What happens to a man is less significant than what happens within him. - Prince Galador of Dol Amroth
Chapter 41
December 3021, Astdun
Her hair smelled of wild flowers.
That was the first thing in Elfhelm's mind when he drifted back to the waking world. Ceolwen's hair was spread on the pillow like a fine curtain, tickling gently his nose. Her warm body was curled up against his, and for a moment he just lay there, certain he was dreaming. This was too sweet a thing to be really happening.
"Mm. Are you awake yet?" she asked, her voice hoarse from sleep.
"I'm not really sure", he murmured, nuzzling the side of her face.
"I say you are, considering you're not snoring anymore", Ceolwen stated, at which he chortled.
"I don't snore", he announced, and she chuckled as an answer.
"If I didn't know better, I might have thought there was a thunderstorm inside the chamber last night", she told him and stretched, which caused her skin to delightfully move against his. Such a sensation made it necessary for him to kiss her, which was what they did for a while in perfect contentment.
Eventually she pulled back slightly and settled in his arms with a sigh.
"I wish the world could just fall away", Ceolwen murmured after a while.
"You were very upset by those riders yesterday?" Elfhelm asked carefully. She didn't answer right away – instead, she absent-mindedly brushed her fingers through the mess of his hair, undoing the tangles with her clever fingers.
"It made me think, if anything", she said at length, lifting her chin so that she could look at him properly. Now there was a frown on her face. "Why did it have to come to this? All I want is to live in peace, and be my own mistress. I want to trust the day to come."
He leaned closer to kiss her ever so gently, to bring her some little comfort. By the time he pulled back, the frown had disappeared from her face.
"While I absolutely agree with your every complaint of that villain in Edoras, at least his actions did bring about one good thing", he said softly, running his fingers across her naked back.
"And what is that?" Ceolwen asked, unable to hide her shiver of pleasure.
"I found you", Elfhelm replied and captured her lips into another kiss.
It was some time later, when they were both gasping for air and still entangled in each other's arms, that she at last asked the question which more or less changed the course of his life.
"Elfhelm?" she rasped. They were both sweaty and her hair was a tangled mass, but on this moment he did not think he had ever seen a woman more beautiful.
"Aye?" he asked back.
"Would you be willing to give me the cloak?"
Harrowdale
To Éomer's great relief, Lothíriel did come around once during the night, asking for something to drink. He nearly wept with joy seeing her awake, but managed to keep control over his emotions and fetch the flask from his saddlebag. He had to hold up her head in order to help her drink, but once his wife had got her fill, she gave him a tired little smile and went back to sleep. He resumed to his place beside her, listening to her calm and even breathing. It lulled him to dreams as well, and rest of the night went by quietly.
On the morrow, he woke up to the sounds of Eadgyd moving about in the main room of the house. For a while, Éomer lay quietly listening to the small homely noises of the house rising to the new day. Lothíriel slept still by his side and it seemed to him her face was not so ashen anymore. She looked so serene that he rose up as quietly as he could as to not wake her. After her injury, she needed plenty of rest to heal.
When he emerged from the small chamber, Eadgyd smiled at him and bid him good morning in hushed tones. She gestured him to sit down at the table, and soon he was joined by Heming. They did not speak muchbut somehow that wasn't needed – the silence was pleasant and companionable. The food Eadgyd produced on the table was ordinary everyday stuff, but it tasted delicious. Only now did Éomer really look around himself, as he had last night been otherwise occupied. It was an ordinary Eorling home, with self-made wooden furniture that had seen some use but was obviously cared for lovingly. On the walls, there were two large hangings, the floorboards had been scrubbed white, and a merry fire blazed in the fireplace. The old couple did not have many riches, but they needed none to make their home a warm, welcoming place.
This all was so ordinary, so predictable, and perhaps that was the very reason he felt so at peace – even with his concern for his injured wife and the growing doubts as to what was really happening in Rohan. Éomer realised it was just this normalcy he had been lacking for so long. Now, after all those chaotic years of war and shadow, he yearned for repose.
When they had eaten, Heming looked at him and smiled slightly. He said: "I was thinking of going to see to the horses. Would you like to come with me?"
It was was not difficult to recognise the idea behind the proposition, and before Éomer could hide his reaction he tensed and sat up straighter.
"Aye, I would", he said, but then he hesitated, "My wife..."
"Don't worry, my dear. I'll look after her", Eadgyd said before he could even continue that sentence. She apparently knew what he was thinking, because she went on, "And I'll come to get you if she wakes up."
"Thank you, Eadgyd", he said, feeling somewhat relieved though there remained the thought he should not venture too far from his wife. However, rationally he knew Lothíriel was in good care with Eadgyd, and he really needed to have this talk.
The outbuildings of the farm were well-looked after, built of wood and thatched like the house itself. There was a wholesome, orderly feeling to the place, and as Éomer gazed about himself he finally felt like a man who has come home from a very long journey. Everything about this place breathed the Riddermark.
When they entered the stables, the horses neighed softly and prickled their ears, watching the two men curiously. There was additional comfort in the familiar smell of stables and the dim warmth which was so well known to him. Fresh water and grain they brought for the animals in silence, and only when they started with brushing the horses did Heming speak up at last.
"You wanted to hear news of the Mark, my friend", he said at length, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. "May I ask, how long have you been away?"
"Since the southern campaign. I was injured and could not come back sooner", Éomer replied carefully, hoping that was not too much of a clue. Was that a lie he was telling? Perhaps not. Even so, there was a degree of dishonesty to his words, and he disliked it deeply. Perhaps he should just tell the truth...
"Hmm. Then it's not a wonder you ask for tidings... you see, our troubles did begin with that ill-fated war with pirates and the death of Éomer King", Heming said, shaking his head. "They didn't even bring him home... I understand why that is, but he'd have deserved to rest with his fathers."
After a brief silence, he went on, "I never saw the man, though. We like to keep to ourselves, my wife and I, and the last we visited Edoras Théoden King was still alive. But all the tales I heard... our new king had such promise. He was deeply invested in rebuilding this kingdom. People loved him, as you probably know yourself. And he was young and energetic, about to marry a great princess, and it's said he and King Elessar were very close. It was agreed he'd heal the wounds of war and bring about a new, better day. I suppose that is why his passing was such a tremendous grief for our people... why this underking was allowed to rise to power... and why we haven't even started to recover."
"How did this man claim such a position?" Éomer asked. He had known his people had great expectations for him, but hearing it like this... he did not know what to think or feel.
"As far as I've heard, he was among the first who returned from the south. He brought the news as well. I hear he rode to Edoras with a full éored behind him. It wasn't much of a choice, I'd say. If you ask me, the news upset the whole of the Riddermark from Mering Stream to Fords of Isen... and he happened to be there, offering a solution. I'm not surprised it went the way it did. Moreover, he is descended from Folcwine King, so I suppose there's no one with better claim, unless it is the Lady Éowyn herself", Heming explained. The tone of his otherwise gentle voice had become stern, and he went through brushing Lothíriel's horse's coat with swift, hard strokes.
"And how has that man used the power, now that he has it?" Éomer asked, though he already had some idea.
The old man sighed and stopped for a moment, considering Lothíriel's steed in silence.
"It seems he wishes to be more than just the underking", Heming said at last. "Feran would like to have the throne for himself... but for that he needs nobility supporting him. For this, he has started to gift land to those he wishes to stand with him. Only, this land is mostly the kind someone already owns. Why else would there be people here in Harrowdale, bullying and blackmailing the common folk who can't defend themselves against the men who supposedly ride for the crown's business?"
Éomer had to grit his teeth and bite back a snarl that would have otherwise burst out. What was this Feran doing with his realm?
"Is that the reason those men were harassing you?" he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice steady.
"Aye, I suppose so. It is not a good idea to be travelling alone these days, but I can't exactly ask for company, and I'd rather die than let those villains harm my wife..." Heming replied, his voice turning positively angry now. "It is not just riders from Edoras causing trouble, though. Near the town of Harrow there is apparently a gang of boys on a similar mission..."
"Boys? What boys?" Éomer asked, glancing sharply at the older man.
"Mostly they are orphaned lads – those our King had arranged to train with Marshals. It was a good plan I think, to help those poor fatherless boys to earn a living to themselves and their families. But the underking sent them away, saying only grown men have any business serving Marshals", Heming replied.
Now it took some effort to keep his anger in check. Éomer let out a slow breath as to not reveal his feelings. Somehow the knowledge there were misguided boys terrorising innocent people was the worst thing. After the Great War of the Ring, he had been left with the knowledge there were many orphaned children in his land, and as a solution he had arranged it so that these lads, if they so wanted, could join éoreds – particularly those of Elfhelm and Erkenbrand. Of course, the boys wouldn't have taken part in actual battle until they came of age, but for many of them a promise of a life as a Rider had been a great comfort: they could follow in their fathers' footsteps. And though nothing could bring back their sires, to him it seemed Elfhelm and Erkenbrand could provide the next best thing, considering they were both just as concerned about the young fatherless lads of Rohan.
"What of the men who were left in charge when the King left for war?" he asked, and even now he was able to sound calm. That he was still in the control of his emotions was surprising at least.
"Lord Erkenbrand and Lord Gamling were dismissed as soon as Feran proclaimed himself the protector of the realm. Evidently the latter remains in Harrow for the moment, though I haven't seen him", Heming said.
"And Captain Éothain and Lord Elfhelm? Have you tidings of them?" Éomer asked. If he knew the man at all, it was difficult to imagine that Elfhelm would have just endured what was happening in Rohan. His friend was temperamental enough to challenge even this underking.
"Of Captain Éothain I've heard very little since he rode south with our King. Some say they've seen him in the Wold, but who can say? As for Lord Elfhelm, he's a Marshal no more. Feran took that position from him... an ill thing, I must say, because he was practically born for that task. He was a wonderful Marshal. The last I saw Elfhelm was in Harrow, escorting some merchants from Edoras – he seemed rather depressed. He was still grieving our king, for they were close friends", Heming answered gravely. Now it was Éomer's turn to stop with the task of brushing the horse's coat. His free hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into the skin... he could very well imagine it and how Elfhelm had felt. Where was the man now? And where was Éothain?
He was not left pondering on that thought for long, as Heming again spoke.
"I have no doubt it will get worse. Some men are not meant for power..." continued the old man, shaking his head again. "I just wonder how much longer it will be, and what more there might be happening with that man in power. What I've heard is perhaps not even the latest news at all."
"Thank you for telling me this. I had not realised it had got so bad", Éomer said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded flat. A dreadful feeling was rising inside him, being of the kind he did not know how he should handle. It clenched and twisted the very insides of him. All this had just happened in the matter of a few months!
The feeling of losing his breath, of a sick feeling rising, came all of a sudden. His friends disgraced, his people terrorised, the legacy of his uncle trampled on... all because he had not been here. This feeling had been gone since he had left Pelargir, but now it returned – and it was worse than ever before. He was vaguely aware of Heming speaking his false name in concern, but he could not answer.
It was then that Eadgyd arrived to the stables, and what she said pierced through like a bright lance: "I apologise for interrupting, but your wife is asking for you."
Lothíriel. Strangely enough, Éomer was reminded of the sight of her running towards him, wind in her hair and the fire of battle in her eyes, tossing aside her bow as she came and called his name... that incomprehensible moment back in the deserts when Sapat had fallen and she had come for him beyond all hope. Nothing was more real than that.
And there was the focus again. He just needed something solid, something to hold on to. And she was more solid than any other thing.
He pushed past Eadgyd and strode out, wasting no time as he did. Other things fell away, and his only concern was to get inside, get to her.
His wife was moving restlessly on the bed, her breaths coming out as moans, and her face twisted with what he could only call agony. Where that emotion came from he didn't know, but he was anxious to see it gone. Suddenly his own distress became meaningless, falling easily second to his concern for Lothíriel. So, quick as he could, he made for her side.
"I'm here, beloved", Éomer said, closing her hand inside his own. An incredulous little smile came to her features.
"I thought you were gone", she mumbled, holding on to his hand like her life depended on it.
"You know I would not leave you", he reminded her and she made a sound in agreement. Reaching to brush hair from her face, he asked: "What happened out there, dear one? Why were you injured?"
That instantly brought a disturbed look on her face, and he could feel her twitching.
"It was my own fault – I should have been more careful... I should have... there just was this man and I saw him coming at you, and I... I didn't mind my own surroundings like I should have... I didn't even see him before he was there... I got too close..." she replied, the sentences coming out in a disjointed blather. He frowned, for this was not the Lothíriel he knew.
It wasn't usual of her to babble so, or to sound so upset... but then he realised why this was: his wife was in shock. And that Éomer could understand, for he had been a warrior long enough to see how an injury in a battle could affect people sometimes – especially if they had never suffered such a thing before. The most important thing now was to try and calm her down.
"Shh, it's all right. It was an accident", he told her. "You're alive. That is what matters."
It took a while for him to calm her, and the way she clung to his hand was far more one would have expected of one injured and in shock. So he kept talking to her, soft and slow, of things gone by and things they might yet see and share. Perhaps it was odd he should be able to handle this so well right after his own little catastrophe, but he reasoned it was because she was there, and she needed him. And if his wife needed him then nothing else mattered at all.
And eventually she did calm down, though she still held on tight to his hand. Eventually Éomer realised it was not very different from the way he had clung to her... she had been his peace of mind, and he understood she needed him just as much. This road, the way they had travelled together, had left them with a bond even more complicated than anything before might have proposed. He did not know if it was good or bad... but then, as he gazed at the face of his wife, all he could feel was tranquillity.
"We will be all right. I promise", he told her softly, and slowly he could see her expression ease and relax.
"Aye", his wife agreed and closed her eyes with a sigh, and though she looked to fall asleep then he did not move from her side.
We will be – as long as we have each other.
The agonised moans had fallen quiet in the small chamber, and Eadgyd took it for a sign all was well again – as much as it could be for someone wounded.
She felt strangely at unease, being so close to this pair. So she made way outside in the search of her husband. She was rather curious as to how the conversation between him and the tall Rider had turned out.
Heming was in the middle of chopping some firewood, and he smiled when he saw her approaching.
"Everything well inside?" he asked.
"For now, at least. He was able to calm her down", Eadgyd replied. "Did he tell you anything?"
"So far, he hasn't spoken much of themselves. But I gather something bad happened. I wonder what it is, to leave such a seasoned warrior like that", Heming said, his brow furrowing in thought.
"All these devastating wars... does it ever end?" Eadgyd muttered and shook her head. The look her husband gave to her was a sad one. She knew that he too was remembering the son they had lost.
"No", he said quietly. "I don't suppose it ever will."
It was late in the afternoon on the day after the battle on the plains, that Lothíriel finally woke up with a clearer head. She had been awake for shorter instances but memories of those moments were fuzzy, and altogether she wasn't even sure if it had been dream or not.
She glanced about herself and blinked, wondering just what was this place and how they had come to be here. She had no recollection of being brought to the chamber she was now in. But these unfamiliar surroundings raised anxiety in her as well, and she tried to sit upright. However that movement sent a lance of pain through her side and with a sharp hiss she fell back.
Her husband must have been near to be able to hear that sound, for he appeared on the doorway. The sight of him there, obviously uninjured, eased her mind right away. Whatever had happened since her eyes had gone dark, it did not seem to have been a bad thing.
"Shh, beloved. All is well", he said as he came to her side, his soft tones soothing what remained of her restlessness.
"Where are we?" Lothíriel asked. Her voice was raspy and hoarse and Éomer noticed that as well.
"You're safe. I will explain everything, but perhaps you should drink and eat something first?" he suggested. That seemed like a good idea, as she had no recollection of her latest meal.
He left the chamber for a while, and returned with a bowl of simple stew made of lamb meat and some root vegetables. As sitting up was difficult with her wound, eating was a major challenge, and eventually he just offered to help her eat. Grudgingly she had to agree, though it felt embarrassing to be so helpless. But because it was him she knew she could be weak. She had seen him at his lowest point... perhaps it was just right that Éomer should see her so as well.
When she had eaten and he had taken the dishes away, he returned and settled down beside her again. A quiet moment went by and she took note of the slight crease on his brow... she could only imagine how concerned he must have been.
Then, before she could ask again, he began to speak, explaining her how Heming had offered them shelter and help, how they had got here, and what he had heard from the old farmer. She listened silently, distressed that such things should be afoot in Rohan but also relieved to know that people like this Heming and his wife Eadgyd still existed even now.
"It sounds bad. Worse than I thought it would be", Lothíriel said at last when he had fallen silent. "What do you mean to do?"
"I don't know. In all honesty, I can't worry about that right now. Not before you've recovered", he said and looked away, and she knew why he said so. Neither of us goes alone, not anymore.
"I'm really sorry about this. I should have been more careful... I'm not sure what even happened – he just appeared as if from nowhere, and I had no time to react", she said again then, though she had a recollection of apologising before.
"You foolish thing", her husband grumbled. "I told you already it's all right. You don't have to apologise... it was an accident, after all."
He sighed and reached over to brush his hand across her cheek and she leaned into the touch. At least she was relieved he wasn't angry with her. He continued, softer this time, "Perhaps this road has been too long. You have had to endure too much for my sake."
"Well, I'm glad I came with you. Even now it's better than the alternatives", Lothíriel stated, hoping to take away that doubt that had appeared on his features.
"It is not just that. Beloved, you left your home months ago and since then you have travelled countless leagues, and with all these news about the underking there is not going to be a quick end to it. Always on the road, pretending and disguising and hiding... and it's been months since you last saw your father and spent time with your family. Lothíriel, anyone would be weary after all that and there is no shame in it", he told her gently. "I know you're strong and resilient but if you are tired, you only need to tell me so."
"And if I am tired?" she asked, her voice very quiet.
"Then we'll rest."
Astdun
The day Elfhelm left behind his bachelor's life was one of the happier things he had experienced in a long time, but it was also bittersweet. Happy it was, well, because Ceolwen, and bittersweet because whenever he had imagined getting married he had thought his best friends would be there to share this joy and to fully enjoy all the stupid jokes they could make at his expense. But they were not here, and neither was any of his kin present either.
Even so, he felt it was a right time and a right place. It could very well be the only time for this... and if their king would not return before it was too late and they were to face death, he'd rather live before all this came to an end.
And he did feel so thrillingly alive on that evening, when he and Ceolwen stood on the steps of her hall with the townsfolk watching and witnessing, and he unfastened the cloak on his shoulders; it was rather plain compared to both of their clothing and weather-beaten as well, but when he had wondered if it was enough, Ceolwen had insisted she couldn't wish for better. She had given him a slight smile and said: "I'd rather this be my wedding cloak than any other. This one has seen the rains and winds and sun of Rohan, and it has sheltered you from weathers. It is a Rider's cloak, Elfhelm, and I am honoured to receive it."
Hearing that, Elfhelm had felt an enormous surge of affection and tenderness for her. It had also made him realise that the two of them were made of similar stuff... and so, when he wrapped his cloak about Lady Ceolwen's shoulders, he felt the conviction that even if he had never got anything else right in his life, this one thing at least was the exception to make up for every mistake and grief.
Then, as the folk of Astdun cheered, he leaned closer towards her, and he kissed her for the first time as her husband. Ceolwen threw her arms about his neck and returned the kiss that promised very exciting things for afterwards. But before they could retire to their own peace and enjoy this first night of their married life, there was a feast to attend to – which had been organised with efficiency he could only admire. Offering her his arm and smiling, Elfhelm whispered: "I'm fairly sure I'm the happiest man in Rohan."
Ceolwen returned his smile and reached over to kiss him once more, though it was more of a peck now – they really couldn't just stand there fondling each other, even if it was becoming a challenge to keep his hands off ofher.
"And you're going to be happier still, o husband of mine", she informed him with a glint in her eyes that was positively evil. Unsurprisingly, breath caught in his throat.
"You will be my demise, woman", he told her. "But I've got a feeling it'll be a blissful demise."
She smiled brilliantly at those words, and then they turned to meet the first person to congratulate them. That was of course Ohthere, who was quite likely the only man in town who wasn't happy about the Lady's choice for husband. He had apparently objected to it when on the morrow Ceolwen had announced the news, but the two of them had shared a long conversation and grudgingly Ohthere had kept his silence.
Now, however, Elfhelm felt he needed to make his own amends and convince the man he wanted nothing but the very best for his new wife. So he bowed his head and spoke before the older man or Ceolwen could.
"Master Ohthere, I know you have your doubts towards me, but I swear in the name of Béma himself that you can trust me. I do not wish to try and take my lady wife's inheritance or rule over it – I only want to protect it, and her. You can count on me to do my best as a husband of Lady of Astdun", he said solemnly.
Ohthere considered him quietly for a moment, studying him as though the man knew how to read minds. Ceolwen said nothing, knowing this was something the two men had to settle on their own, but her hold of his arm became a bit tighter.
At last, the elderly steward did speak.
"You may disappoint me, but please, never disappoint her", he said, bowed his head, and spoke quietly his congratulations to the newly-wed couple.
The wedding feast brought again the light mood of celebration to the hall of Astdun, and there was ale and food and music, songs and laughter and just life. Elfhelm gazed about himself with some wonder and felt disbelieving that this should be taking place. He looked again at Ceolwen, who was radiant beside him. His wife! Only two months ago, such an idea would have seemed like the least likely thing in the world. Surely this had to be a dream!
Quietly, she turned to meet his gaze and he knew it would be in vain to try and hide the completely smitten expression on his face. A smile, small but somehow deeper and truer than anything else would have been, lit her face.
"I know this all is so soon", she said in soft tones, picking up his hand in hers, "but I feel it is right. I trust you, Elfhelm... the way I don't trust many people. I know I have been remote, more so than a sudden proposal would have one thinking... but my way is not to show my feelings. And after my betrothed died in the Great War..."
She didn't seem to be able to find a way to finish that sentence. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, hoping to show she didn't have to speak of painful things.
"I understand. And I don't feel rushed. I'm not so certain about many things in my life, but you... of you there is no doubt in my heart", he said, giving her a smile. "With you, the world makes sense again."
He didn't know why, but his words made her look so happy that he even thought she might cry. She got up from her own seat and settled on his lap, hugging him for a long while before she pulled back again.
If it was tears he saw in her eyes, Elfhelm didn't have time to check, for she smiled and pulled at his hand.
"Come, my husband. Let us dance."
And happily he obliged.
Late that night, when they lay in each other's arms in their marriage bed, and Elfhelm felt intoxicated by her, this night, and the strange fate that had brought him here, he asked her: "Do you love me?"
She ran her fingers over his cheek and she looked at him with softer eyes than ever before. She kissed him, gentle and slow.
On his lips, she whispered: "I think I'm starting to."
In the end, rest was obviously what Lothíriel needed. It wasn't long after their conversation that she drifted back to sleep, holding on to his hand.
Éomer stayed with her for a while, watching her and considering perhaps he was too tired as well. But he was used to pushing himself, even to the point where he was on the verge of collapsing. Often he was not the best judge of when it was time to stop. However, now he knew he had to catch his breath. If things truly were so bad in the Mark... well, he'd rather not face that challenge worn down. Weary men were not sharp or alert, and for them the knife in the dark was often the end. And the more he thought of what Heming had told him, the more he felt it was a difficult road. If he was to become a king again... then he'd have to prepare. He would have to be bold and strong.
After all, Eorlingas deserved a determined and resolute king, and he had yet to find if he could be that man again. The way Heming had spoken of the king he thought his people had lost... could he give his people anything less? He looked at the face of his wife and knew that with her by his side, he could rise up again and stand as tall and strong as ever before. But without her? He had no idea what would become of him. And so this wait would be worth it. He needed to believe so at least.
With those thoughts, he too fell asleep, not entirely unhopeful. However the new day did not arrive without its concerns. For when he sleepily turned towards his wife to relish the moment of getting to wake beside her to another day, he quickly noticed something was not all right.
The frown on her features spoke of troubled dreams, as did the small twitches and shivers running through her. When he touched her skin, it felt hot and sweaty. The wound!
He was up with one great leap. Striding fast into the main room of the house, he nearly ran in to Eadgyd; she was already up and busying herself with the breakfast. She nearly jumped at his sudden arrival.
"Oh dear! Is something wrong, Éðelléas?" she asked, looking alarmed.
"She has fever", he blurted out without wasting time. Now the woman's expression became very grave.
"Let me take a look at her", Eadgyd said and pushed past him to the chamber where Lothíriel still slept. His wife did not wake up to the noise about her, and remained so even when the old woman rolled open the dressing about the wound.
The stitches held, but to him it looked like the edges of wound were slightly reddened. He didn't need to see Eadgyd's frown to know this was not a good thing – he had seen wounds infect before. For a moment, she examined it in silence. When she looked up her face was very grave.
"It is not infected yet", she said at last, "but if this is not tended to soon, it will fester, and it will take her life."
"Then do what you must", he growled. He felt so angry, for fates playing this cruel jape, and for the sad fact he could not do anything to help his wife.
"I would, but I don't have the necessary ingredients. There are some medicines I could give her but I've got none here", Eadgyd replied. "However, there is a healer in Harrow – an experienced one, and well-stocked – who might have what your wife needs."
He did not need to hear more than that. Quickly he began to prepare, buckling his sword to his hip and grabbing his cloak.
"Tell me what you need."
No more than quarter hour later, Éomer was already on the road. Now his mind was clear and focused: there was something tangible he could do to help his beloved.
He would have to be fast. Even for a rider such as him, Harrow was half a day's ride away... and Lothíriel might not have so much time left. Still, he had to believe he could make it. The worst outcomes he'd face when and if they came - until then, he would keep fighting.
So the farm fell behind, and he urged his steed into a light gallop. It was Heming's own horse, which the man had insisted he take. "Such an errand requires a Rohirric horse, not one of those southern kind", the man had said solemnly, and because they were both Eorlings, his words were enough. Once he got back, Éomer would make sure the man knew just how thankful he was.
The morning grew older as he rode towards Harrow. He did not meet other travellers and was glad for it – smaller the amount of people taking notice of him the better.
But then, as he rode up one hill, he came across a sight he had not expected to see.
The herd was not large, but it had never been as far as he knew. They had lived on these rich green plains as long as Eorlingas themselves, going freely where they would. Sometimes, people even said that the Riddermark would only exist as long as mearas did.
Their coats were pale, varying between different shades of light and grey. They were larger than other horses, and in their movement there was something one wouldn't see in ordinary animals. Even the foals, of which there were three, were strangely graceful in their gangliness.
Altogether mearas were creatures that somehow seemed to belong to misty places, shadows and moonlit glens. But there they were, an entire herd of them grazing the plain... as Éomer came to a halt on the hilltop, few of those animals lifted up their heads, and he was met with several pairs of dark, wise eyes. He saw no alarm or unease among the herd – they regarded him as they might regard someone they knew well.
Before he could even think of it, his eyes were already looking for something. And he knew what that something was: the silver stallion he had first seen when he had been but an orphaned boy. Yet even as he sought the herd with his eyes, he did not see the stallion there. Perhaps he had been right to think it was not a real horse at all.
Even then, the way those horses gazed back, meeting his eyes... suddenly, it seemed like there was a call there, a request to follow.
Not yet. I need my Queen.
Éomer shook his head, to rid himself of this peculiar sensation. He was wasting time when he should be hurrying towards Harrow.
So he urged his horse to move again, and soon the herd of mearas fell behind again. As he rode, he felt like he had seen some unreal thing, and if he should ride back, those horses of Béma would not be there at all.
Afternoon was turning late when he finally arrived in Harrow. But before he did, he had to stop momentarily on a hill looking down to the town, and take a deep breath. This was, aside from Heming and Eadgyd, the first time since the south he would be seeing and interacting with ordinary Rohirrim... and here it was all the more likely for him to be recognised, unless he was very careful.
He shook himself then, knowing there was no time to waste, and rode down towards the town. With Eadgyd's instructions, he knew where he'd find the healer's house. But reaching that place meant having to pass through the town, and as he approached the edge of that settlement there was a brief urge to turn and ride away. Instead he secured his hood and rode forward.
The battlements were not much more than a fence, and entrance to the town was not guarded. With some relief, Éomer noted his arrival was not hardly noted by the locals, who minded only their own business and labours. However his own attention was roused by how tense the atmosphere was. Guessing what were the reasons behind that was not difficult. He frowned to himself and refrained from grasping the hilt of his sword. Feran would have a lot to answer for once the time came.
So he made through the main road of the town, keeping slow his pace, though all the time there was this nagging thought someone would recognise him any moment now. But no one did.
He left Heming's horse in the front of an inn, knowing the animal would be there when he got back – such was the matter with a people of horses. They might mind their own business but they would not tolerate horse theft in broad daylight – not that they would have tolerated it in blackest nights either.
The healer's house was located at the edge of a tiny market of the town, and that was where Éomer was heading when he felt the slight tugging at his side. There was a small hand, trying to relieve him of the purse on his belt, but finding the knots he had made too complicated. His fast reflexes proved their worth once again: sharply he turned and grabbed the thin arm of the would-be thief... who turned out to be only a boy, not older than nine summers. By grabbing the boy's arm Éomer knocked the boy's hand aside, and small fingers just about whispered at the guard of Gúthwinë.
A long moment passed by and both of them stood quiet and still. The fear on the lad's face melted away and instead his eyes widened as he stared up at Éomer. As for the exiled King himself, he had no idea of how much the boy saw just then of his face. So, to prevent him from seeing any more, Éomer let go of the boy's arm and stepped back, making sure his hood was still on its place.
The boy didn't move, however. He still stood there staring at the tall man like one struck dead on their feet.
"I would not recommend thieving as a way of living", Éomer said quietly, though to himself he wondered if robbery was the only way this boy could survive. Nevertheless, he spoke: "Go back home, laddie."
Without a single word uttered, the boy dashed away.
The same day Unferth and his men got back to Edoras and the injured were in the healer's care, the underking received him in the royal study of Meduseld. To Unferth it had seemed he should perhaps give this report privately. The matter of the hooded Rider continued to trouble him and if that was so, then he felt Lord Feran would feel the same.
He had never been in the royal study. After all, he was not high in rank and the place was usually reserved for the King himself, and his advisers. The furniture there was well-made and immaculately polished. At this chilly time of year a merry fire was burning in the fireplace, spreading warmth into the study. There was a bookshelf too, which probably contained most of the written books and scrolls one could find in Rohan. An addition from Thengel's time was a wide window which gazed over the plains – tales had it the window glass had been brought from Gondor. One might have expected to see the King's banner, the White Horse of Rohan, hanging behind the desk on the wall. However Lord Feran did not use that device as his standard. Instead he had chosen two silver spears on a field of blue-green. Unferth didn't know what was the reasoning behind using a new banner, but perhaps it had something to do with how the underking emphasised his position as a protector of the realm.
As for the standard of the King, the one that had been carried before Théoden and Éomer, it had been lost in the south.
Feran himself sat behind the desk, surrounded by pieces of parchment; Unferth hadn't known he could read and write. At his arrival the underking lifted up his eyes to regard him.
"Now, what is your report, Rider?" asked Feran, staring at Unferth keenly. Looking at the underking, he felt like he had committed some crime here and would soon be punished for it. Still he knew he could not hide the truth, and quickly he made his report.
Lord Feran listened to him silently. First the man's face did not betray his thoughts, but as Unferth progressed with his tidings, a frown came to his features and deepened.
"And you did not know this hooded man?" he asked at last, when Unferth had fallen quiet.
"No, my lord. I thought he was familiar, but I can't say why I felt so", said the Rider. He hesitated for a moment, thinking of what Osgar had said about the ghost of Éomund. But that was insane, and Lord Feran was sure to think so as well.
The underking narrowed his eyes; in them was a look Unferth did not like one bit.
"You have disappointed me, Unferth", Feran spoke slowly and steadily. "You had the numbers in your favour – five against two should not be so difficult. And yet you let these strangers beat you like a bunch of unlearned children."
"My lord, with all due respect, you weren't there – you didn't see him. That hooded man... he fought like a demon. We had no chance against him! I've never seen anyone use a sword like that. And there was that archer too, making the matter even more complicated. But he at least should be dead by now", Unferth said in defence, growing more certain he would indeed be punished.
"And so you let him walk free. Do you not understand what that means, Unferth?" Feran asked sharply.
"I... no, I don't", the other man muttered.
"You let that man fight and beat you. You let him go. Each day that he walks free he continues to defy the laws of this realm. And he defies me. Each day he remains out there is a day of shame not only for you, but for me. If people may walk these lands doing whatever they want, then my orders mean nothing", Feran said, speaking very steadily and evenly now. All the while he held Unferth in place with his eyes, like a snake holds its prey.
Unferth had no idea of what to say to that, so he just nodded. A moment of silence went by and Feran shifted on his seat. At last, the man let out a heavy sigh.
"Would you know this hooded fellow, if you saw him again?" asked the underking then.
"Aye, I would", the rider answered. He hadn't seen the man's face, but he was not like to forget how the sheer presence of that stranger had felt like.
"Then these are my orders, and I expect them to be carried out with no more mistakes", Lord Feran started. Now his voice became chilling, "I want you to take some men – not five this time, but dozen. You will ride out there and you will look for the two strangers, and you will not return until you've found them."
"And what are your orders, when I do?" Unferth asked carefully.
The underking's eyes were hard as stone when he spoke, making the other man shiver.
"Take them prisoner, if you can. If you can't, make sure they will not live to see another day."
A/N: Here at last is an update! I'm really sorry for the long wait, but on the top of being really busy I got sick and wasn't really in the condition to write anything. Hope you like this new chapter of A Light that Endures.
So, lots of stuff is still going down, and I must say I truly enjoyed writing this chapter. Elfhelm for one is having the time of his life! I thought whether I should write and develop his relationship with Ceolwen more, but on the other hand that is not really the point of this story, and spending too much time with that thread would mess up with the storyline. At any rate I think they are people who don't need to spend a lot of time considering this kind of a choice. They recognise they get along very well and are "made of similar stuff" essentially. So for them it's a pretty easy choice to make. Perhaps the deadline does play part in it as well - they both want to experience this before what could be the end of their lives (if things go that bad).
As for Éomer and Lothíriel, I think for them the best choice is to stand down for a moment and catch their breaths. Like he tells her, they have been on the move for what could be too long for them both. They desperately need to just rest. And while Heming's tidings certainly worry Éomer, he also understands it's a challenge he can just plunge towards blindly. He really wants to be that strong king he used to be, and in facing Feran he needs to be it as well. And if that is to happen, then he needs his Queen. As for Lothíriel, she doesn't only need to recover - she also has to sort of catch her breath.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by Louis L. Mann.
Inspiration for the chapter: Chance Thomas - Theme For Rohan
brandibuckeye - It was pleasant to write so as well! Presently I've got so many threads going on I really need to include different POVs to give you a proper tale.
Shadowstorm - Glad you liked it! And yes, I do think Elfhelm and Ceolwen have a lot of things they have in common. Hope you enjoyed the parts with them.
Thalia - Yes, they are quite aware! :D Perhaps Ceolwen is coming out of her shell too and realising she can do that with Elfhelm.
Éomer is holding it together for now, but I don't doubt he'd snap if Lothíriel's condition got much worse.
Starlight - I'm happy to hear this story improves your day so much! :)
Jo - Thank you! It's good to hear you enjoy the story. :)
Talia119 - Wishing for the comfort of physical love could be a part of it for Ceolwen, but I don't think she has any twisted motives. Ceolwen is not so straightforward with her emotions, but she knows she can trust Elfhelm and that he does care for her deeply. So seeking shelter with him doesn't seem like such a bad idea... and in this chapter, she's starting to realise she has something more for him.
As to whether they'll find Éomer and Lothíriel... it would certainly be better for them to find our two travellers rather than Unferth's gang!
UntilNeverDawns - I may enjoy torturing my readers but even I'm not that cruel! :D Glad to hear you liked the chapter.
Wondereye - Yeah, it is going to take some work to keep the story threads uncluttered!
I pretty much had that idea about Lothíriel being worn down, but it wasn't really well-articulated before I read your review! Thanks for that.
MairaElleth - As usual, better late than never!
I really do like writing about Ceolwen and Elfhelm, and I have to sternly control myself in order not to write more about them. After all, the story isn't really about their romance. And things are now everything but awkward between them, I must say!
And yes, it is demanding a lot of Éomer to bear his wife's injury. But as long as he feels he can help her and that she has hope, he can go on.