You are not dead yet, it's not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
- Skalkisham of Umbar
Chapter 39
October 3021, on the road to Astdun, Rohan
"I can't believe I'm doing this", said Elfhelm with some wonder and disbelief as he and Lady Ceolwen made for the town of her birth. It was a chilly day and there were some storm-clouds gathering, but he felt curiously relieved to be travelling like this with her. But then as he glanced her, he had to admit, "Well, I do believe it a little."
"You'd better, Lord Elfhelm", she said starkly, gazing ahead. She was quite the sight horseback, her posture straight and graceful, and wisps of wind catching in her braids. Quietly Elfhelm thought shieldmaidens truly were a breed of women like none other.
It had not been much of a choice for him to decide and go with her. He was not a man who denied help from those in need. And perhaps with Ceolwen there was a chance for him to actually make a difference.
Leaving his post at the Marshal's Hall had been astonishingly easy. On the morrow, he had merely walked before his so called captain and announced his service was unavailable forthwith. Then he had turned and marched out, and no one ever came to stop him or try and change his mind. Well, for all his disgrace of late he was of a noble line, and being a free man no one could hinder him from leaving if he so wished. Perhaps the so called Marshal was even glad that Elfhelm was gone. He himself certainly was, though his joy was not without regret: leaving behind Scýne and her children was not something he did with a light heart.
He had ridden out of Aldburg and met Lady Ceolwen when the town had fallen behind the hills. She had insisted on secrecy, for she felt it was safer that way. When he had asked if it was truly necessary, she had given him a sharp look.
"Do you think they'd just let you ride away if they knew you were meaning to come with me? Feran knows I have little love for him, and you have that even less. A man like him doesn't want people like us joining our forces", she had told him. Her reasoning was viable, he had to agree to that, and so Elfhelm did as she asked. Of course, it was a secret they could not keep for long – sooner or later a word of where he had gone would reach the underking, but by that time Elfhelm would be safely behind the gates of Astdun and no one could come up with excuses to stall him.
From Aldburg two fast riders like them could make it in about one and a half day. Much of the journey was spent exchanging tidings: Ceolwen explained how a rider of her own household had recently been to Aldburg and seen him there, and so she had set out all alone to seek him.
"Ohthere my steward had a fit when I said I would be going alone, but eventually he understood it is vital to retain secrecy. Still, you should know you're not the easiest man to trail", she commented. Elfhelm could but grin at that.
He had also shared with her the news that Éomer King was alive. He knew he could trust her, and he didn't really see the point of keeping it from Ceolwen if he was to come with her to Astdun. She was glad upon hearing the tidings, but quickly she became troubled.
"If he is still living, then where is he? Why has he not come home yet?" she asked. Elfhelm himself did firmly believe that his king was indeed on his way home, but her question he couldn't answer.
"I'm not sure. Maybe the journey from wherever he was taken is just very long. Perhaps he has been somehow injured and needs to recover before coming home", he attempted anyway. The latter possibility was worrisome, and anxious as well; he'd rather had known if Éomer had been wounded. Still, he had to hold on to hope. Éothain had sent Lioness to seek for their king, and she had Aragorn and Éowyn with her. Elfhelm knew of no other people in this world who had better chances of finding the King of the Mark.
"But what if Éothain had it wrong? Or, what if our king was indeed killed afterwards?" Ceolwen asked, her voice dark. Those words did bring him a dreadful feeling but he forced it back. He wouldn't believe such a horrible thing.
"I'm sure he's alive. I believe it – I have to believe it. We just need to give him more time and trust in her. Princess Lothíriel will bring him home, if there is even smallest chance of doing that. I have all faith in her, because she's even more determined than most Eorlingas", he said at length.
"Well, I hope they won't need much more than until Yuletide. If I don't answer to the underking's proposal, then... then we will become outlaws", she said softly.
"My lady, there is no one else I'd rather be an outlaw with than yourself", he told her, half in attempt to cheer her up and half in all solemnity.
Ceolwen smiled indeed, and in silence he wondered why hadn't he noticed before just how beautiful that smile made her.
"Maybe he's alive. I suppose only time will tell. But be it as may, we can't just sit waiting for him to return. We must stand up for ourselves... and we must do it while Éomer King still has a realm to return to", she stated, and Elfhelm agreed wholeheartedly.
They were received back to Astdun with joyful greetings. Of the settlements of East-Mark, the town was second only to Aldburg, Éomer's old seat. Similarly it was built on a hill, like many Eorling settlements were. Lady Ceolwen was received like one would expect a well-respected mistress to be welcomed back among her own folk, but Elfhelm got many curious looks from the people of the town.
Ceolwen's home was located on the top of the hill. Around the hall stood outbuildings of varying size, and Elfhelm could recognise the look of a household that was looked after carefully. Their arrival roused an excited bustle there, as stablehands came to receive the horses and people stopped to greet the newly-returned lady of the town.
"My lady!" called and elderly man who could only be Ohthere, Ceolwen's steward. "Finally you return! I was already starting to get worried about you."
She smiled fondly at him as she dismounted.
"I told you I would be fine, old friend", she said calmly. Then she glanced at her companion. "Ohthere, this here is Lord Elfhelm of Westfold. He has come to join us for the time being."
"My lord", greeted Ohthere and bowed his head at the former Marshal. "I have heard much of you."
Quietly Elfhelm wondered how much of that was good things but decided not to ask anything of the sort.
"Nice to meet you, Ohthere", he said and offered the other man a friendly smile. The steward didn't exactly return it, which Elfhelm decided was probably because of concern for the lady. He'd have to be on his best behaviour, if he was to win this man's good favour.
"How long will my lord be staying with us?" Ohthere asked his mistress.
"I do not know. But it is his help I went to ask for. Lord Elfhelm is a renowned warrior and if it comes to a fight with the underking, then all swords will be welcome – especially those tried in as many battles as his has been", Ceolwen said solemnly. A frown had come to her face, but then she shook herself as if to rid her mind of some dark thought. "Have a chamber readied for my guest. Also I don't suppose I'm in wrong to assume you'd fancy a bath, Lord Elfhelm?"
She sniffed at him pointedly, which had the former Marshal smiling.
"You are absolutely correct, my lady", he affirmed. She somewhat returned his smile and then gestured towards the hall.
"Now, while a bath is prepared, would you like to come so that I can show you around?"
"Gladly, Lady Ceolwen."
Ceolwen was a most welcoming hostess, though it wasn't like Elfhelm had expected any different. The chamber she gave him was far nicer than anything he had seen in a long while, and a hot bath and clean clothes felt like a luxury unparalleled. Having this chance, he cleaned up so thoroughly as to wash his hair and trim his beard. And though his hope had been growing ever since he had talked with Éothain, it almost felt like he left some final core of bitterness in that bath water, and emerged as a new man.
But that was not the extent of Ceolwen's hospitality. For when he went to join her for supper, it was revealed she had speedily arranged a proper feast in his honour. She seated him next to herself, and food and ale was plentiful. There was a cheer in the hall as well, and though he perhaps had no idea of where the fates would take them, he thought for this one night it didn't matter. Elfhelm found himself feeling more carefree than in a long time.
She introduced him to some members of her household and with one elderly woman he ended up talking with for some time, as it turned out they had some common relatives. By the time he took his leave, however, Elfhelm could not see the mistress of the house anymore.
It occurred to him perhaps she had gone out to catch some fresh air. After all, in the hall it was getting quite warm, what with all the people gathered there and ale warming them up. So he but aside his empty mug and began to make way through the crowd.
His guess was correct indeed, for he found Lady Ceolwen outside watching the last rays of sun disappear into the west. The town had quieted down for the night, but lights of torches and candles lit up the settlement on the hill.
"My lady", he called her and stopped to stand beside her. "I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. It has been a truly pleasant evening. I do not recall when I last felt so at ease."
A slight smile appeared on her features. The impact of that expression on her features was something he had never seen before, nor dared to imagine. Suddenly, he became aware that she was a lady both fierce and fair.
"I am glad to hear that", she replied. "It is the least I can do at any rate. After all, I could very well be leading you to your doom by involving you in my business..."
"Lady Ceolwen, I'm glad to be involved. I think this is needed – we have to stand up for ourselves. I do believe our king is on his way, but we can't just wait for him here. It is right, what you said. We can't just expect him to come and solve all our problems", he said gently, reaching to pat her shoulder... but he did not pull back his hand.
He spoke again, softer this time, "I promise you won't lose your home. I'll do everything in my power to prevent that."
She looked at him and her smile was tearful; even a fierce woman like her could experience fear when she was threatened with the prospect of losing the things she loved. Ceolwen said nothing, but instead she threw her arms about him and hugged him tight.
He was too surprised at first to react in any way, but Elfhelm recovered soon enough. So he wrapped his own arms about her as well, breathing in the scent of her hair... his hold of her became tighter and he pulled her closer still. And her form melted against him, and it was no longer a friendly hug, but something else entirely.
But then Ceolwen pulled back. Her eyes were wide and startled as she looked at him, but all Elfhelm could think of that moment was just how much he wanted to kiss her. Perhaps she knew what he was thinking, for she quickly disentangled herself from his arms and fell back.
"I must go – I have to..." she mumbled and turned, hastily making back to the hall.
As for Elfhelm, it took a long moment for him to just get his emotions under control once more. Still and all, he knew he'd not be able to look at Ceolwen again without the feeling of desire.
November 3021, Minas Tirith
Éowyn had not expected to receive summons to Mundburg so soon after they had come to the end of their journey. Rather, she had hoped to have plenty of time with Faramir and enjoy the tranquillity of their home in Emyn Arnen. After all, she had lot to make up to him, what with the way he had endured her absence without a single cross word. Once more, she was reminded how lucky she was to have him.
But then Aragorn had sent a word for her, asking her to come and see him in the White City, and so she had set to travel once more. On the way she had wondered what it could be about and she couldn't help but feel concern as well. Perhaps Aragorn had received some bad news about her brother. If something had happened to Éomer... well, she didn't see how she could take it after all they had gone through to save him.
During the idle hours of the journey, her mind dwelt long on the matter of her brother. That he'd not be all right was something she had known to expect, but Éowyn had not truly understood the extent of his injury before the night he and Lothíriel had left Pelargir. She tried not to feel angry at him for doing that, reminding herself of what Aragorn had told her. If a lonely road with his beloved was what he needed to heal, then what could she possibly say against it? After all, her deepest wish for him was that he could live untroubled and in peace. And still...
Why couldn't you just speak to me, brother?
Be it as may, Éomer and Lothíriel had gone Bema knew where, and the best Éowyn could do was to live her own life best she could. She knew she probably had no reason to worry for her brother: the western kingdoms were safe, and both him and his companion were well capable of taking care of themselves. And she could take comfort in knowing at least he wasn't alone. He had someone looking out for him.
Upon her arrival to Minas Tirith Éowyn quickly learned whatever Aragorn had in mind had to be important, because in the port of Harlond there was actually a guard waiting for her, stationed there with the sole purpose of expecting her arrival and then riding to the Citadel to bring the news. When she had sent him on his way, Éowyn felt all the more worried.
So she wasted no time on her way through the city, and once she arrived to the Court of the Fountain, a servant was waiting there to escort her straight to the King of Gondor and Arnor. Through the great stone halls and hallways she was brought to his study and Aragon must have cleared his timetable to receive her, as there were none of his advisers with him.
"Éowyn", he greeted her. "Thank you for your fast arrival. Though I must apologise for not letting you freshen up first."
"It is no matter. The journey was very comfortable on the ship", she said. "Now, what has happened to make you summon me here with such haste? Is something amiss? Have you received some ill tidings of my brother?"
"Please, sit down. I'll explain you everything", Aragorn said, gesturing at the chair opposite him. He took seat as well and continued, "It's about Rohan. And your brother, I suppose."
She frowned and leaned forward in her chair.
"Have you got news of him? Has something happened?" she asked, dreading the answer already.
"Be at peace. Though the words I have for you certainly are troubling, it shouldn't be something to cause despair", Aragorn said, recognising the need for consolation. He went on then, "About a month ago I tasked Prince Elphir of Dol Amroth with travelling to Rohan. His official mission was to negotiate the matter of purchasing some horses, but my innermost concern was to send him to observe how are things in the Mark in your brother's absence. You see, I had received some reports that seemed to imply not all was as it should be in Rohan."
That did trouble Éowyn indeed. She sat quiet, waiting for her friend to continue his explanation.
"Now, Prince Elphir soon departed to fulfill this task but he never got much farther than the Mering Stream. For soon he and his escort encountered some riders patrolling the borderlands, and they denied the prince a passage through their land. Apparently no foreigner is to enter the realm unless it is with the invitation of one Feran, who presently acts as an underking in Rohan", Aragorn concluded.
His words had Éowyn frozen where she sat. She stared at her friend, trying to process the information she had just received. What on earth was happening in the land of her birth? Such bans had not been in use since the Ring War!
"But Éomer left Erkenbrand and Gamling in charge", she said at last, frowning as she spoke.
"Yes, that was my impression as well. I can only gather things have changed since he left for the south, and I must say I don't feel like that change has been for the better. If people are denied a passage in Rohan, then what else might be happening there without our knowing?",Aragorn said solemnly. His expression became stark, "Éowyn, I know it is a tremendous thing to ask, especially when you already had to leave Faramir for so long, but could you consider travelling again to Rohan? To take the matters under your control, and clear out the mess there?"
"I..." was the only thing she could say at first. For the longest time she was too dumbfounded to really think or say anything. All the while, Aragorn watched her keenly, waiting for her to react.
She had to weigh her options very carefully. Moreover, she had to think of Rohan and what was best for her people there. But then there was Faramir, and her new position as the Princess of Ithilien. Whose need outweighed the others here? That was a question she could not answer. What should she do? What did Rohan need her to do?
The decision she came to was not an easy one. But then, in this matter there were no easy choices, and in her heart she knew this was the only thing she could say.
"I will have to refuse your request", she said quietly. "Not because I don't wish to help, but..."
"But what?" Aragorn asked. He looked rather worried now.
"If I go to Rohan and try to take things under my control, I fear it would just end in a disaster. I may be of the House of Eorl but I am not just the Lady of Rohan anymore. I married a Gondorian man, and... Aragorn, if this Feran is trying to rouse hatred towards Gondor, then he is sure to mark all my attempts as some southern ploy", Éowyn started, explaining her reasoning to her friend.
"The Mark already has a king. And that king is the one who should return to make things right. What would it stir up if I took his place while he were gone? This all sounds like a mess he has to clear up – for the Rohirrim, and for himself. Otherwise, he'll just be the king who let others fight his battles, both in their and in his own eyes. Éomer might have changed because of what happened in south, but even then I'm sure he'd never forgive himself if he is not the one to attend to this matter. I can't take his place, not unless it's absolutely certain he will not come home", she stated and let out a sigh.
Aragorn considered her words in silence for a while. Eventually he nodded.
"Yes, I suppose you're right", he had to agree at last. "It is his fight, rather than anyone else's. Perhaps this is just what he needs to go back."
"But he is Béma knows where right now, and if you send people looking for him... well, half the kingdom will know in no time, and it won't be long until the news spread to Rohan, even if this underking is trying to keep close the borders", Éowyn pointed out. However, a small smile came to Aragorn's face.
"I won't deny it'll be hard to discover him... it is going to need some resources indeed. But I don't need to look for Éomer. I just need to have my men looking for Lothíriel... for I am rather certain if they find her, they will also find him."
Late November 3021, Dunharrow
The two riders came alone from the shadow of Dimholt Road.
Though the way was clear now and no phantoms lurked there any longer, people still appeared uneasy of using that road – companies riding through it were usually large and armed with numerous torches and lanterns. Sceadu would also see the restless looks on the faces of travellers, as though they expected some ghost might still be haunting the path of the dead, and then relief when they could leave that dark way behind. He'd not have admitted it but he was glad his job was only to watch the way.
But these two had no other company than each other, and only the young dark-haired man carried a lantern to light their way. He was of Gondor obviously – his hair and eyes announced so much, as did his array and the steed he was riding. He didn't look like a merchant and neither did he have anything one might want to buy, so Sceadu wondered what could have brought him here.
The other rider was obviously an Eorling. It was not a difficult observation to make, not when he saw the way this man was riding. No southerner handled their horses like Rohirrim did, even if their mount was Gondorian. The longer Sceadu looked at him the more perplexed he grew, because what kind of an Eorling dresses in Gondorian attire and rides one of their horses?
But then he spotted the piece of cloth about the top half of his face, and covering his eyes. A blind man, then... perhaps injured in the wars of the south, and returning his homeland after a long time in recovery.
It was Wiglaf, rising up from his spot by the watch fire, who called out: "Oi! Travellers! Who are you and what's your business in the Mark?"
"Who asks?" called back the blind man. His voice was throaty and low, though in the note of it... there was something Sceadu thought was familiar. However, he could not place that sudden sensation.
"Feran Underking requires that information", Wiglaf replied. That made the stranger turn sharply in his saddle, as though he could still see.
"He's here?" he asked, and Sceadu thought there was something mocking and belligerent about the blind man's voice.
"It's our job, to ask the business of those who wish to enter our lands", he said for his part, though his tone was not as demanding as his companion's.
"What happened to you anyway?" Wiglaf added, staring at the blind man.
"Got injured on the Pelennor fields. Figured I didn't want to let my folks see me like this", he grumbled, twitching slightly. Sceadu could very well understand if the matter was painful.
"What about that friend of yours? Why are you so silent?" Wiglaf asked then.
"That's only because you laddies are too busy shouting at each other – one can't even get one word between you!" replied the Gondorian fellow. He had a rather melodious voice for a man, and his grey eyes sparkled with some inner fire.
"We have orders not to let any Gondorians enter the land without the underking's leave", said Sceadu's companion then, his voice slightly more at edge now, and his hold of his spear tighter.
"So you two would take my guide from me? My eyes even?" the blind man barked. The war-like tone of his voice was surprising for a man who couldn't see. And still a small nattering was at the back of Sceadu's mind, telling him he was missing something.
Wiglaf and Sceadu exchanged a hesitant look.
"Surely we can make an exception this time? He is of the Mark, after all", he said to his guard companion.
"We have our orders, Sceadu", Wiglaf reminded him. He was younger of the two and more in awe of Feran Underking, even if they had been given this task – Sceadu considered it a waste of time to begin with. For one, he couldn't see the sense in guarding the lands from Gondorians, who were friends and allies of the Riddermark.
"Then will you escort the poor bugger to his home?" he asked sharply. The other man didn't seem to know what to say to that.
"I'm half Eorling anyway. I'm married to one, if you must know", announced the Gondorian youth, speaking Rohirric this time; Sceadu had to say his grasp of the tongue was pretty good. And the lad was grinning like there was some private joke in his words.
"Fine. But if a word of this reaches Feran and he gets angry, you'll be the one to blame", Wiglaf muttered under his breath.
"Very well then. You may go, but don't cause any trouble", Sceadu spoke up again, seeing how the two strangers relaxed again.
"Duly noted, riders. Guard on!" said the Gondorian cheerfully and urged forward his horse. The blind man's steed followed. Though apparently he had lost his sight, he had no difficulty in commanding his horse.
Soon the two were gone. Sceadu watched them go and considered this was probably the most interesting thing that would happen today... and perplexing as well, because there was something about that blind rider he felt he should recognise.
But perhaps that was just the first sings of losing his mind – having this job certainly could rob a man of his sense. He sighed and got back to their fire, and his mind turned to other matters... namely, to wondering when he might be able to go home.
"I still can't believe it was that easy", Lothíriel sniggered when at last they were alone again.
"Hmm. I just don't like having to lie", Éomer grumbled for his part, pulling down the blindfold from his face. He saw her expression sober and she rode closer to him, so that she could touch his arm.
"I know that. I'm sorry we couldn't do it any other way. But if the roads are watched... I still think we shouldn't announce your presence just yet. Not before we know what is going on in your land", she said softly, looking at him with gentle eyes.
"Aye", he agreed half-audibly. She was right, of course – to make it known he was alive and returned did not seem like a good idea, not at least before they had found out what was happening in the Mark, and what was this business with the so called underking.
The Mark! Here he was at last, riding from Dunharrow... the lands of Harrowdale were spreading about him, and had he wanted to go there, the town of Harrow would have been only several hours riding away. The sky was the same and the plains as well, and he was in his realm... the landscape was all he remembered, and more. And yet, being here brought him strange feeling like he was looking into the past. Briefly he wondered if Lothíriel had felt the same when they had been in Dol Amroth. However he had been altered, the Riddermark remained.
And though he might have dreaded the return, he was glad to see these great plains again. It was home, no matter what had or would happen. He had bled and fought and suffered for this land and its people, and no imprisonment could ever change what that – his very life – meant.
"How does it feel to be here once more?" Lothíriel asked then.
"It's strange. But nice as well", Éomer replied, not quite knowing how to put it into words otherwise.
"For what it's worth, I'm glad to be here again. I've missed Rohan", she said, her voice growing softer. She looked ahead and wind caught in her hair... she turned to enjoy the light of the sun and her hair billowed about her head; knowing she had cut it for a good reason he had not commented on it but now that it was growing again he was rather glad, as he had always liked her hair. There was something in that sight, of her horseback and holding her posture like any rider who knew their business – relaxed but straight.
She turned to look at him then, smiling as she did. He was able to answer that, though something in his chest grew tight and trembling. He was thankful for her every day, but never had he felt it so strongly as he did now – or how utterly, completely he owed his life to her.
Perhaps she saw something on his face, for her smile turned concerned, and she asked: "Is everything all right?"
"Of course. Let us continue", he just about managed. She nodded quietly and they continued their journey once more.
Absent-mindedly he wrapped the blind-fold around the hilt of his sword and looked ahead again. He turned his gaze to the south-eastern horizon. Somewhere beyond was Edoras his home, standing proud and fair on that hill Eorl the Young had chosen to be the dwelling of his House. There life went by, people lived and loved and cried and laughed, and Feran Underking soiled the very air of Meduseld with his presence. What a strange thought it was, to be so close to the Golden Hall... it felt like a hundred years had passed since he had last seen that place.
Lothíriel spoke up then, interrupting his slightly melancholy line of thought.
"What do you think we should do first? Unless we want to announce your return, we should be careful", she said.
"Aye. If I reveal myself just like that, Béma only knows what would follow. It'd be better to first learn what we can", he agreed. Picturing the event of returning to his throne was somehow bizarre. In a way, it seemed like he'd be claiming a place that belonged to someone else. And his people... he kept imagining a scene where he'd announce himself on the very steps of Edoras, and they would not recognise him.
"Hmm. Perhaps our disguises may serve for a little while more. It worked on those guards in Dunharrow at least. You should just keep on the blindfold and try to speak as low as you can. Meanwhile, I will do the talking and pretend to be some lad you've hired to escort you", she mused.
"Still, I must wonder how would anyone take you for a man", Éomer noted, if only to lighten up the mood for a little bit. It appeared to succeed as well, for his wife smiled.
"Well, you regard me differently than others. And you know me in ways no one else does or ever will", she reminded him, to which he had to agree. Not only because it was true, but also because it went the other way around as well: she had seen him at his lowest point, the full extent of grief and despair he had felt.
That was an oddly comforting thought, which he knew was because of what it meant.
In silence they rode forward, keeping the mountains close to their left as they headed north-west. Soon they'd have to start turning to east, as the town of Harrow was located in that direction. He perceived it was as good place as any to start with queries. In Eastfold all this would have been more difficult, perhaps even impossible, for people there knew him well from his time as a captain and a Marshal. Even then, they woudl have to be careful. Harrow was dangerously close to Edoras, where he had been a frequent visitor before it had become his home. On the other hand, Lothíriel could take care of talking, and he could wait by hooded and blindfolded, looking quietly grim and unresponsive.
But the quiet eventually brought back that nagging thought of what would happen if he was recognised despite their attempts to disguise. Could he take it and be a king again? True, he was generally feeling much better and he wasn't quite so unstable anymore as he had been back in Pelargir, but who was to say all of that wouldn't come back? The healing of past months had not been tried yet, and he knew bearing the crown was a sure way to test it.
That worrisome notion was perhaps the reason Lothíriel noticed the shouts and arguing before he did – he was too engrossed in his thoughts to be as alert as he usually were while riding.
"Beloved, do you hear that? It seems to be coming from behind that hill", she said quietly, as though whoever might be causing that noise would hear her.
Éomer straightened in his saddle, focusing on the sounds of quarrel – he counted at least five different voices.
"What should we do?" she asked, and he saw her knuckles growing white as she gripped her bow.
"It sounds like someone is in trouble", he muttered back. And if that was so, he knew there was only one thing he could do.
This was, he now realised, a part of him no torment could change.
His wife seemed to know what he was thinking. Moreover, if he could read her fierce expression at all, he knew she agreed. So, side by side they urged their horses to a gallop, speeding up the hill.
The situation became clear rather quickly as soon after they had halted up on that hill. There were six men down in a small valley. Two of them were holding back one of them, an elderly man who was cursing and yelling at the fourth. Apparently the target of his fury was rummaging through the saddlebags of the old man. The two remaining men sat horseback, observing the scene.
Lothíriel had apparently already made her judgement of the situation, as the way she was fingering her bow had become anxious.
"Can I nail them down with arrows?" she asked in low, threatening tones.
"Perhaps we should first find out what is happening", he replied, glancing briefly at her. Perhaps it was strange of him but there were times when he kind of forgot what a fierce lioness there was behind the love and gentleness she always showed him.
Pushing aside that thought, he lifted up his voice: "Eorlingas! What business is this?"
Éomer had a powerful voice, which had a lot to do with the years of riding as a captain of men and bellowing commands on battlefields, and so his call had the lot of six momentarily freezing. The two holding back the old man looked a bit like they thought the very hills had suddenly begun to shout in outrage.
"Who would you be, and what gives you the right to question us?" asked the man on horseback, shouting back to the two on the hill.
Éomer glanced at his wife. In her eyes he recognised the same thought that was on him, and in quiet agreement they rode down the hill – she with her bow ready, and his hand on the wrapped hilt of his sword.
"Common decency gives me the right", he answered when they approached the scene, his voice sounding as calm and commanding as it used to. Frowning just slightly as he regarded the five riders, he went on, "What has this man done, that you must hold him down and pillage his belongings?"
"The underking's orders. We are to watch for suspicious activity", said one of the two men who were still horseback. A quick glance and evaluation about the five riders implied these were all rather young men – perhaps even young enough not to have participated in the battles of the Great War. Only one of them looked to have seen more winters than Éomer himself had, and the rider in question somehow seemed to grow smaller at his words. At any rate it looked like none of them had yet recognised him. Perhaps that was understandable: the man sitting on the throne in Edoras had worn rich greens and golds made of fine fabrics and carried a crown on his head, knights in green mantles had followed him, and the rider before these men was a ragged traveller, his beard was longer than it used to be and a hood shadowed his face... and on his features that frown which had been gone for two years. Gone was the red-brown armour, gone was the horsetail helmet. And no one carried the White Horse before him now.
"Suspicious activity? If you allow me an observation, the only ones acting suspiciously here are the five of you!" Lothíriel snapped. "Release that man immediately!"
"You're Gondorian", said the man who was apparently the gang's leader, looking a lot like he was only now noticing this fact. "Gondorians have no business in the Mark without the leave of the underking. You're going to come with us to Edoras!"
The men holding the elderly fellow effectively dropped him and made a move as to approach Lothíriel. Éomer just about had time to see the flash in her eyes, the one he knew to signify danger, before she raised her bow and took aim.
"You will not touch him!" he growled himself, unsheathing his sword. For all the anger the idea of Lothíriel harmed roused in him, he was still able to think clearly enough to keep up her disguise.
It was obvious how it was bound to go after that. Two against five was not much of a challenge for a swordsman such as him, and with Lothíriel's arrows raining on them. Moreover, he quickly saw that though the two men riding had some skill in battle, none of them had such experience of fighting as he did. But even then, he was trying for restraint – as was she, like he quickly noticed. Wrong these men and their orders might be, but Éomer was not going to kill them for it. Still the rush of battle was on him and it was hard to hold himself back; somewhere at the back of his mind, he remembered the last time he had fought had been back on Captain Cairon's ship.
As such, it wasn't much of a fight in the end. The gang apparently thought so too, for suddenly their leader shouted: "Lads, fall back!"
Grimly he regarded them, picking up their injured and making their escape; if they weren't very well-experienced in the art of war, they at least knew how to run. A brief impulse came and went, urging him to ride after them and finish the so called battle. However, Éomer was able to force himself back in line and remind himself pursuing his opponents wasn't worth it. After all, they obviously hadn't recognised him... and while this confrontation might raise attention, dead bodies would be far worse.
He pushed away that thought and turned towards the elderly man. He had remained sitting on the ground, looking like he had just been trying to stay out of the way. He was unarmed, which threatened to raise Éomer's anger again. Assaulting defenceless people just like that! It was hard to believe anyone, even this underking he kept hearing about, would give such orders.
"Are you all right, old man?" Éomer asked, approaching and offering his hand to pull up the stranger. The man took it and he helped him back on his feet.
"I'm fine, thanks to you and your companion. Who do I owe my gratitude, friend? As for my own name, I am called Heming", he said and smiled slightly as he made a clumsy little bow.
The younger man would have spoken again, but it was then he heard the soft, pained moan.
Éomer turned sharply and what he saw was his wife, half-collapsed against her horse, and clutching her hand against her side. Though she was pressing against it hard, blood was still spilling through her fingers.
Then her feet gave in under her and she fell, endlessly fell, and as he flew to her all he could feel or think was the terror of losing... that one demon returned to torment him once more.
A/N: Here we are, back in Rohan, and we go down with a cliffhanger! I'm not sorry.
Again lots of stuff going on in this chapter. I must say the part with Elfhelm and Ceolwen has truly got out of my hand - I hadn't originally planned it but ever since Ceolwen made her first appearance I knew she'd have to come back. Also many of you, my dear readers, expressed your wish to read more of her. I must say I'm pretty happy for including this bit to the story!
Also we see Éowyn's reaction to the events back in Rohan. I'd like to emphasise she does know and understand it's a severe situation, but she feels (rightly, I think) that Éomer must be the one to put things in order there, not her.
Lothíriel and Éomer are now back in Rohan, and we'll see how this goes from here. I'd say her injury might mix up things somewhat. Also, in this chapter Heming returns once more to the story. I'm not sure if you think Éomer should have been recognised, but at least to me it was plausible that he could go unnoticed at least this far. He has changed after all, and like he thinks to himself, this ragged traveller is not exactly the man in kingly attire with Riders about him. One of the guards at Dunharrow does feel he is familiar but can't make the connection, and the men harrassing Heming are pretty young men from Westfold, so they don't know Éomer as well as some other folks might. I'd say Lothíriel works as something of a camouflage for him as well, if you allow such an expression. I think people would be more inclined to pay attention to this obviously Gondorian fellow and wonder how he got there in the first place. It would probaly be different though had they got to the town of Harrow in this chapter, not to mention Edoras.
Hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by Rainer Maria Rilke.
Inspiration for the chapter: Dougie Maclean - The Gael
Jo - That I'm glad to hear! :)
Thalia - I think Elfhelm would feel kind of responsible for Elva in some ways, what with her own father gone and seeing how she misses him. Éothain is Elfhelm's friend so I think he'd think he should look after his family when Éothain himself can't. Also I've got a feeling Elfhelm is really good with kids, even if they're not his own. :)
I'm not sure Scýne knows what happened to Éothain. He probably didn't even get a chance of seeing his family when he returned from south.
And yeah, I guess Ceolwen following Elfhelm was somewhat creepy. She just felt she had to catch him alone and in secret.
It was indeed pleasant to write some peaceful times for Lothíriel and Éomer! They don't really know yet what is going on but I think they're starting to get an idea.
Bowmaiden - I'm happy to hear you enjoy the story so much! Hope you like this update as well.
brandibuckeye - And now they are indeed in Rohan. :) Don't know if this is what you expected.
Starlight - Yes, Éomer is perhaps starting to understand how very much he is needed in Rohan right now.
Small kids are indeed fun to watch! I've got a one-year-old niece as well, she's a total cutie.
Disappointed - I'm rather sad to hear that. Considering I already extensively explained Éomer's motivation to leave, I don't really know what more I could tell you. You do, however, seem to regard him too much the way he was before, and miss the point that he isn't that man right now. The events of the book are one thing, but since then he has witnessed the slaughter of his friends and guards, suffered violence and torment and imprisonment, had his pride and dignity taken from him, and resigned himself to death. Would you be yourself at that point? And considering the things Éomer has gone through, I find it kind of a bizarre request that a person recovering from trauma should have to be "likeable". Plus as I stated before if he knew what is going on in his realm it is likely he'd have made a different choice. And as the last chapter illustrates, the minute he learns something is afoot in Rohan, the old call of duty starts to stir.
We all react to abuse and trauma in different ways. Good for you if you can say for sure you'd stay the same as you were before, but please remember one person's reaction is not universal. Moreover, take this unstable mental state and add to it a stressful situation and having to make a difficult choice, and perhaps then you'll start to understand why Éomer chose to take this road. At any rate I simply don't want to write static characters who are not affected by their experiences.
As to the slow pace, I don't really understand the appeal of running through the story like so. especially with all the story threads I have going on. I'd rather give my characters and the plot the consideration they deserve than present some half-assed tale that makes no sense.
UntilNeverDawns - It doesn't look like now it's going to be an easy road!
Kiiimberly - Good to hear I managed to clarify the timeline! :) Hope you like this chapter.
MairaElleth - I'm pretty excited about getting to write about Rohan again, too. After all, Rohan and Rohirrim are my very favourite thing about Lord of the Rings!
I'm glad you're on the same page about Elphir. I think it's realistic that not everyone would be completely enamoured with Aragorn.
Whatever the mention about Lothíriel's cycle may mean - I'm not going to give any spoilers here! - it is nice to know that you think so. I hadn't realised that the mention of it would make her more relatable, so thanks for pointing that out.
Talia119 - There are safety issues already indeed! We'll see how that develops, but for now things aren't looking so good for Lothíriel.
It'd be one way to go about it, for Éomer to contact Aragorn first. But I think he'd rather investigate the matter by himself rather than making any decisions such as that quite yet. Like you said, it's definitely in good part because he doesn't have a clear idea of what is happening in Rohan exactly.
As for the possibility of a heir born... well, wait and see!
Wondereye - I thought so too! It didn't seem to me that he'd be willing to reveal himself before he has found out what is happening in the realm.
Hopefully my explanations and the chapter convinced you of why he wasn't recognised yet.