the beard or the loss of weight that had turned his face into someone else's. No, it was his grim expression and eyes, the stark and helpless anxiety swirling ever with what he could only call anger. As he stared at himself he saw the haunted look of a caged beast, as though he was still a prisoner.

Maybe he was.

In frustrated wrath he smashed his fist against the unforgiving surface of the mirror.

On the ship there was not much else to do than to wait for when they'd at last arrive in Pelargir. Éowyn had not enjoyed travelling by sea when they had first set to find her brother, and even less she liked it now; the memory of what had happened on Captain Cairon's ship was fresh on her mind. And if she was so discomforted she could but wonder how her brother was enduring it, considering he was not in such a stable place as she was. At least, he seemed to hold it together very well, and he had yet to express any dismay to her. But this did not necessarily prove anything.

The thought of him had her searching him eventually. Seeing Lothíriel and Aragorn were not likely to need her as they were in the middle of some sparring - the tricks he could teach the princess would no doubt make her unstoppable - Éowyn decided to go and see if she could now have that talk with Éomer she had been planning ever since they had found him.

When she knocked on his door and he didn't answer, there was a split second her mind filled with terrible ideas of what could cause his silence, but when she rushed in she only found him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at his hands. He had got rid of that ugly beard at last, but the result wasn't as neat as one might hope for, and Éowyn quickly realised what was the reason for that. The mirror lay on the floor in pieces and her brother was staring down at his bloody knuckles.

"Éomer! What happened?" she asked as she hurriedly sought for some water and linen to clean up his hand.

He did not respond right away. Instead, he sat quiet. He did not object to it when she picked up his hand and began to clean up the bloody knuckles. It wasn't the first time she patched him up: when he had been a young lad, he had got into a lot of fights with other boys of Edoras. After Théodred had taught him how to throw a punch properly, there had not been many more fist fights. In the capital, Éomer's right hooks were still legendary.

"I had not realised I had changed so much", he said at long last, but he did not lift his eyes to meet hers. Éowyn looked at him, her brow creasing.

"If you ask me, your face has not changed so much as the way you look at yourself", she told him, keeping gentle her voice. He glanced at her and she saw doubt in his eyes, and she remembered what Aragorn had said. You can't help someone who doesn't think he can be helped.

Maybe that was the very first thing she'd have to make him understand.

"Brother, I... it would be wrong to say I know what it is you went through. But I do know something about cages, and I can see you think you're still in one", Éowyn said softly, searching his face and seeing only walls there. "Please, don't make the same mistake I did."

"And what mistake was that?" he inquired, not looking at her.

"Keeping you out. Not asking for help. Believe me when I tell you it is not something you can endure all alone", she replied solemnly. "It doesn't have to be me, though. If you feel it's easier to talk to Lothíriel or Aragorn, then that is fine by me. Just remember I'm here too, and I know what it is like to feel trapped and desperate."

She regarded him solemnly and went on, "And the longer you keep it inside yourself the worse it gets. Pretending it's not there won't make it go away. That way, you only become your own jail-keeper and instead of leaving your cage behind, you give into it."

Éowyn sighed and looked down on his knuckles, which were clean now. She began to wrap them with some linen.

"Then you find yourself looking for death, as I did on the Pelennor Fields. You don't care about your life anymore and death seems like the only way out... the only way you can be free", she said quietly. She had conquered those demons and so the mention of them did not make her tremble now. Instead, Éowyn only felt the healing these past two years had brought, for she could look at the darkness she had walked through into the eye and feel nothing but calm.

"What helped you through?" Éomer asked at last. She glanced at him and saw him looking down at his hand, but she thought he had let go of his guard for a bit.

"I don't know if it was just any one thing", she said at length. "That the war ended was important of course. There was hope in the world again, and I understood I wanted to live to see these new days which were light at last. And I wanted to be a part of making our world better."

Éowyn looked at her brother and went on, softer this time, "And there was Faramir. I saw he understood me, in a way. He had seen darkness too... and I found myself looking forward to our talks, because there was no pity in his eyes when he looked at me. In his presence I felt I could breathe – I didn't have to pretend. I loved him, as I still do and always will, and loving him meant also wanting to live."

"Perhaps the core of it was understanding that I was and am needed", she said then, tying one final knot on the linen about his hand. "You needed me, and Faramir too, and our people. I couldn't leave you alone to your burdens. After all, we are all that is left of our kin. It is up to us to carry on."

She looked up at him steadily, "And you are needed too, more than you can even comprehend. Rohirrim love you, Éomer, and they need you so much. They need their king."

Éowyn looked at her brother and silently he met her gaze. In his eyes, she saw some doubt. It did not disconcert her, though. In the end he had to walk the path of healing on his own. Her words could perhaps help him to step on it, but she could not travel that road for him.

So she smiled at him and patted his arm.

"Now, brother of mine, why don't you come outside with me? You look like some fresh air might do you good", she told him... and though Éomer said nothing, he did follow her out.

While it would take more than just words for him to find his peace and healing, the talk with Éowyn had left Éomer with things to ponder on. He didn't know why he hadn't realised before his sister would understand this so very well. It was like she had said: she knew about cages, too.

He wondered if he should tell her he was not thinking of seeking death, not now at least – while he might have considered it a mercy while his imprisonment lasted, now he was not so certain it was the solution.

But what was the solution, then?

This question was burning his mind when he ventured out again that night. Being on this ship did in part frustrate him because he did not like how confined it made him feel, but on the other hand there was beauty about the night on the sea. All was quiet and calm, and there was endless magic in how the moon's silver and starlight danced on the waves.

It was not quiet now, though. For as he emerged outside he saw a figure standing on the railing of the ship and then diving into the sea. In alarm Éomer rushed to the railing and saw nothing at first, until Lothíriel rose to the surface. She hadn't noticed him but was completely absorbed in her midnight swim. Seeing the rope ladder and the pile of clothes she had left on the deck he was reassured again.

"Hello there", she called, having noticed him by the railing.

"Hello. What are you doing down there?" he asked.

"I'm taking a swim, of course. We'll be arriving to Pelargir tomorrow and I don't want to go home stinking like a sailor", she said lightly. He thought of asking her how could she bathe in the sea so cheerfully, considering it was only a few days since they had been on the mercy of Ulmo's waters and she had nearly drowned. But then, Lothíriel had grown up in Dol Amroth by the great sea – it was in her blood. Once, she had even joked her line had some salt water in their veins.

She wiped wet hair from her face and looked up at him. Then a playful grin appeared on her features, the kind he knew very well. How many times had he seen that expression?

"Why don't you join me? It is very nice, I must say", she tempted. His first instinct was to refuse... but then he began to wonder what reason was there to say no? His princess was looking so hopeful and he knew she'd like it... did she not deserve it, after all that she was doing for him?

Something came to Éomer then – something Éowyn had said before. If nothing else was clear to him yet, this one thing was when he looked down into the sea and saw there the woman he had called Lioness.

Without a further thought he rid himself of his shirt and boots, climbed up on the railing, and leaped into the sea.

In her presence I feel I can breathe.

Late August 3021, Rohan

Elfhelm was not supposed to be travelling this way.

While Feran had him running a lot of errands that took him away from Edoras, those tasks were never in the western or northern parts. As far as the former Marshal could tell, it was because Feran didn't trust him, and didn't want him close to folks who were known to have been friends and trusted men of Éomer King. In west was Erkenbrand and Gamling, and in the Wold Éothain remained. But why Feran still regarded them a threat Elfhelm could not tell, because to him it seemed their spirit had been effectively crushed and the underking held his position as firmly as the man could hope for. Tidings from Gondor remained sparse as well, and of Lady Éowyn there was no word that was fresher than an entire month.

Wishing to leave behind Edoras and the lands of Harrowdale, if only for a little while, Elfhelm had in the spur of a moment chosen to join some riders delivering a shipment of goods to the Wold, where the new garrison was in the process of being built. He had met them on the road one night when he had been returning from a patrol. The chance of avoiding Edoras and especially folks there seemed more than welcome. Feran would most like give him hell for this but what more could the man do to make him feel any more miserable? Moreover, he was hoping he might see Éothain and talk with the man. Elfhelm wasn't sure if it was a good idea, especially where his own nonexistent peace of mind was concerned, but a thought lived in his heart he should learn all he could of the manner of his king's death. Of course he had heard what they said of Éothain and the claim he hadn't seen anything, but maybe...

Maybe they had not just asked the right questions.

Even then, if it was true the captain had lost it or simply didn't remember anything worthwhile, Elfhelm considered the man should at least hear the happy news that his wife had given birth to a healthy son. That Éothain wasn't there with his family at least spoke strongly in the favour of madness, because before all this Elfhelm could never have imagined the captain would agree to stay away from his wife and children.

It was evening already when they arrived in their destination. On a hill stood the place of new garrison, much in the fashion Éomer himself had planned it in a time that now seemed many years ago. There were already lodgings for the men posted here and a rough wall that waited to be strengthened. A hall would be built on the top of the hill, and the late king had meant to appoint a Marshal's seat in that place, to guard the northern marches of the realm. Thus the Wold could be made safer and cultivated, and thus it would yield prosperity to new generations of Eorlingas.

Though the sun was setting some men were still at work by the walls, making the defences stronger against the prowling orcs and other wild things that still lurked in the wild. They hollered greetings for the riders arriving with provisions, which were answered by the company and especially those who had friends here.

The garrison up the hill was not a luxurious palace: it provided the basic comforts of shelter for the men and horses. Better and permanent lodgings would be built later, and then the current steads would be dismantled. Families would come to live here eventually, craftsmen and traders and farmers, but also Riders to keep guard against the wilderness. Éomer had spoken eagerly about all that he had in mind for the Wold, as though he had already seen it all before his eyes. Elfhelm sighed to himself, thinking once more what a king Rohan had lost in him... what kind of a ruler he might have become, had he lived.

"Oi! Where have you lads been loitering? Were you meaning to let us starve here to death?" called a gruff voice when the escort came to a halt in the makeshift courtyard. The less than pleasant voice belonged to Captain Osgar, the man in charge of this garrison. He was a bitter fellow by reputation and during their journey here Elfhelm had heard he didn't particularly love being posted here, far from his own family in Eastfold.

"Well, we are here now", said the leader of the escort, a Rider who went by the name of Breca. He was an old friend of Elfhelm, and had immediately agreed to take the former Marshal along on this journey.

"You should have been here two days ago! One could think you mean to let us build this garrison with sticks and rocks", Osgar grumbled. "What are you standing about? Get to work! I want these provisions in shelters before night falls!"

Elfhelm lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Breca, but apparently his friend had decided arguing was not worth the effort. So they began with the task of unloading the goods for storage.

"Is he always on such a fine mood?" he asked Breca when they were in the middle of carrying the provisions into the temporary steads.

"He was born grumpy as far as I can tell and even on the better days he has a troll's temper, but he does his job. Old Gamling is the only one who can out-talk him", replied his friend and shrugged. Elfhelm meant to say something more when suddenly he spotted the face he had hoped to see.

Éothain was limping from one of the shelters. Éomer King's Marshal had heard the captain had lost his leg in south, so he guessed the man now had a wooden leg or some such thing, though he was using a cane as he trudged heavily on the uneven ground. Elfhelm frowned to himself before calling out; this was not a place for a crippled man.

"Éothain, old friend!" he exclaimed then, striding to meet the man who had last seen their king alive.

The captain's eyes shot up and for a brief moment Elfhelm thought he saw alarm and even fear in that gaze. He did not understand it at all and it was not the Éothain he knew. Are the news true then?

"Éothain, it's good to see you", he said nevertheless, hoping to see that something familiar would emerge on that face.

"Lord Elfhelm", Éothain muttered and looked away. "I'm sorry, but I need to go. I have things to attend to."

And without a further word the captain limped away, his head bowed. Elfhelm blinked as he stared after the other man. What had just happened? Why would Éothain treat him like a virtual stranger?

"Did you come here to loiter and talk to village idiots, Rider? Get to work, unless you want to sleep outside tonight!" Captain Osgar barked, looking like he might whip Elfhelm back towards the shipments unless he moved by his own volition. The former Marshal shot a glare at the man but held his tongue, knowing cockiness would avail him nothing.

Riding about delivering provisions, getting shouted at by grumpy old men, and shunned by my friends... would that I had died in the south too!

"Don't mind the old bugger. Béma himself could come here and gift him with his own horse, but Osgar would still complain about it", Breca muttered when he returned to carry yet another sack of grain. Elfhelm grunted non-committally as an answer and concentrated on work again. But to himself, he was wondering what was even the point of it all.

He didn't see Éothain that evening again when they sat down to enjoy some supper, and by the time other riders started to make ready for night he was fairly sure he'd not get a word out of his old friend even if the man wasn't avoiding him. To himself, he wondered what was the reason of it. One would have thought Éothain would be happy to see a familiar face... unless reminders of the past were painful for him too.

Whatever his reasons were Elfhelm didn't know, but it kept him awake that night when he tried to fall asleep in one of the steads given to the riders. He was indeed at the point of falling asleep when suddenly someone shook his shoulder. He flinched and nearly shouted in alarm when he reached for his sword, but a hand fell on his mouth. As his eyes focused in the darkness he saw Éothain crouching next to him.

"Meet me outside behind the stead. And stay quiet!" hissed the captain. Getting back up again was obviously not easy for him but he managed it noiselessly, and he made out faster than one would have expected of a crippled man with a wooden leg.

Elfhelm awaited for a while, listening to the silence. Other riders were fast asleep and none of them even shifted when he got up and sneaked out.

He found Éothain taking cover under the shadows cast by the stead. He had pulled up his hood and was resting his hands on his cane as he stared out to the plains. When the other man came he nodded, and in the dim light it looked like he was even smiling.

Indeed, Éothain did reach for his shoulder in a greeting familiar to any warrior, which rather surprised Elfhelm. This was entirely at odds at their previous meeting!

"It's good to see you again, old friend. I had hoped you would come here sooner or later", Éothain said, his voice raspy and low as though he didn't use it much these days. The former captain must sense his growing bewilderment, for he went on, "I am sorry for my behaviour before when you arrived. We were not under some very friendly eyes."

"And why would anyone have a problem with old friends greeting each other?" he wondered out loud, frowning as he spoke.

"Feran would not like it well. He doesn't want me talking to any of my old friends, and least of all to those who support Éomer King", Éothain grunted, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cane. The mention of the underking and Éothains' choice of words - how he spoke of Éomer as though their king was still alive - only made Elfhelm's frown deepen.

"What does Feran have against you? What does he have against those who loved the King?" he asked. A sad, tired look came to his friend's face.

"He only has a grudge against what I know. So he has made a lunatic of me, exiled me here into the wild with men who either hate me or bear other loyalties than ourselves. And if I so much as move from here, or utter a wrong word, my Scýne and the little ones will not see another spring", Éothain sighed. He cast a look of longing at Elfhelm, "Tell me, has she been delivered of the babe already? Is my family well?"

There was such poignant grief in the other man's voice that the former Marshal felt as though a knife had been stabbed in his heart. He does care. I should have known.

"Last I heard they were fine. Your wife has given birth to a healthy boy", he said gently, and Éothain let out a muffled little sob as he lowered his eyes.

"It'll be all right – I'm sure you will be able to see them soon", Elfhelm tried to comfort him, though he felt those words were empty. But then the captain lifted up his eyes and through his tears he smiled.

"Oh, I believe that. I should soon be able to go back home. Very soon, if Béma is kind", he said softly.

Something about it was not right. There was something Éothain knew and he did not, and it troubled Elfhelm. So he searched the face of the man before him and tried to see the answer.

"What is it, old friend? What do you know that I don't?" he asked.

The captain stood quiet for a while, and when he spoke his voice was solemn.

"Elfhelm, I am about to tell you something very important. However, you must swear to me that you will speak to no one of this. You must keep quiet and let the things go as they will. If the word spreads, Feran will know I have spoken of what I saw. Then Scýne and the children will suffer, and I will be a dead man", Éothain said, his voice barely audible. His expression was very grave, and Elfhelm knew this was indeed a matter of life and death.

"I swear I will keep your secret", he said firmly. The dead king's captain did not exactly smile, but there was a shift on his face... and in his sky blue eyes, Elfhelm thought he noticed something... was it hope he saw? But he was not left to ponder on that for long, for Éothain uttered three words, and never in his life had the former Marshal heard a sentence that was short but also so tremendous.

"He is alive."

His eyes widened. He didn't need to be explained what and who Éothain meant. Instantly, a confusing mixture of emotions filled him: boundless joy for the knowledge that their king lived, horrible fear for his safety, and helpless anger that his own captain stood here idly. Éothain should have been with their liege-lord! He should be raising all of the Mark to go and find Éomer!

"How dare you!" he hissed. "How can you just stand there if he's alive?! You're his captain – you should be-"

But Éothain lifted a hand, and something about his expression made Elfhelm fall silent.

"I had no choice. And our King doesn't need a cripple. Instead, I have sent him Lioness", Éothain said softly. "And unless I am mistaken, she has taken Lady Éowyn and King Elessar with her."

In one instance, all Elfhelm's grief and despair for the loss of his friend and king was replaced by relief and joy so great that it he could but laugh and cry at the same time... and that moment, for the first time in many weeks, he began to hope again.

A/N: I have returned with an update! I hope you liked this new chapter. :)

We are now on our way to Gondor, and I thought this was a good place to show a bit more of the issues Éomer is currently dealing with, and also illustrate how he struggles with it. On the other hand, we have the conversation between him and Éowyn, as it seemed she'd perhaps have the kind of insight to the matter no one else does.

Also, I thought it'd be a good idea to give you a glimpse of what is going on in Rohan. Things continue to be bleak for Elfhelm, but perhaps he now has hope once more. Éothain is very sane indeed but at this point he keeps quiet because it could cost him his family, and also because he believes it's only a matter of time that Éomer will return.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Quote in the beginning originally by Tyler Knott Gregson.

UntilNeverDawns - And now our company is at last on their way home! :)

brandibuckeye - That I'm very flattered to hear! Hopefully you continue to enjoy the story.

The Hare and the Otter - Thank you! :)

MairaElleth - That is good to hear. :) And yes, Luinion is a crafty fellow, but what else is to be expected of a wizard?

You're right they do have issues to figure out, but at least it seems like for now they're headed for that direction.

Talia119 - Intimacy might do good, or it might not. I'm not sure either of them are yet at the point where they could comfortably re-establish their earlier closeness. There's more to it, but that's something for the story to explain!

No more alone time for now, but we'll see!

Wondereye - Things do seem good for now, yes! They're indeed still on the southern waters but after the campaign of Rohirric and Gondorian forces to the coast, I don't think the corsairs are presently much of a problem.

Anonymous - Oh yes, I know that feeling! But here's a new chapter at least!