Kiss me, then,
Every moment, and again.
- "The Poetess"
Chapter 40
Late November 3021, on way to Edoras
Of the five riders, three were in the need of a healer. One had a bad-looking arrow wound and needed to be supported in saddle, and others had smaller injuries that did not prevent them from riding. Their leader Unferth had to admit – if only to himself – that he had made a miscalculation in thinking they could take down the two strange travellers. He had not expected such fierce response, though perhaps he should have known from the tall Eorling's very appearance. Even then, the affair did anger him. They had just been attending to their orders, and the underking would not be pleased to hear of what had happened. Not only had their mission been interrupted, but Feran was unlikely to react well to some renegade riders, one of whom was Gondorian, so opposing his authority.
There was something more to the matter as well. Something about the hooded man... the command in his voice had brought Unferth this bizarre feeling he ought to obey, and the dark piercing eyes, gleaming in the shadows of the man's hood, had eventually forced him to look away. Yet now he knew he should have looked more carefully. Who were those two? Where had they come from?
Hoping his companions had caught something he hadn't, Unferth glanced about the men riding with him, close enough to carry on a conversation.
"Did you think there was something familiar about that tall fellow?" he asked and received some confused looks from the others, except from Osgar. He was the only older member of the group – in fact, he could have been a father to the youngest of them. Osgar had seen battle but it was said he had lost his nerve in the Battle of Pelennor fields. He had been injured and healed fully afterwards... at least as far as his body went. The man simply couldn't fight anymore, not the way he used to. But being kin to Feran did not earn rest to anyone.
It wasn't Osgar who spoke first though. Instead, Herebar did: "I didn't get much of a look, what with that hood. But why does it matter? He was probably just some wandering rider of Lord Elfhelm's ilk, too caught up with past and dead kings to move on to the present."
"He was no wandering rider. It was Marshal Éomund himself", Osgar spoke up suddenly. He was a quiet man and it was not often he wasted words. Unferth thought that was probably wise, considering the man was now suggesting something so mad.
"The dead don't return and if they did, why would he choose that place of all the places in the world?" he asked sharply.
"I used to ride with Lord Éomund before he married the Princess Théodwyn. I knew him, and that man we saw had his bearing", Osgar said stubbornly, frowning as he spoke.
"He died over seventeen years ago. What power could possibly bring him back after all this time? And even it was him, why would he be riding with some odd Gondorian? Like I said – the dead don't return", Unferth said, speaking louder now.
"The Gondorian won't be riding any longer", Herebar muttered gruffly. "I gave him a little gift when we departed. Didn't even see me coming, the way he was concentrated on guarding the back of that so called ghost of Éomund."
"Even so", Osgar said softly, "He wasn't wrong to intervene – ghost or not."
Unferth glanced at him sharply; the man was a second cousin to the underking but lately his opinions had become increasingly critical of his powerful kinsman.
"And why is that?" Unferth asked, not even trying to hide the cutting tone.
"Because to intervene is what Théoden King or Éomer King would have done. They wouldn't allow harassing travellers", Osgar pointed out, his voice falling even more quiet now, and he looked like he already knew the answers his words would receive.
"And they are both dead and their disallowing days are over", Unferth said calmly. "What matters is the present and the orders we have now."
"As you say", said the old man quietly and spoke no more.
The rest of the way was made in silence, interrupted only by the moans of the man with the arrow wound. Unferth looked ahead, dreading already what would the underking say when he'd hear these tidings.
A feeling of foreboding caught him unawares. In the quiet of his thoughts, Unferth felt it would be all for the better if it had been the ghost of Éomund they had met... for the alternative could be so much worse.
Late November 3021, Lamedon
The word had come to Dol Amroth about two weeks ago.
Aragorn had sent it to Amrothos himself, which was a rare thing – usually whatever business King Elessar had with Amrothians was mainly Father's concern. But this time it was the youngest of three princes that the King of Gondor and Arnor needed.
The matter in the letter had been quite simple. Aragorn had apparently received some alarming news from Rohan, and was now once more looking for his friend the King of the Mark. Something ill was afoot in Éomer's realm and Aragorn felt his fellow king should know about it as soon as possible - and go home to fix it, if he could.
Amrothos' part in all this was to and look for the king in wandering. Or rather, his sister. For the fact that Éomer had returned alive from the south was not a news widely spread yet, and Aragorn wished the matter to remain so for the time being. As such, the actual orders were to seek Lothíriel. He had rightly guessed that finding her would mean finding Éomer as well. Amrothos at least had no reason to believe the two might have parted ways.
His liege-lord placed his chiefest hope on Amrothos. For one, Aragorn believed he might have the best chances of persuading the two wanderers to leave the aimless road and return to the world they belonged. After all, Lothíriel had always been more prone to listen to him than rest of her family. If Amrothos could get his sister on his side, then she could talk to Éomer and persuade him to go home. She had the greatest sway when it came to his opinion, and the prince felt she was the only one able to change his mind.
So Amrothos had left with ten of his father's men, to try and track down the wandering pair. It had not been an easy task, because Éomer and Lothíriel had made very little noise about themselves if anything could be judged from how sparse the news of them were. But Amrothos kept pushing forward, meeting people in the towns and villages and asking about a travelling pair.
However, how do you find people who don't want to be found?
That was why, after two weeks of searching in vain, Amrothos' second-in-command Dilion asked if they should just give up.
"We have got little to no news of your lady sister, my prince. She obviously has no desire to return", said the man on that day when they were nearing the town of Calembel. "Perhaps this is not the way she came at all in the first place. If I should guess, we'd do better if we headed for Edhellond."
"And that's exactly how she'd think where people would go looking for her, if such a thing happened. I know my sister, Dilion. If she's trying to cover her tracks and remain undiscovered, then she'd rather come this way than head for Edhellond", Amrothos said steadily. "And anyway, King Elessar was very clear how important he considers this matter. We can't disappoint him."
"Why is it so important?" Dilion asked with some curiosity.
"I'm sure our liege-lord has his reasons", Amrothos replied stiffly. It wasn't like he could really give the true reason to this quest – any murmurs about Éomer's survival would only have the rumour mill spinning tales that had little to nothing to do with the truth, and the prince agreed with King Elessar that the Lord of the Mark deserved the chance of revealing it in his own time and terms.
Dilion did not seem completely convinced but he said no more. Instead, he let his steed fall slightly behind. Still, for all his reassurances to his second-in-command, Amrothos could not deny he felt doubtful too. For one, he too was becoming less and less convinced they could even find his sister and her husband. And what then, if they did? Would they want to listen to him? Would they understand how dire the situation was?
Furthermore, there was one very alarming possibility. Éomer might understand how grave it was... but he could be so changed that he didn't care.
But the prince tried not to think of that. Surely a man so honourable would not just stand back if his people needed him?
So the Amrothian riders kept going, asking the people they came across for a young dark-haired woman who might have passed this way. If anyone had seen her, Amrothos was sure they'd remember. After all, a short-haired maiden dressed in tunics and breeches should be something not easily forgotten. Unless, of course, she had taken to posing as a man again.
Truly, the lengths she could go for Éomer were bewildering sometimes.
However for all their seeking they heard very little that could be of use, and even Amrothos had to reluctantly face the possibility they would not find Lothíriel. On a grey morrow of late November, after they had crossed over the river Ciril, Dilion spoke up more demandingly.
"My lord, I should think we need to face the truth at last. Your lady sister never came this way. Perhaps we should head back to Dol Amroth? It could very well be some other search party has been more successful", he said, trying to control the urgency in his voice but not quite succeeding.
Amrothos sighed and rubbed his forehead. If only he had known this would come to pass! Lothíriel had been there in Dol Amroth with Éomer, just at his reach – he could have stopped them right there and then. And yet he had just let them go. He tried to tell himself he couldn't have known it would turn out like this, and still...
"Very well. We'll search for this one more day, and tomorrow we will head home", he said at last. Dilion seemed satisfied with that, and the moods of the company were visibly lifted by the prospect of going home.
They came by the farm when afternoon was growing late. It was neatly kept, with immaculately cared-for yard and outbuildings. It was located close to the road, so if Lothíriel and Éomer had passed this way, the people living here might have seen them. A small boy was playing before the porch, and an older one sat on the steps, concentrated on carving some wood. But at the sight of the riders he looked up curiously.
"You there, lad", called Amrothos.
"Yes, my lord? Can I be of help?" inquired the boy as he rose up to his feet. He was certainly a well-behaved young fellow.
"Are your parents home? I'd like to speak with them", the prince said.
"My mother is inside. I'll go and get her, my lord", answered the boy and hurried in. Soon he returned with a woman; Amrothos evaluated she was in her forties, and looked to be the mistress of the house.
"Good day, my lord. You're welcome on our farm, though I must say when my boy here came to fetch me, I had hard time believing such important folk would come here. You're from Dol Amroth, aren't you?" she asked, regarding the prince with great interest.
"Yes, we come indeed from that city", Amrothos confirmed. He sat straighter in his saddle, "Mistress, I assume I'm right in believing you see a lot of travellers passing by your home?"
"That is true indeed", she confirmed.
"Then I'd ask if you've recently seen a young woman travel by here. She would have short dark hair, and she should be wearing an attire more fitting of a man. And she would have the appearance of Númenorean descent", he said. He made no mention of Éomer – Aragorn had told him to be careful about his words, as they didn't want to draw anyone's attention unnecessarily to the the Rohir.
After the disappointments he had already faced he was not really waiting to hear an affirmative answer, and so he was even somewhat surprised when the woman eagerly nodded.
"Oh, such a traveller did indeed pass this way a couple of weeks ago, along with a tall man of Rohan. She bought some food, and my son here watered their horses", she said, and her words made Amrothos' heart leap in sudden hope.
"Did she say where they were heading next?" he asked quickly. But the farmer's wife shook her head.
"No, she did not. I suppose they continued towards Tarlang's Neck, but one can't know for sure", she said apologetically, as though she was feeling guilty for not knowing more.
Amrothos was already resigning himself for the disappointment of not having anything else to work with. But then her eyes lit up with something of a excitement.
"Oh! There was one thing that caught my attention. She was very curious about news from Rohan", she quickly added. That sparked Amrothos' interest right away.
"And what did you tell her?" he asked, not even trying to hide the enthusiasm from his voice.
"Just what I've heard from other travellers. They say Rohan is not as welcoming a place as it used to be, and that there is now some underking ruling there", she explained.
Those news were telling indeed, and Amrothos allowed himself a smile. Finally, some progress!
"Thank you, kind mistress. You have been most helpful", he said and gestured to Dilion; the man dismounted and approached the woman to give her some coin as a reward for her help. That made her eyes widen in surprise.
"I am most happy to help, my lord", she said and curtsied; her sons bowed as well.
Amrothos and his company returned to the road again after that. However, it was not Tarlang's Neck they turned for. Instead, like he had promised they started for the journey home. When Dilion asked why this was now that they had heard news of Lothíriel, the prince smiled slightly.
"We don't have to follow my sister. In fact, it is still unlikely that we'd even find her. However, I now see we don't need to find her", he stated calmly.
"May I ask why?" Dilion inquired.
Amrothos glanced behind himself, and to the White Mountains that stood between the northern land of Rohan and Gondor. Had the two travellers already got past those mountains? And how soon would it be, that her family in south would hear of her again?
"Because I think she is already on her way to that place where she needs to be."
Late November 3021, Astdun, Rohan
The days after Elfhelm's arrival had gone by fast. There was much to be done, if they meant to stand against the underking. Of course, he was hoping that Éomer would come home before that; his return was should allow them to find a peaceful solution. But if he was being held back in the south, or he was recovering from some injuries, then he might not make it back before Yuletide. And it was better to be safe than sorry.
Astdun had good battlements, though some fortifications were needed, and Elfhelm had his hands full in training the people of the town to defend their home from invasion. Though Rohirrim mainly relied on their cavalry, and blockade was not a commonly used strategy, professional Riders would at least train for it with their captains and Marshals. Elfhelm himself had lead such training with his own Riders in times before, much to Ceolwen's satisfaction. They both agreed they ought to prepare for the worst possibility, and Astdun's ability to stand a siege could make all the difference in playing time.
"It is a very uncertain future before us", he had said to Ceolwen when he had got a look at the town's defences. "If Feran falls on us with all the might of the Mark behind him, then I do not see much hope for our cause. But it's not the only alternative. For one, Éomer's return should change everything, if he is able to come home before you are supposed to give your answer. And even if he doesn't... well, I wouldn't abandon hope. We can't be the only people in the Riddermark to think ill of the underking. If we stand up, it could very well inspire others to defy him."
"Aye, I hope so as well", said Ceolwen. Still, a slight frown was there on her brow, "But I still feel like I am just dragging you down with me. And not just you, but all the people of Astdun."
"Your folk love you, my lady. And they know Feran is a scoundrel. They will fight for you and do it gladly", Elfhelm reassured her. Then he had to turn his gaze away, because he didn't think she would appreciate the look of longing he surely had in his eyes. Béma take him and his wandering eyes! Lady Ceolwen was too fine a woman for a disgraced drunkard.
Ohthere her steward seemed to think the same, as there was always that particular narrowing of his eyes when he looked at the former Marshal. It did not disappear even when Elfhelm did his best to behave courteously. Indeed, there was no fault in his conduct: he dressed neatly, didn't drink much ale, bathed and shaved regularly, attended to his new duties immaculately, and always treated the Lady of the town with utmost respect. But even with all these things there were times when he'd forget himself, and then he'd gaze at the Lady Ceolwen with yearning he couldn't suppress. He was fairly sure she had noticed, but be it as may the matter was never spoken of between them.
However, for all the concern for future and unrequited yearning, the life in Astdun on those weeks before Yuletide was perhaps more fulfilling than anything had been since the southern campaign. For once, Elfhelm felt he was making a difference, that he had a real purpose for his life. And even if all this would turn the worst way possible and it was death that awaited him... well, he found he could accept that. If there had ever been a woman worth dying for, it was Ceolwen.
Then only a few days before the end of November, a few riders arrived from Edoras. Elfhelm wasn't well-pleased to let them enter the town, as it was obvious they'd report everything they saw to Feran. But though the Lady of Astdun seemed equally uneasy for this development, she also stated she could not deny them entrance to her town.
"I can't not let Feran think that I'm planning to stand against him. Not yet at least, while we still have time to prepare. I will deal with these riders and retain the peace for now", she said before they were to go to the hall, where she would receive the men Feran had sent. She was looking rather beautiful that day, what with her deep purple gown and her hair falling on her back in elaborate braids.
"Very well then", Elfhelm sighed. She could make her own decisions, and perhaps she was right in the end. "Do you wish me to stay out of sight?"
"No. What would be the point in that? I'm sure Feran has already realised where you went when you left Aldburg. I would not have them thinking we have something to conceal", Ceolwen decided.
"Still, my presence will not make Feran and his ilk love you. You know the man hates me", he reminded her.
"Aye, he does", she allowed. "But trying to hide you is not like to make him relent."
"Hmm. I suppose it can't be helped", he muttered.
A small smile had come to Ceolwen's face as she regarded him.
"I am thankful for all your help, Elfhelm. I truly am", she said softly. In her ice blue eyes there was an expression he didn't entirely understand.
"Well, what kind of a man would it make me if I didn't try to help you?" he asked and clumsily patted her shoulder. It was odd, how she affected him sometimes; she had a way of making him feel like he was a lad of no more than sixteen summers. He couldn't help but wonder if his friends had felt as foolish around their lady loves as he did now with Ceolwen.
The situation started to turn slightly awkward then, and the Shieldmaiden straightened.
"Shall we go then?" she asked. "And please, let me handle everything. It is probably for the better that way."
"As my lady commands", he said, bowing at her. Then he sighed, hoped for the best, and followed her.
There was an atmosphere of waiting in the hall of the Lady of Astdun. The members of the household tried to look like they were minding their own business, but Elfhelm knew this was as dire to them as it was to himself or their mistress.
At the end of the hall, where the lady's table usually stood, was the seat of Lady Ceolwen. It was vaguely reminiscent of the throne that stood in the Golden Hall of Edoras, though this one was smaller and plainer. On Ceolwen's face there was a stoic look as she claimed the seat and gestured him to remain somewhere close. Elfhelm settled to stand on her left side, but not so close that he'd seem to possess some place of special importance there. She might maintain there was no reason for him to hide, but the former Marshal remained doubtful.
Lady Ceolwen seemed to take a breath then, like she was preparing for some confrontation, and at last she made a gesture for the guards of her household to open the doors and bid in the riders from Edoras. So the twin doors at the end of the hall were opened and Feran's henchmen came in.
Elfhelm knew them by face but not by name. He had seen them in Edoras and had gathered they were men Feran had brought with him from Westfold. As he had known to expect, their eyes lingered on him when they approached Lady Ceolwen, but he met those looks calmly. After all, even with all his concern, he had every right to be here.
The riders, of whom there were four, stopped at last before the mistress of the house. Elfhelm spied a glance of her face from the corner of his eye but her face betrayed nothing. She occupied her seat with smooth ease and regarded her guests steadily.
"What brings you to Astdun, Riders?" Lady Ceolwen inquired.
"Feran Underking sends his regards to the Lady Ceolwen of Astdun", started a fellow Elfhelm took for the leader of this company. He was a slightly older rider, perhaps closer to his fifties than his forties. However, his hair was still bright golden.
After a moment of silence, like he had just stopped to watch whether she'd react in any way, he continued, "He also asked me to tell you he awaits for your answer very anxiously."
"As we agreed, I will not give any answer until after Yuletide", Ceolwen stated. "I must wonder why does he send men all this way just to make such queries, when he already knows I won't give my reply before due time."
"My lady, it is just that your lord cousin is pushing the underking for his inheritance. It would be easier for all the sooner the matter was settled", said the leader of the group, his tone perfectly pleasant.
Elfhelm could practically feel the space about Lady Ceolwen charging. She sat a bit straighter and though he wasn't looking at her, he knew she must be a vision of dread; on the faces of all four men some doubt – even fear – appeared.
"His inheritance?" Ceolwen asked loudly. "I know my cousin is an arrogant oaf, but that he'd raise himself above not only my father the late Lord of Astdun, but also of Éomer King, who decreed this seat is rightfully mine?"
Her question brought the riders rather obvious discomfort, and Elfhelm had to fight a smile. For a reason he couldn't have explained he felt proud of her. None of you would survive meeting her on the battlefield.
As he'd have known to expect, her words rendered them speechless. The men from Edoras shared some troubled glances before their leader spoke up again.
"It is known how my lady feels about the matter, but times and things change, and we can't always just seek our future by looking back to the past, and to what dead kings might have said or done", he said at last. Lady Ceolwen, however, remained undaunted.
"Then what about right and wrong? Is that not a good path to follow?" she asked sharply. That silenced the riders again and Elfhelm gathered they had already realised they could not beat her in this exchange of words. It was probably for that reason the attention of another member of the company turned towards the former Marshal right then.
"We will see how our paths go after Yuletide, my lady", he stated, glancing at Elfhelm. "But I notice you have a visitor here. My lord Feran did wonder where Lord Elfhelm had headed after leaving Aldburg so unceremoniously."
"Lord Elfhelm is an old friend of mine. He is currently a guest in my house", Lady Ceolwen said smoothly.
"Was Aldburg not to your liking, my lord?" asked the man. He was younger than the one who had first spoken, and his hair was a wild mass of red-gold.
Elfhelm shrugged.
"I go where the wind takes me. I'm a free man, and presently Astdun is preferable to other choices", he said nonchalantly.
"It must be said the underking was not pleased with your sudden departure", said the man with the red-gold hair. At that Elfhelm had to lift his eyebrows.
"And I have to wonder why should he take such offence, considering he was never very pleased with my presence either", he replied, somehow able to retain the calm of his voice. But it did not very much satisfy the other man.
"It would be wise to return where you belong. Otherwise, the underking might not find your services a resource anymore", said the rider pointedly. However, Elfhelm did not allow it to get to him.
"Nor does he have to, though it is very kind of him to worry over me and my welfare so much", Elfhelm said steadily. He gave the man one of his sterner looks, the kind that had earned him a fearsome reputation among some of the younger riders back when he had been a Marshal.
"And for my part, I have no reason to send Lord Elfhelm on his way", she stated. "Surely the underking agrees that free men should not be hindered from going where they wish to go? After all, Lord Feran did decree it necessary to relieve Lord Elfhelm of his duties as a Marshal. No oath of honour or duty binds my guest now."
The riders from Edoras exchanged a look that could only be called sour.
"As you say, my lady", said the man with red-gold hair and fell silent.
"It must be said, if you allow such observation – a lady of such confidence and will would make a fine consort for the underking", commented the man who had first spoken. For one reason or the other, those words instantly brought Elfhelm a stinging sensation he couldn't really name. It had something of jealousy and something of anger, but as before, his reaction was not needed.
"I did not allow observations about my marital status. I have already told you I will not give my answer until after Yuletide, and goading me will not get you anywhere – least of all does it motivate me to answer positively", Lady Ceolwen said, her voice rather sharp now.
Evidently the riders recognised they were about to enter a dangerous place here, and it was better to back down. When they said they would be returning to Edoras and didn't need a place to stay, Elfhelm had to hold back a breath of relief. He wasn't sure he could have pretended politeness much longer with these men. They probably knew they were not welcome guests.
Lady Ceolwen did her best at least, even going as far as escorting them to the courtyard. He followed her quietly, if just to see these riders gone. As Elfhelm watched them mount their horses and turn away, he wondered where and how such a breed of men had come from. He at least remembered Eorlingas as being an honest, straightforward people.
A lot of things went crooked with that campaign to the south... please, my king, hurry back home.
As for the mistress of the house, she stood straight and stiff, watching Feran's men as they departed. The slight frown made way to her features, speaking of her unease. When the riders were gone, she let out a small sigh. Ever so gently he laid a hand on her shoulder.
"If there is anything..." Elfhelm started, but soon his voice trailed off, and he knew she didn't need to hear the rest of it. She already knew.
Ceolwen turned to look at him, and though her eyes were dark, there was also unbending will. She would not give up her home without a fight.
"You know there is only one path for us to follow", she said.
"Unless our king comes home before that", he tried anyway, but the prospect didn't seem to bring her much comfort.
"If he ever does", she said quietly and shook her head. When she spoke again, it was in a low voice, "I'd like to be alone for a bit, if that is fine by you."
"Of course, my lady", said Elfhelm and bowed at her, feeling uneasy for not knowing how to help her or make her feel better.
He did not see her again that day. To distract himself, if only for a little while, he spent much of it at the training grounds sparring with Ceolwen's household guards. By the time he got back, sun was setting and supper was being served in her hall. At that time the lady was not in her usual place. It did worry him, though he knew she was strong and could handle whatever came her way. Perhaps it was only natural for him to feel such concern... even if she wasn't his to worry for.
The former Marshal made early for the bed, feeling tired after the confrontation with Feran's men and then toiling on the training grounds. So he just rid himself of clothing and crawled into his bed, falling asleep in minutes after his head touched the pillow.
He awakened around midnight, startling to consciousness by some small disturbance; like all experienced Riders, he had mastered the skill of light sleep. Blinking his eyes, he lifted up his head and gazed about in an attempt to see what had disturbed him... and there at the door stood a pale figure. Her nightgown was light and seemed almost luminous in the shine of the moon, and her long hair flowed open down her back. Elfhelm had to rub his eyes to make sure she was really there, and this wasn't just the beginning of some delightful dream.
"My lady", he called, his voice hoarse from sleep. "Is something wrong?"
"No... no. I just... I couldn't sleep", said Ceolwen and took a small step closer towards the bed.
"Is there anything I can do?" Elfhelm asked carefully. He had no idea what was happening here, though he certainly did know what he hoped for.
And as if the fates were for once hearing the desires of his heart, Lady Ceolwen approached him, and she lowered herself on the edge of the bed. He scarcely dared to breathe for the fear she might dart away or just disappear. Instead, he stared at her silently, adoring the way moonlight glistened on her skin.
Quietly she reached over, and her hand was strong and hard against his bearded cheek. Ceolwen's eyes were shadowed as he met them, searching for... Béma knew what she was searching. He desperately needed to know what she was thinking.
However, he was not left wondering for long.
"Kiss me, Elfhelm", she whispered.
And the last coherent thought in his mind on that night was he had never tasted anything so sweet as her lips.
Late November 3021, Harrowdale
The evening in the reaches of Harrowdale was quiet, as evenings usually were. Sunset was at hand and Eadgyd was anxiously waiting for her husband. He had gone to Harrow to get some supplies, spending the whole day away. Heming wasn't quite so young anymore as he used to be, and so these trips took more time than in times before. And these days, with all the troubling news in the realm, she worried even more.
He should be home by now, and so Eadgyd found herself returning to the door to gaze to the path leading to the farm. The temperature was going down, while her concern grew. Rationally thinking she knew her husband could take care of himself, but past few months had showed even that was not always enough.
The sun had gone down when she finally heard the noises of horses. Eadgyd's first reaction was relief, but then she realised there wasn't just one horse, the one belonging to Heming; gracelessly she hurried outside, though she knew he would probably have told her to bolt the door.
But Eadgyd had barely got to the doorstep when she already saw them coming: her husband was first, and behind him a Rider carrying a dark-haired, unconscious lad in his arms. About the poor thing's midsection there was a mass of ripped fabric stained with blood. The man carrying him was imposingly tall and broad of shoulder and she knew the look of a seasoned warrior. However, his face was that of a man caught in a horrible nightmare.
"Eadgyd! This lad needs your help!" said Heming in alarm. His hands were stained with blood as well.
Though this scene was raising up all kinds of questions in Eadgyd's mind, she knew now was not a time for asking anything. It looked like the lad had already lost a lot of blood and if it was not stopped soon, he'd lose his life as well.
"I will need a moment to prepare. Put him in the back", she instructed. Wasting no time, Heming lead the Rider to the back of the main room; there was a narrow door to another chamber. It wasn't as big as the one she and her husband slept in, but it could just about house these two. In times before, the family had been bigger and every nook and cranny had been in use. However, the years had left the elderly couple alone and the farm which had once known so much noise was now quiet.
Meanwhile, Eadgyd hurried to where she kept her healing supplies. Her skills in that art were mostly basic, but she could tend to a wound as well as anyone. Living here, half a day's ride away from Harrow and most other dwellings of people, had made it necessary for her to be able to treat minor injuries.
When she had everything she needed, she quickly made way to the bedside. The lad's face was ashen and he was still unconscious, and the Rider hovered over him in deep distress. Gently she pushed him aside so that she could tend to the youth, and though a dangerous flash briefly appeared in the tall man's eyes, he allowed her to do so. She started to undo the ripped pieces of what looked to have been someone's shirt.
"What happened?" Eadgyd asked in the middle of that task.
"I got into some trouble with those ruffians from Edoras, and these two intervened and helped me. It was not without a price... sword, I assume?" Heming explained, glancing at the Rider. The intensely anxious look on his face had not eased at all.
"Aye, I think so. I wasn't guarding her – she usually doesn't need me to..." he muttered, half to himself.
She?
Eadgyd got the answer and the confirmation when she buttoned open her patient's shirt and she saw the wrapping about her chest. Indeed, it wasn't a lad at all in her care but a woman who apparently thought it necessary to travel as a man! Who had heard of such a thing?
But then she got to the wound itself – a lash by the side of her patient.
"This needs sewing. Otherwise, I don't think the bleeding will stop", Eadgyd said after examining it for a moment.
"Do what you must. Just save her", said the tall Rider. His voice was low and strained, and his dark pained eyes were fixed on the unconscious woman.
And Eadgyd did her best.
Her patient was strong apparently, for though she did not come around, her heartbeat never faltered. Sewing up a wound was a laborious work but at last Eadgyd could wrap clean linen about it and tie the dressing carefully.
"Will she make it?" asked the tall man; he had not spoken a word while she had worked over the wound.
"I've done all that I can. It depends on her now", she replied, keeping her tone comforting. "We need to let her rest. She needs it to regain her strength."
He nodded mutely and looked like he'd have sat there for the rest of the night just like so, had she not then suggested he lift her for a bit so that Eadgyd could change the bloodied sheets. When that was done and the young woman was resting on the bed again, she gently touched his arm.
"Why don't you go and get cleaned up as well? You shouldn't sit the night here, all covered in blood", she suggested. Again he just nodded. Heming, who had disappeared at some point to take care of the horses and then returned to hover near in case he was needed was needed, took his cue.
"I'll heat up some water for you, my friend. Come with me", he beckoned. Without a further word, the two men made way outside.
Eadgyd remained beside her patient's bedside for a while. Carefully she covered the young woman with blankets... watching the steady rise and fall of her chest – the proof she was fighting for her life. Though she was not able to answer, Eadgyd could not help but ask: "Where did you two come from?"
Somehow it looked unreal, the water dripping from his hands, turned red by his wife's blood. There was so much of it, he felt – little more and she might have died. Éomer felt oddly detached this moment, like he was just observing from afar what was happening. Perhaps that was for the better, because if he had lost it when Lothíriel needed him to think clearly...
Back on Captain Cairon's ship he had understood how it really was. When Lothíriel had vanished into the sea, he had known just how very deeply needed her. And he still did, because even now she was pulling him through.
Only this time, he could not dive in after her. If he lost his wife... well, that was not a prospect he wanted to think of any more than this.
Fortunately, it was then Heming returned – the man had helpfully gone to fetch him some clean clothes. Éomer turned sharply to face the doorway, as to not let the man see the catastrophe that was the skin of his back... though it wasn't just that, for his hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword. Heming's eyes rested briefly on that hand but his face did not betray any uneasiness.
"You have some very quick reflexes", the man noted and handed over the clothes with a small friendly smile, and Éomer quickly pulled on a shirt. It wasn't very warm in the homestead.
"Old habit. I've been a Rider for a long time", he replied, forcing himself to relax and instead concentrate on dressing up. He really didn't need Heming thinking he had picked up some madman from the road.
"Aye. I knew as soon as I saw you. It never really leaves you, if you do it long enough", Heming said softly, shaking his head.
"You were a Rider too?" Éomer asked carefully.
"Long time ago. As a boy, becoming a warrior was all I wanted. But when I got it... well, I soon understood it wasn't my heart's true desire", Heming answered. He cast the other man a searching look then, "You did not tell me your names yet."
For a moment, he considered what he should say. On one hand he did not want to make any revelations just now, as the old couple apparently hadn't recognised him or Lothíriel. On the other hand, after their aid these people did not deserve lies.
"My wife was sometimes called Garafiell by her father", he said at length, not meeting Heming's eyes. "As for myself, presently I go by the name of Éðelléas."
The older man regarded him quietly for a while, and Éomer turned to look at him at last, in order to see how that response made the man react. At any rate he did not see anything on Heming's face that might speak of offence or doubt.
"Did something bad happen? To make you travel under other names than your real ones?" asked the man keenly.
"You could say so. At the moment it is for the best", Éomer said, unable to suppress a sigh.
"She is your wife, then?" Heming asked now.
"Aye. We married recently", replied the younger man and pulled on a clean tunic. Glancing at the clothes he had been wearing, he wondered if bloodstains could be removed. In any case the clothing Lothíriel and Éowyn had purchased for him would have to be replaced – winter was on them and these Gondorian garments were not suited for the colder weathers.
"May I ask what happened?" inquired the older man, summoning back his attention.
"The simplest way to put it is I fell apart", Éomer said slowly, carefully choosing his words – hoping to also give an explanation to what must have seemed like slightly insane behaviour when he had seen his wife was injured. "But she was there to catch me. Without her I doubt I'd ever have found a way to start putting myself together again. In the end, that is the reason we were there on the plains today."
"About your wife... there is a question I'd like an answer for", Heming said, his voice falling softer.
"What is it?" Éomer asked, trying not to sound too defensive. The other man's face remained calm, though.
"Just whether I should expect high-born Gondorians to appear at my door, asking about your wife", he said firmly. The look in his blue-green eyes was very keen, as though he were trying to read Éomer's mind.
"You think she is a Gondorian noblewoman who ran away and married a Rohirric Rider against the wishes of her family?" he inquired softly, even if he had to fight a smile. How many times had they japed about this in times past? In the end it had happened – except for the part about Lothíriel's kin. If Imrahil and his sons had truly been against this, he did not doubt they would have been found already.
"About so, yes. Is it not true?" Heming asked back.
"More or less. Worry not, however. No one is looking for us", said the younger man. "How did you know?"
Now the elderly farmer smiled.
"Because I haven't forgotten the grace of Morwen Queen, or the way she looked. I may be a simple farmer but I know when I'm looking at a daughter of Westernesse", he answered. He tilted his head slightly, "I must say, though I see you do not wish to share your tale yet, it is beginning to fascinate me."
"And hopefully I can share it with you some time", Éomer said, sighing half to himself. "I should like to hear tidings of the Mark, and what precisely was the situation with those men on the plains... but I need to go and see my wife."
"Of course", Heming said, his tone turning gentler. "We will speak tomorrow, when we have all had proper rest. It has been a long evening."
And without a further word, they made way back to the house.
A/N: Here at last is an update! I'm sorry it's taken so long, but I still am really busy and I don't have as much time for writing right now. But as I've said before, I won't give up on this story!
Even then, I had lots of fun writing this chapter. There's a lot going on here and personally I very much enjoyed writing the part with Elfhelm and Ceolwen. And yes, I couldn't resist the opportunity of throwing in some more romance! Those two practically wrote themselves together. Also there was a wish we might see Lothíriel's family for a bit and Amrothos' POV seemed most natural in that place.
As for the fellow Osgar in the beginning of the chapter, I wanted to show that Elfhelm and Ceolwen aren't the only ones against Feran. He turned out kind of peculiar though, which I think is understandable for the reason of his war trauma. That's why he thinks he saw Éomund and didn't realise it was actually Éomund's son there on the plains.
For now it remains to be seen how Lothíriel pulls through this, but at least they're not in the worst place. As to how she was injured and why Heming and his wife haven't recognised Éomer yet, I will get back to those questions in the next chapter!
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Éðelléas = Exiled
Quote in the beginning originally by John Godfrey Saxe.
UntilNeverDawns - Glad you liked it! I felt there would be folks in Rohan who don't really agree with Feran's policies, and Ceolwen definitely embodies that attitude. As for the cliffhanger, I haven't really provided any lately, so I couldn't resist the temptation! :D
Katia0203 - I fully understand the anxiety of getting to read more and that is one reason I try to update regularly. Sadly I'm right now so busy that I can't keep up the usual pace!
I know it was a bold move to write Éomer taking that path, but I do think it was really the only way it could go. And it's good to hear you came to agree with that choice!
brandibuckeye - Yes, I think Éowyn made the right call. Of course, if there was no other way to put things right, she'd go home and take the matters to her own hands.
Jo - You're right - they do have ways to go still, and it may take a while still to make it home.
Wondereye - That may take a moment yet. He's probably too worried about his wife to think of taking charge of matters, and he hasn't yet heard the full story.
I think it's more about Lothíriel's nerves being really tight than about hot-headedness. I mean, they're only just discovering it may actually be dangerous for them in Rohan, and there are things happening they hadn't expected. The whole disguise thing and wanting to go unrecognised only adds to it. Of course, she's temperamental person so she comes across hot-headed.
Talia119 - Glad to hear it was an enjoyable read! And you know me well - I really couldn't resist the opportunity with Elfhelm and Ceolwen. :) We'll see what kind of conversations they have in the next chapter now that their relationship has really progressed to another level entirely.
I didn't really see Éowyn could do anything else in that situation. She believes she needs to give Éomer the chance to fix it on his own, though of course she'd do what she can if it really came to the situation where Éomer would not come home.
I guess I could have done better job with the fight in the last chapter. Maybe in the next chapter she'll be able to explain herself just what happened.
Right now, Éomer and Lothíriel are at Heming and Eadgyd's farm, which is located in Harrowdale, about a day's ride to north-west from Dunharrow. Ceolwen and Elfhelm are in Astdun, a town located one and half a day's ride to east from Aldburg. So right now there is actually some considerable distance between them.
Ceolwen - I must say, the part with Ceolwen and Elfhelm really did write itself! I think the moment she stepped into the story I began to realise their paths would entwine sooner or later.
Yes, I do have a thing for making my readers suffer! :D Sorry, can't help it.
Vilwerin - Thank you! I'm glad you like my story, and hopefully you enjoyed the part with Amrothos! :)
starlight - It was enjoyable to write as well!
Anonymous - Yes, he is indeed! I believe the man is positively smitten. :)
Like I said in my reply to Wondereye, I think Lothíriel's reactions stem more from anxiety and tight nerves, though her temperamental nature does play a part. The situation for them is, after all, turning more dangerous and uncertain.
MairaElleth - Good to hear you liked the last chapter! I don't think it a bad thing either that Elfhelm and Ceolwen should have bit of a romance going on. :)
And yes, whatever is happening in Rohan it is Éomer's fight. And it could help him to get back to being a king.
Shadowstorm - Hope you're feeling better now at least!
I suppose I'll have to check out that story. :)
The relationship with Elfhelm and Ceolwen developed to that direction pretty easily I must say.
Lothíriel wasn't exactly in a far distance. Maybe the next chapter will give some light as to what happened.