Death is lighter than a feather, but Duty is heavier than a mountain. - Thengel, King of Rohan
Chapter 42
"Wake up, you sleepy man", murmured a soft voice into Elfhelm's ear, with soft lips fluttering against his earlobe. And how was a man to say no to that, no matter how much dreams still beckoned him?
"Mm. As my lady commands", he grumbled, half-asleep still, as he turned towards the warm body of his wife. She happily received his early morning affections – the kind which sometimes had a way of turning longer than intended. But since they were a newly-wed couple, such a thing could be very well expected. Even so, it didn't spare him the teasing of the household guards he had befriended. When Elfhelm had asked why didn't they make such comments to the Lady of the house herself, the men had solemnly told him that she was far more scary than he. Eventually, he had decided that was true.
"It's a wonder I get anything done these days. You, husband of mine, are hopeless", Ceolwen stated some time later, but he answered her words with a perfectly innocent look.
"Don't blame me for letting me to distract you", he said good-naturedly. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but you did seem to like that distraction a lot."
She snorted with feigned haughtiness and disentangled herself from his arms and got up from their bed, naked as the day she was born. He took a moment to admire her while she washed up, but then he too hauled himself into a sitting position.
It still felt odd to gaze about himself in this chamber and know it was his as much as it was hers; he had not really had such permanent lodgings in some time. As far as he could see Ceolwen was not much interested in decorating, and so the chamber only had the basic things one needed in everyday life. Altogether the furnishings were what one might expect to see in any Eorling house. He had not brought much there, as Elfhelm did not possess many earthly objects beyond what he could carry on himself. But a stand for his armour had been produced, and Ceolwen had already had him stand for a seamstress who now was busy creating him what apparently was a chestful of clothes.
As he got up and moved to wash up as well, Elfhelm considered there were ways in which his life had not changed at all by his marriage to Ceolwen. The security and defence of the town were still his concerns, in which matters his new wife gave him free reign. He was in charge of the guards of the household and if ever a time came when the King of the Mark would command Eorlingas to arms, his duty would also be to organise and lead the éored of Astdun.
When Ceolwen explained this to him, he had frowned slightly and commented she was perfectly capable of doing those tasks as well. As an answer, a smile came to her features.
"Aye, and I fully expect you to report and listen to me if need be. But you have served as a Marshal and a lieutenant to the King, husband, and that is something I cannot boast. I think a man of your skill and experience should have this duty", she told him.
On the other hand, there were many ways everything was changed. Each day, he'd wake up beside the woman he loved, and getting to rise up to a new day with her always made him feel hopeful no matter what challenges and concerns there were. And Ceolwen would be there through the day, in private matters and in those that concerned the town, and she was the last thing he saw before falling asleep. Marriage meant letting in another person in ways Elfhelm had not previously imagined, and it took a while to get accustomed to.
After washing up they both dressed, and he helped with the buttons of her gown. In turn, she helped him to don on his chain-mail and made braids in his hair. These little gestures had come rather easily from the very beginning and were now a fixed part of their morning routines.
Being married to Ceolwen meant involvement in new levels. The seat was indeed hers, but like the King and Marshals had their captains and trusted men, so was Elfhelm now her trusted man in matters of Astdun, small and great. And as far as the people went, he felt welcomed among his wife's folk; he considered that was perhaps because they had seen his determination to stand by their mistress' side and thus deemed him worthy of her. No matter what these past months had made of him, he had been the King's Marshal and a famous Rider. For the young men this apparently made him an idol of sorts, and the elderly warriors would have gladly sat with him exchanging old war stories for entire days.
Looking around himself, Elfhelm had to say it was a good life – far better than the one he had lead before now. There was a purpose in his life but also meaning.
When they were both dressed, he turned towards his wife one more time, and they shared a kiss as light grew outside. Pulling back, Ceolwen rested hands on his shoulders and smiled.
"Ready for a new day?" she asked.
Elfhelm returned her smile. Quickly it passed in his mind that he was, for once, a happy man.
"I am."
The feeling of being slightly cold was what woke Lothíriel up on that morning. Fortunately, there was a source of delightful heat just next to her: the body of her husband was always a helpful thing when she got cold during the night.
But moving closer to him wasn't quite so easy as usually. A sting of pain went through her side and she grimaced, though she was able to bite back the moan that tried to break through. A moment she had to spend just fighting that pain and remembering where it had come from.
Her moving about alarmed Éomer as well, startling him to awakeness – he was still sleeping very light. He lifted his head slightly, and the sight of his sleepy smile chased away all thoughts of pain.
"Good morning", she mumbled, her voice still hoarse from sleep.
He didn't answer, not in words at least. Instead he turned towards her and kissed her, and it was not the usual tender morning sort, when they were both still half trapped in remnants of dreams. It was a kiss that mattered more than any everyday show of affection.
"What was that?" Lothíriel asked, when after a while he had pulled back (not much, though – their breaths still mingled, and he had carefully wrapped arms about her).
"You don't know how scared I was. I almost didn't make it back before you would have been beyond all help", he murmured, holding on to her as tightly as he dared.
"Did something happen?" she asked, slightly worried now. She tried to recall back, but the last thing she could muster clearly was how he had explained what had happened on the plains.
"Your wound got worse. It would have poisoned your blood... I had to ride for Harrow to get medicines so that Eadgyd could save your life", he replied, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Oh", was all she could muster as she realised just how close death had been. Now that she was thinking of it, she could recall these hazy instances, somehow dreamlike – she must have been really sick.
In concern, she looked at him, "I hope nothing happened while you were there?"
"No. I don't think so. The healer was half blind and her assistant did not seem to care much as long as he could be rid of me quickly. I purchased what medicines Eadgyd needed and rode back as fast as I could. Had it taken only a little while longer..." he said and closed his eyes for a while, resting his head against hers. "Dear wife of mine... I could endure anything except losing you."
After all that had happened Lothíriel knew not to argue. She made a soft sound at the back of her throat and held on to him.
This moment of tenderness went on for a while, until at last Éomer stirred.
"I should go and tell Eadgyd you're awake. You might need more of those medicines and at any rate you should eat something", he said and gave her one more small kiss before getting up. As she watched him, she had to wonder to herself: that she could feel so vulnerable and so very cared for at the same time.
"What are you thinking about so intently?" asked the voice of Ceolwen, interrupting Elfhelm's morose ponderings by the fireplace. He had meant to just stoke the fire, and he wasn't so sure by what road his mind had taken that direction, but now he found himself in a chair... and he was thinking of Scýne and Elva and the infant boy – he didn't know if Éothain's wife had even agreed to name the child, seeing the babe's father was not around.
"Just... Scýne and her family. Do you remember her?" he asked; Ceolwen came and settled on his lap as easily as though she had done it a thousand times. He adjusted his arms about her.
"Aye, I do remember her. A fine woman, she is", she replied, resting her head against his and idly weaving her fingers through his hair. "What happened to her?"
"She and her children are staying in Aldburg with her mother Aedre", Elfhelm replied and explained just what was the situation for Éothain's family. At the end of the tale, he sighed deeply, "It bothers me, to be honest. I feel like I abandoned them..."
"You're very fond of them?" she asked.
"I am. Éothain is a good friend of mine, and his family is mine as well", Elfhelm said, sighing to himself. "His daughter Elva worries me a lot. Poor thing misses her father so much, and I suppose I was something of a substitute while I stayed in Aldburg... it was an ill thing, to leave them behind like that."
Ceolwen remained quiet for a while, considering his words.
"Then perhaps they should come here and stay with us for a while", she said suddenly, and in surprise Elfhelm looked up at her.
"You truly mean that?" he asked in wonder. His question made her smile.
"I never say anything I don't mean", Ceolwen told him and rested a hand on his cheek. He grinned and startled where he sat, almost ready to jump up and race to Aldburg to get Scýne and her children here.
"Thank you, dear wife! This means a lot to me", he said gratefully. "I need to start and prepare, and-"
He'd have continued speaking, but she quieted him down with a kiss.
"Not you, Elfhelm. I'm not convinced you should be the one to go and get them. If Feran keeps them as leverage against Éothain, then he's not just going to let you march in and steal them away", she said steadily. "No, it has to be someone they don't know."
He thought about it for a moment and had to agree she had a point.
"Aye, I suppose you're right", he said, leaning back his head and relaxing again. He thought of his friend's family and a smile made way to his features, "And if Scýne and children are here, then there's nothing keeping Éothain in the Wold anymore. He could leave that place and he could tell everyone the truth. I'm certain we can't be the only Eorlingas in the Mark who are sick and tired of Feran, and if the people knew that our king lives... we could rid our realm of that villain ourselves!"
He started to get excited about that idea, but his wife did not seem so sure.
"It is a nice idea, true. But Éomer King yet has to make an appearance, and who is to say anyone would believe it? We did, aye, but that is not necessarily the case with the rest of Rohirrim. In this hopeless time they need something real... something they can see with their very eyes. The only way Feran can truly be defeated is by the hand of Éomer King himself", Ceolwen said slowly, gazing into the fire as she spoke.
Elfhelm tried but could not find a solid argument against her point of view. Perhaps it was true, that Feran's reign could only end by the rightful king. He sighed again and knew he had to remain patient for a little while more.
"Don't be sad, husband. I'll send men to fetch Scýne and her family as soon as morning comes", Ceolwen said gently, having sensed his uneasy mood. She kissed his forehead and murmured, "I'm sure he's on his way home."
He made a gruff sound at the back of his throat in agreement, but quietly to himself Elfhelm thought Éomer could not come home soon enough.
Without hesitation, Eadgyd and Heming agreed the two travellers would stay with them for a while. While Garafiell was stronger and more resilient than one might have expected of a lady of south, her wound was not yet completely healed. Should she travel now, it would no doubt claim her life.
It was not a difficult decision, not even if their guests kept to their false names and their secrecy. But the old couple did not need that knowledge to see how very much the travelling pair did need this shelter. The signs of a long arduous road were on their faces and on their ragged appearances. In the end, they were inherently honest people forced into secrecy by what Eadgyd knew to be extraordinary circumstances. And how could she send them away when she knew they presently had no other place to go? At any rate, the presence of them brought life to the quiet household, reminding her of times past when her son and daughter had still lived here.
Eadgyd soon got a confirmation to what she had known to expect. Éðelléas was a man of action, unused to sitting about. He quickly offered to help around the farm, though he also stated during his life he had known no other profession than that of a Rider. To her this was a sad thought, that he should have lived nothing else but war. Perhaps that was yet another good reason for letting the two stay.
As for Garafiell, she couldn't do much else than just rest, but as her wound began to heal and she started to get back her strength, Eadgyd soon sensed in her the same restlessness that she perceived in the young woman's husband. Neither of them were people made for sitting idly. Even so, Garafiell could not exactly join the household chores, not beyond what she could do sitting down. That did not leave many other options than sewing.
The first time Eadgyd lay the objects needed for this task in Garafiell's lap, the young woman frowned. For a moment she hesitated, until she spoke: "I'm not really very good at sewing."
Eadgyd could not quite hide her surprise.
"That is an odd thing to hear, as I rather expected needlework to be one thing that is an acceptable way of spending time for a Gondorian lady", she stated, which made the young woman wince.
"And you're not wrong about that. But no matter how many hours my sister-in-law and aunt spent trying to teach me, I never really learned", she said apologetically and looked away. "If I could somehow help it, I'd rather run and play with my brothers. They sometimes said our father must have mistaken an orc child for his daughter."
Eadgyd considered Garafiell for a moment and then thought perhaps it was not so surprising that she did not possess the usual skills of a lady. For what ordinary noblewoman ran away with a Rider of Rohan and got wounded in a battle? After all, she had known from the beginning that these two were not ordinary folk.
As though she knew what the older woman was thinking, she addressed to the matter straight away.
"You must think me strange for a Gondorian lady, that I barely can manage the skills of a proper lady, and that I'd choose a life on road instead of the comforts of my home", Garafiell said, her brow creased as she looked away. But Eadgyd smiled softly.
"I don't think it strange at all. People do many things, great and small and sometimes unthinkable, for those they love", she said gently, but choosing her words carefully as to not alarm the young lady. "Still, it is true: you are not what I'd expect a southern lady to be like."
The young woman let out a wry little laugh.
"That doesn't offend me at all. I am comfortable with what and who I am", she said unaffectedly. She sighed then, "I don't suppose people really make choices like this unless they're a bit strange. And though it is sometimes hard, I have yet to regret my decision."
"You care for him a lot", Eadgyd said in soft tones Then, even as she spoke those words, an idea occurred to her.
She went on, "Perhaps you should think of needlework as just another way you can take care of those you love."
A light of understanding appeared in Garafiell's eyes and a resolute look appeared on her features. Then she smiled slightly and asked, "Might you be willing to teach me?"
In the end, under Eadgyd's patient and steady coaching and perhaps aided by a new determination fuelled by her love, Garafiell did become a little less unskilled. She'd never become a master, that much was clear, but Eadgyd decided this was already an accomplishment for the dark-haired woman.
Rest of the time, the two travellers kept to each other. To Eadgyd, their relationship seemed unusual, but the tall Rider's curt answers to Heming on the night of their arrival seemed to explain their mutual need and the deep closeness between them. It was not difficult for her to understand: after all, Eadgyd too had gone through periods of time in her life when Heming had been the only thing she could really count on. And looking at the faces of the Rider and his wife, she could see that the memory of their ordeals was still fresh to them.
And so the year rolled towards its end at last, and Yule grew nearer, and though the travelling pair were not the noisiest of folks, it still felt like life had returned into the house of Eadgyd and Heming... and she knew already that if their daughter should ever produce grandchildren, this was a time to tell them stories about.
The day had gone by quietly, as they always did on the farm. Heming had left at dawn, as he had some business back at Harrow, and would return some time before sunset. Lothíriel was still recovering so there wasn't much she could do except for sitting with her needlework or peeling some potatoes to help with the dinner, and having an occasional chat with Eadgyd, while her husband was evidently content with the chores of the farm. Chopping wood, carrying water for the mistress of the house, looking after the animals... it all came so easily to him that she thought members of his own court might have appeared at the door and they wouldn't have known him. But then she considered perhaps this kind of work was welcome, especially for a man who was so used to being constantly on the move. She knew her horselord didn't like feeling idle.
Altogether she deemed Éomer was very well today, perhaps more so than ever since the day they had found him. It had been a long road but worth walking anyway, because these days she was seeing more of the man he had been before the south. And she was so proud of him, knowing how hard it had been for him to reach this place.
You can't have him, Sapat. You can't have his soul.
Talking with Eadgyd proved to be a pleasant pastime. For one, Lothíriel could practice her Rohirric, which had been adequate before but was truly improving in these everyday conversations. The elderly woman was also an endless source of Rohirric stories. Only later would she realise the value of the tales she heard from Eadgyd, for in this land of many songs written stories were not a commodity.
It was at evenfall that Heming returned from his trip, bringing some foodstuffs they couldn't produce themselves and shoes for the horses. He was usually a quiet man but now he seemed delighted, because Éomer too knew how to shoe horses, and so the animals would not have to be taken to a smith for that task. The way the old couple took delight in smallest everyday things was something one could learn from.
Eadgyd had kept the dinner warm for her husband, and when he had rid himself of heavy winter clothing, she served Heming some of the evening's supper. The elderly man sat down by the table and dug into his portion.
"Any news from the town?" Eadgyd asked and sat down to mend some old pair of breeches. The way she handled the needle was magical almost, and Lothíriel thought to herself she should one day introduce this woman to her aunt and sister-in-law.
"It was quite a bustle back at Harrow", he commented after swallowing his mouth empty. "They were all talking about it – they say some lad saw Éomer King."
"He saw a ghost?" asked Eadgyd absent-mindedly, but Lothíriel noticed Éomer had gone very quiet and still. He was trying not to stare at Heming but it was obviously difficult.
"No, not a ghost – the man himself in flesh, in broad daylight", the old man replied.
"How would he know it was the King?" Éomer asked quietly.
"Apparently it was by his sword. I couldn't get a clear account what it was about the sword, as I've left that life behind... but you know these lads, the kind dreaming of becoming great riders. They know all the famous warriors and their blades by name better than they know their own kin. And Éomer King used to carry a renowned sword – they say he slew a thousand orcs with it when he was still alive. It sounds a bunch of nonsense to me, but the lad is convinced of what he saw", Heming explained. That had Lothíriel tensing too, because what he was saying was reminding her of something she had heard... some important words she had kept to herself.
Eadgyd, unknowing of the anxiety of their two guests, shook her head.
"Dead kings walking about among the living... Feran is not going to like it. No new lord every does, when their predecessors ghosts come back to haunt them. And people loved Éomer King well", she said ominously. "It will mean trouble, I tell you that."
"Trouble for whom? Whatever that lad saw, or thinks he did, our King is not in Harrow. After that uproar it is hard to imagine he'd have managed to hide any longer if he by some miracle was still alive... he is dead, Eadgyd. It is no wonder that some scared young lad would want to see him returned to fix everything. Many a grown man and woman wishes the same, after all", Heming said gravely, to which his wife said nothing. He sighed and shook his head, and then turned the topic to some friend of theirs.
Éomer remained in the house only until it was not anymore so strange that he should suddenly leave outside. He said something about checking on horses, but Lothíriel knew what his reason to go out really was.
She followed him as soon as she could without alarming the old couple. She couldn't tell if they suspected anything, but to be honest right now she didn't care that much – she was too worried about her husband.
Lothíriel had already healed enough to make short walks, but she had to move slowly, and even then by the time she got to the stables, there was a starting of a dull ache at her side. She knew it wasn't a good sign but she had to get to Éomer.
She found him in stables, sitting on a bale of hay, and though he did not move he was looking more troubled than she had seen him since the south. Her arrival had him flinching in alarm and she lifted a hand in a calming gesture.
"It's just me", she said gently. "Are you... are you feeling bad?"
"It was a stupid mistake – I shouldn't have had my sword with me, I should have covered the hilt... I had it under my cloak, but that boy... tried to reach my purse, and he must have seen the hilt", her beloved muttered, his hands becoming fists. Slowly she approached and almost like he wasn't thinking, he made space for her beside himself. Lothíriel sat down next to him.
"Shh, it's all right. You didn't mean it to happen, and you had other things in your mind anyway", she told him as she picked up his hand between her own two. "Did anyone else recognise you?"
"No, I don't think so. Like I said, the healer and her assistant did not pay much attention to me", he said quietly and rubbed his temple with his free hand.
"Then I think it'll be fine. It is not like anyone can prove anything, and no one knows you're here", she consoled him gently. She smiled slightly then, "It could even be a good thing. If everything we've heard about this underking is true, then just think of how nervous this will make him."
"Aye, you could be right", he agreed and even managed a faint smile for her. Her husband shifted closer to kiss her forehead and she knew she had said the right thing.
Be it as may, that he should be recognised for his sword... recognised for his sword.
Lothíriel's eyes widened and looked up sharply.
"I just remembered something", she spoke fast, her heart beating faster suddenly. Éomer glanced at her and curiosity made way to his features.
"What is it?" he asked in low tones. She met his gaze steadily.
"The King will be known for his sword", she spoke solemnly the words Luinion had given her back in the south. Most days, she hadn't thought about it much, but that wasn't to say she had forgotten. And seeing his expression, she knew nothing more needed to be said, for he remembered those words just as well.
"He saw it coming", her husband said quietly. Anxiety melted away and instead, he looked somehow tired. "Maybe it means now is the time to go back."
"Do you think you're ready for it?" Lothíriel asked, holding his hand a bit tighter. He frowned and did not seem to know what to say, not at first at any rate.
"I wish I knew for sure", Éomer said heavily and sighed. She saw him frowning, and when he spoke, it was in quiet and slow tones, "But I'm starting to understand I don't have a choice. I never had a choice, even if I thought so. My uncle... he left me with the Riddermark – trusted me not to give up. He died in hope, and how can I betray that? How can I keep pretending it doesn't mean anything?"
He looked up then and moonlight from outside fell on his face, and in his eyes she thought she could see tears. He was missing his uncle.
"It's like he's close even now, reaching for me somehow. But maybe he has been there all along, and I just didn't listen", he said and his voice was heavy with grief. "The dear old man is guiding me even beyond death."
Lothíriel regarded him quietly, listening to these thoughts spoke out loud. How could she say anything to such words? He was looking into a world she could not share, and to a time before the war... she thought of Théoden King, whose name was spoken with reverence in Gondor just as much as Éomer's. They were the men who had saved her homeland, after all. Before, Théoden had been but a distant shade, a part of an old world, but now she felt like she was really seeing him for the first time although she had never met him. A tall, aged man with a kind smile... and she understood why he retained such a place in the hearts of his sister's son and daughter.
"Then you know what to do. And no matter what you decide, I will follow you", she said softly. That did not ease the expression on his face, though.
"You will follow, even if I go back to the duty I have neglected? Though I could be a terrible king?" he asked.
"Of course. I go where you will go... and you might need me", she told him, and at that he sighed softly, and pulled her close to himself.
"I always do", he muttered very quietly, resting his cheek against her hair. It was one of those embraces she couldn't tell where it began and who was holding whom, the kind where she felt they were enveloped in each other.
"Hmm. You should know you needn't ask. I married you – all of your terrible and all of your wonderful", she murmured gently into the side of his neck.
They remained so for a while, until eventually he shifted.
"You are not recovered yet, though", he pointed out, and in his voice she could hear something deeply conflicted. "That wound needs to heal first... you shouldn't even have walked this far."
Gently, she touched his cheek and turned his head so that they could see each other. His eyes revealed what was going in his mind, and Lothíriel easily recognised the call of duty but also the knowledge that if he should follow it, he'd need her to be there with him to face that challenge.
"I know you need to go and see your kingdom mended. But it is like you say. I'm not yet healed. So I ask only for a little while more. When I'm recovered, I will come with you", Lothíriel said quietly.
He sighed.
"So be it."
It took two days of waiting.
Elfhelm was on the edge from the very moment he sent the riders to Aldburg. Now there was an anxious wait: even with the fastest horses it would not be until tomorrow that the men would return. And that was only if all went well and they would be able to get Scýne and her family. Many things could go awry and he hated not being able to go get them himself, even if he knew Ceolwen had been right.
He did the best he could to have something else to think of, but even so he found his mind constantly turning towards Éothain's family. Fortunately, Ceolwen had some idea of how to distract him, if only for a while. That afternoon she ordered him to go and let out some steam in a sparring ring, and like she had known, fighting four men at the same time did not only interrupt his wildly racing mind but also made sure he was so tired at nightfall he passed out the minute he fell beside her in bed.
He woke up at dawn, bursting with energy and anxiety. The most he could think of were the what ifs and his concern for Scýne and her family. It was entirely possible that this attempt would result in trouble and harm for them, and if it came to that... well, Elfhelm didn't know how he should ever look Éothain in the eyes again.
The day passed much in the same fashion as the one before, and Ceolwen proved she was capable of near inhuman patience - Elfhelm knew he must be vexing company as he paced back and forth wondering if something had gone wrong. Scýne and her children were one thing that were making Éothain stand back steadily and surely, so Feran would not be glad to see them gone... if they escaped, would his men risk even the death of those three innocents?
When afternoon came his wait also ended. Since yesterday, at least one guard had continuously been tasked with keeping watch in case riders returned from the direction of Aldburg, and so he was brought the word almost as soon as they were sighted on the road to Astdun.
"How many riders did you see?" Elfhelm asked anxiously.
"Seven, my lord", replied the guard. He had sent five riders, and so he dared to hope... but even then, he knew no peace until at last the company rode into the courtyard of his wife's hall.
And when they did, joy exploded inside him: Scýne was there, along with her own mother, and Elva and the little infant boy, and all of them were looking well. He laughed in relief and delight and kissed his wife, who smiled brightly and whispered "I told you so."
Then came Elva's cry: "Unca Ellem!"
He just barely had time to pay attention to Ceolwen's soft snigger and murmured "my dear Ellem", because his attention already was solely on the guests from Aldburg. Elva was positively ecstatic, shrieking with laughter and reaching her little arms towarrds him. He strode to meet her – she was riding with her grandmother – and soon as he had greeted Aedre, he lifted the little girl from the saddle.
"My lady! When did you grow to be so tall and beautiful?" he asked and gave her a bearded kiss. The girl giggled.
"Where were you, Unca Ellem?" she wanted to know. "Missed you!"
"I missed you as well, Lady Elva", he replied and turned to look at Scýne then, supporting Elva on his shoulder – the girl would soon be too big for that.
"Hello, Scýne. I trust the journey went well?" he asked, offering her his free arm to help her down. She carried her babe against her breast, warmly and securely wrapped inside blankets and a large scarf.
"Hello to you as well, you old fox. This was your idea, wasn't it?" she asked, but now it seemed to Elfhelm he was seeing a genuine smile on her face, however small.
"In part, yes. You should thank my lady wife as well. Scýne, Aedre, come and meet Lady Ceolwen", he said, and his Shieldmaiden stepped forward to greet Éothain's family.
"Your lady wife! It is true, then. I was convinced the riders you sent had been to their cups and it was the ale talking, but I suppose I just have to believe it..." Scýne stated. "Well met, my lady."
Ceolwen smiled and linked her arm with Elfhelm's.
"You better believe it, Lady Scýne. This man is mine now, and I must say I'm rather proud to be the one who tamed him", she said serenely.
"Tamed me?" Elfhelm asked doubtfully, but the three women exchanged an infuriatingly smug look he couldn't even begin to understand.
"Oh, yes. One has to see it to believe it, but it is true", Scýne replied unaffectedly, and he thought to change the topic by asking how they had got out of Aldburg and if Feran's men had given them any grief. But Scýne spoke before he could, and her words made him forget about everything else. Her features became stark and focused, "Elfhelm, I don't suppose you have heard the news yet?"
"What news?" he asked curiously.
"We heard the day before your riders arrived – I still don't believe a word of it... anyway, they say some lad in Harrow saw Éomer King there, in broad daylight", Scýne spoke quickly, searching Elfhelm's face for a reaction.
His heart leaped, and wasting no time he asked: "How did this boy know it was him?"
"I don't know for sure, but there was some talk about swords... no one else saw the King however, and though I hear Harrow was turned upside down, there is no sign of him anymore", she replied.
He had awaited the word of his king's return like the very sun to rise, and yet now he could but stand frozen... and the emotions he felt were too much to describe. Was it true? Was it really him? It made no sense! If Éomer had returned to Rohan, then surely he'd have come home with all the honour fit for a king, and all the joy for one back from the dead? Perhaps this lad had only imagined it.
And yet... if there was the slightest chance that it was him indeed... for who knew what had happened to Éomer in captivity? It could be such secrecy would make all the sense in the world to him.
There was only one thing he could do. He had to see for himself. Moreover, he did not trust Feran one bit: such a villain would not welcome the Lord of the Mark back home, especially if the king was alone and without guards to protect him. Éomer would need swords and men to wield them – and Elfhelm was not going to lose his friend and king again.
But then he felt a hand on his own, and he turned to see his wife. Quietly he gazed at her, knowing this was not just his choice anymore. There was another life now he had to consider beside his own and for a moment he thought she'd tell him no. Ceolwen's features were serious as she met his gaze, even sad somehow.
"I understand", she said however, her voice soft. "Do what you must, husband."
From the beginning, Unferth had suspected their mission was a wild goose chase. Where did you look for a man whose name or even face you didn't know? Granted, he may have told the underking he'd recognise the hooded stranger should he come across the man again, but he did not have the slightest idea of where he should even start with the search.
In the end, he and his men had ridden back and forth over the lands of Harrowdale, but keeping close to settlements - the hooded man wouldn't survive without food and shelter. From people they encountered they asked tidings of suspicious strangers – a man of the Mark and an injured Gondorian. It was doubtful whether the latter had survived, but Unferth would at least liked to know if it was so. Feran would not welcome him warmly if he returned with nothing.
"This is a stupid waste of time", complained Herebar after they had been on the road for a week. "You shouldn't have told the underking about those strangers in the first place. I knew this was precisely what he'd tell us to do – run like headless chicken after some ghosts."
"How would I have explained the injuries my men got, then?" Unferth asked sharply. "He'd have known I was lying. I'm not willing to face the consequences for you lot."
Herebar grumbled, mostly to himself, so the other man did not know what he said. Not that he cared, though.
By evenfall, they rode to Harrow to spend there the night. Those of them who had no friends or kin in these parts sought the entertainments of the local inn, a place called Folca's Sons, and Unferth was among them. He didn't join the other lads at their table, however – instead, he sat with his tankard brooding away the night and thinking of this unlucky mission.
But even as he thought of it, and of the hooded man, he slowly began to see just what was wrong with their current approach. And soon as he did, he felt like a complete idiot. Damn it! What was wrong with him, to make him so blind to the obvious? He was obviously starting to lose it.
Unferth emptied his tankard with one long gulp and put it down. Then he got up and strode to the other table, where his companions were sitting and drinking.
"Lads", he called, invoking their attention, "don't get too drunk tonight. I expect everyone of you to be able to ride after sunrise."
"Why bother, Unferth? We're obviously on a madman's task here – we're not going to find that hooded man or the Gondorian", Herebar complained, evidently displeased to hear of the impending departure on the morrow.
Unferth leaned closer over the table and gazed about his men.
"We will bother because until now, we have been a bunch of idiots", he said steadily in a voice that did not tolerate objections. "We have been asking about that hooded fellow, when obviously no one has seen him or that Gondorian he was with. But lads, if you think back, you will remember there was one more man on the plains that day."
Those of the men who had accompanied him then looked at him and understood. Even Herebar looked to be feeling just as ashamed of himself as Unferth had, for not having realised this before.
"So we will go looking for that codger?" asked Ceadda, a young rider from the West-fold.
"Aye, we will. He was coming from Harrow, as he said himself – we may be able to find here someone who knows him. And once we know his name and where to find him, we will pay the man another visit", Unferth stated. "For if anyone knows where the hooded man and the Gondorian are, it is that old man."
"Well, if you say so", Ceadda sighed, evidently disappointed that they would not yet be going home. Other men around the table seemed to agree, but none of them tried to argue. They knew Feran just as well as Unferth did.
Still and all, his mood had improved somewhat, and so he joined the other lads in the table instead of going back to brooding. Sips of ale cheered him up even more, at least until the fellow next to him, a young fellow named Alger, spoke up.
"So, did you hear the news already?" he inquired.
"What news?" Unferth asked back, only half-listening to the man.
"How could one miss it? It's the talk of the town. They say a local lad saw Éomer King here in Harrow almost a week ago", Alger answered. He was trying to hide it, but in his blue-green eyes there was an excited glimmer.
Unferth turned sharply towards the younger man.
"What nonsense is that?" he demanded. Alger shrugged and took another mouthful of ale before answering.
"Nonsense? It's hard to say. Just saying what I heard", he said nonchalantly, though Unferth could very well see this was of great interest to the other man. Well, it was no secret Alger had more or less idolised their late king – or just stories told about the man, as the young rider had never met Théoden's heir.
"We talked about this before. The dead do not return", Unferth said, wearily now, though concern was starting to grow inside him the more he thought of these news. "What precisely made that silly boy think it was the dead king he saw? Did he actually see the man's face?"
"I don't know. But the lad was certain he saw the King's sword", Alger replied. His words made the older rider snort in indignation.
"The King's sword! Surely a lifeless object is proof that he somehow returned from death. What idiocy", Unferth mocked, though he felt more worried than his words would imply. "Someone could just have found it in south and picked it up."
"I don't think so. Common men may be one thing, but if the King falls on the battle-field and is buried at the site, they will bury his sword with him as well", Alger argued.
"But it was said some southern merchants buried the King and his Riders. Do you think some southrons would have any respect towards our traditions? After all, the White Horse never returned to Rohan either. Most like they stripped those poor dead buggers naked of everything that was valuable – including that damned sword", Unferth stated.
"Even so", Alger spoke, less confidently this time, "If it is true – that some lad saw the King – then shouldn't we be looking for him? What does some hooded strangers matter if our lord is out there?"
"That is not our task", the older man said sharply. "We have our orders, and they certainly were not to look for dead men and chase ghosts."
He fell silent then, and once again the morose mood threatened to return on him. Alger noticed and spoke no more. Unferth stared down at the surface of his ale in the tankard, lost in his thoughts. To be honest, he did feel like chasing ghosts was precisely what they were doing.
A dreadful feeling was beginning to take a hold of him. The pieces before him... he knew now they fit together somehow, and he wasn't sure he'd like the shape they formed. Éomund's ghost, the hooded stranger, and the dead king walking among the living...
"We need to make haste. We have to find that man before it's too late."
A/N: Here's a new update! Hope you liked this chapter.
You know, it's really frustrating because right now I'd have a lot of writing energy, but I don't really have enough time to use up all that energy.
Lots of stuff going down again, but I should say that is probably going to be the theme of this part of the story. Bringing more of Elfhelm and Ceolwen into the story certainly has had it effect, but I continue to enjoy writing about them - hence the looks into their married life in this chapter. I hope you, my dear readers, like the parts with them as well!
Speaking of Elfhelm, he'll have to move fast if he's going to beat Unferth and gang... at any rate, I think Ceolwen would see how badly he needs to go and find his friend. She probably knows it'd drive him insane if she tried to hold him back. Elva isn't going to be happy though - poor thing was so looking forward to spending time with "Ellem".
Also I'm thinking the news in Harrow have shaken up things a lot. I should imagine Lothíriel wasn't wrong to say the news will make Feran sweat! As you can see, the King was indeed known for his sword. Neither Éomer and Lothíriel expected those words of Luinion would mean this, but it could be they were just what was needed. Our exiled King at least is starting to realise he can't remain in hiding, not at least much longer.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by Robert Jordan.
Inspiration for the chapter: Shannon LaBrie - Calls Me Home
brandibuckeye - Thank you! There are ways to go yet, though and there are many reunions yet to take place!
TX . Bluebonnet - Thank you so much for your compliments! I was grinning like an idiot when I was reading your review. It is so good to hear that there are people who actually think so highly of this story. As a writer, it is important for me that the characters are relatable and flawed and human, so hearing that I've succeeded in that makes me truly happy. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy the story until the very end!
UntilNeverDawns - I'm happy for them too! It's good to see them so content in their life together.
Lothíriel is getting better, but she's not completely well yet. As for Feran, sadly there are indeed no trucks to hit him!
Thalia - Yes, Elfhelm is indeed having some happiness at last! I think he's all the gladder because he was so depressed for months. I think for Ceolwen, it is pretty easy to love him. For his flaws, ultimately Elfhelm is a decent man.
Hopefully Lothíriel is already getting that rest she needs! There is probably no better place for that than Heming and Eadgyd's home.
You were right about that lad recognising Éomer. It is good in the sense that he's coming to terms with his duty, but it could also stir up some trouble.
Shadowstorm - I suppose it was a surprising development, but the reasoning behind their sudden marriage was their fear they never might be able to do it otherwise. It is a choice affected by uncertainty and not knowing if Éomer will come back in time. Both Elfhelm and Ceolwen just want to live and be loved while they still can.
Wondereye - It does seem dire indeed!
annafan - The two of them are a fitting match, really!
Talia119 - Yes, they both see they are made of similar stuff, and in this time being together seems better than dreading the future all alone.
I suppose it's understandable that you're confused about Gamling and Erkenbrand. I could have taken care of that in the last chapter, but I'm not sure what brainfart I had that I didn't. But to answer your question, I'm trying to get to them, and hopefully the story itself will soon give the information you need. You're right about Erkenbrand - he's still a Marshal and why that is will be explained as soon as possible.
And it does seem like Éomer is starting to get ready to charge. He just needs Lothíriel to recover first. Perhaps that will also make him understand he's not without hope.
Jo - The bit about mearas was really interesting to write as well! Perhaps that was not the last we saw of them. :)
Bowmaiden - Sounds like you have truly been having an insane time lately! Hopefully both you and your kid are better now.
Glad you liked the last chapter. I guess it was sudden for Elfhelm and Ceolwen to marry, but like I said before, in this uncertainty it is a choice that makes sense for them both. And you're right - Éomer was very worried for his wife, but he has got so much better that he could handle it pretty well.