I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
- "The Poetess"

Chapter 46

January 1 Fourth Age, Minas Tirith

Imrahil startled awake some time after midnight had passed. His breath came as a gasp and he jerked to sit up in his bed, still half asleep. Usually he was a steady sleeper but now as he sat there, he felt profoundly unsettled – he knew dreams were not always just dreams in his family.

The traditions had it some members of the Númenórean houses had been gifted with foresight, and though the great kingdom had fallen long ago, this gift had not passed into memory completely. Indeed, in the stories of his own family there were many accounts of premonitions – the dream Faramir and Boromir had received before the war was only just one such instance. That the gift had remained so strong in their line had Imrahil thinking sometimes whether it had something to do with Mithrellas' Elven blood in their veins.

So he mulled over his dream and settled back in his bed, knowing there was nothing he could do about it in the middle of the night. He went back to sleep and his rest was fairly calm until morning. But when he woke up and began to prepare for the new day, the dream was still in his mind.

As soon as he had dressed Imrahil made way to the dining chamber. It was an airy space, meant for larger gatherings than himself and his son Amrothos, who was staying in the city as well. The Prince had no illusions as to why that was. Apparently there was some quiet understanding between his family members he should not be left alone in the White City. In truth he was thankful for it, because especially nights could be lonely in his town-house and the ever-present concern for his daughter did not help.

Amrothos joined him quarter an hour later. The young man looked to be only half awake as he sauntered in, scratching the back of his neck and yawning. Imrahil briefly wondered if his son had been out on some nightly wandering but decided he'd not rather know. Another thing he suspected Mithrellas had given to her descendants was certain sort of wildness at times.

"Morning, Father", Amrothos greeted him as he settled down on the other side of the table. He poured himself some tea and took a big bite of a freshly baked roll.

"Good morning, son", Imrahil replied and refilled his own cup of tea as well. For a while they both sat in silence, listening to the quiet of the house.

When the Prince spoke at last, his voice was soft and sad, "I dreamed of your sister last night."

Hearing those words Amrothos looked up and lifted his eyebrows.

"You did?" he asked.

"Yes. Well, I do see her often in my dreams, but last night it was different", Imrahil said, frowning slightly. He considered his cup and went on, "She was in Rohan, riding somewhere in the middle of the night. It seemed to me she was in some danger."

His son was looking at him quietly, and so Imrahil continued, "I believe it was like that dream your cousins had before the War."

"So you really did see her?" Amrothos asked. "Is she... was she all right?"

"I think so. She looked tired and like she was in a serious need of a bath, but she was fine. Except for the feeling that there was some peril on her, of course", Imrahil said and sighed, hoping he might have seen something more. But then... at least he had a kind of a reassurance that his daughter was still alive. He did not just like the part about knowing something might be threatening her life.

The corner of Amrothos' mouth lifted briefly and he considered his breakfast.

"Trust Lothíriel to keep on going. Sometimes I still don't believe she really did it... went to look for Éomer and found him", he said fondly.

"She was born a fighter", Imrahil agreed, his voice quiet and bittersweet. He looked up at his son and sharply regarded him. "But perhaps this time she may need some help."

"What do you mean, Father?" Amrothos asked, having noticed the shift in the Prince's demeanor. Imrahil looked steadily at the young man before him.

"Son, I have a task for you and Erchirion."

The wrappings were, as requested, nondescript and plain – not quite worthy of the object inside, but perhaps this should guarantee it would be safely delivered into right hands. Queen Arwen allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile as she tied the fastenings in neat knots and thought the outcome was even better than she could have hoped for. The material was sturdy and so should protect what was inside during the journey north.

Estel had told her the story of how it had come to his possession and thinking of it still made her uneasy, though she knew how things had turned out. She could but imagine the terror and grief he had felt when he had thought his dear friend Éomer was dead. Of course, in the end things were not quite so hopeless: Estel had travelled a long road with Princess Lothíriel and Lady Éowyn... and they had found the Rohirric King.

Where said man now wandered she was not sure, but Estel at least seemed convinced he was either already in his home land or on his way there – this he had resolved when Prince Amrothos had returned from the errand of looking for the Princess Lothíriel.

It was then, as she smoothed the surface of the wrapping, that her husband ventured into the chamber. He had been very busy lately, trying to catch up with all the work which had piled up on his desk during his absence. Fortunately he had got the best of it eventually and now had more time for her. Most of it he'd spend hovering about her like any father-to-be would, but she didn't mind. Arwen was just happy for knowing the baby she was carrying would be loved.

"Hello, my dear", he greeted his wife as he approached her. With a smile she turned towards him and spread her arms.

"Hello to you as well", she replied, and then he pulled her in his embrace.

"How do you feel today?" Estel asked when he had kissed her.

"I am quite well. You needn't worry for me... I have a feeling all will go just finely", she told him. He tried to hide it but he was a big fuss about those he cared about.

"How can you know?" he asked her, but Arwen just gave him a mysterious smile, the kind only Elrond's offspring could master.

Then, remembering the task she had been attending to, she turned towards the table and the package there. She lay a hand on it and looked at Estel.

"The thing you asked me to do, when you left with Princess Lothíriel and Lady Éowyn... it is ready now", she said. Her words brought a solemn expression to her husband's face.

"And the result?" he asked.

"Almost better than the day it was made", she said and smiled at him.

"Thank you. This means a lot to me. And to him, once he sees it", Estel said and smiled again. He gave her another kiss – deeper this time, and tasting of his gratitude.

"I'm glad if it can help", she said. Arwen looked at him pensively then, "How do you mean to deliver it?"

Her husband frowned and scratched his beard as he thought of her question.

"I had not got that far yet, to be honest... I need someone trustworthy and careful, but with some special skills. After all, I am not certain just anyone could find Éomer if he is still on the road. Moreover, if there are riders guarding the borders of Rohan, this task will require some stealth", he said, going through alternatives as he spoke.

Then his eyes widened slightly and the light of a sudden idea dawned in them, and Arwen knew he was thinking of the same solution as the one that had already occurred to her.

"I should send the word right away. It is a couple of day's travel from Ithilien, even for him", he said.

"Yes. He will have to make arrangements before he can leave", she agreed. Her brow furrowed as another idea came to her. "But perhaps you should not send him straight to Éomer. I think he should go and meet Lothíriel first. She'll know when your friend will need it most."

"You are very right, my dear Queen", Estel agreed, smiling now. "After all, Legolas is rather fond of her and should be happy to help. He will find them."

East of Harrow on way to Astdun, Rohan

The cold was something else.

Before this Lothíriel had only seen Rohan in summer, and when they had first arrived through the Dimholt Road the weathers had been mild still; in the safe warmth of Heming and Eadgyd's farmhouse the cold of the night had seemed a faraway thing when it lurked just behind the walls and doors of their cosy home. In the middle of January night, when her breath turned to steam the moment it left her lips and her fingers grasping the reins were starting to get numb, she knew cold unlike ever before.

Think of the south. Think of the hot afternoons and sweat trickling down your neck.

Arric's head bounced against her shoulder and she held on to him a bit tighter – the poor thing was fast asleep despite the cold. There had only been four horses and seeing she and him were the lightest of the company, they had wordlessly agreed he'd ride with her. She considered he'd have been embarrassed to ride with anyone else, but the Queen of Rohan was apparently a worthy companion.

Some queen I am, fleeing in the night like this, she thought to herself and glanced about. All three men about her looked tired, and no wonder: they had been riding since the morning. The horses were wearing down as well, their heads hanging low as they still trudged forward.

They had fled the town of Harrow in haste, running for their lives – or rather for the life of the King of Rohan. What had happened afterwards she didn't know, but she did recognise it was a heavy burden on all their hearts. The stony look on her husband's face told her all she needed to know, but wish as she might to comfort him, she knew now was not a time for it. Yet with a troubled mind she considered she had not seen him looking so downhearted ever since the south.

Onwards they travelled. Soon her head began to nod and though she was cold, she was starting to feel like she could just lay down on the ground and fall asleep on the spot. But then, looking at her husband, somehow she found strength again. I have to be unbending and unbreakable.

This dull cold haze was broken at last when Alger came from behind, somehow urging his horse to short gallop. He had been keeping watch at the tail to see if they were being followed.

"My lord, there are riders behind us", he called in alarm, which had everyone's heads startling up.

"How many?" Éomer asked sharply.

"I'm not sure. Ten at least, but likely more", Alger replied fast.

"We must take cover. It is so dark, perhaps they will not see our tracks", Elfhelm suggested. As everyone were so tired and disheartened, other words were not spoken. Trying to flee was not an option anymore.

The cover they took was behind the hill to their right. Elfhelm and Lothíriel remained on the hilltop, both of them on the ground so that the riders would not see them. She had her bow at ready, as she could at least thin out the crowd if these were Feran's men after them. She thought of Legolas then, remembering all the dangers he had travelled through on the quest to destroy the Ring. If only he could have been here now!

The freezing night was very clear and moon was bright, and so they could see very well; both the Queen and the Marshal remained silent and holding their breath as they waited for the riders to arrive. Then at last there was the sound of horses and soon afterwards a company of riders entered the steeping lap of hills from where the five travellers had just fled. She quickly counted fifteen of them. Knowing what sharp ears Rohirric horses had, Lothíriel kept her voice as quiet as possible when she asked Elfhelm: "Do you know them?"

He peered hard into the night, his eyes narrowed. From down below they heard voices of men talking, sounding like they were negotiating something.

"I don't believe it", Elfhelm muttered at last. "That young man leading them – he is Edelric, son of Erkenbrand."

"They're friends, then?" she asked.

"Aye, I think so. He's a nice lad, takes after his father", Elfhelm said. He lifted himself up slightly and waved down to the bottom of the hill where the others were waiting, to signal they were not followed by Feran's folk. Then he got up on his feet and called to the riders below: "Oi, lads! Where are you riding?"

There were some surprised sounds among them, but then came an answer: "Is that you, Lord Elfhelm?"

"It is me all right. Why are you riding about at this hour?" he asked then, his form relaxing – there was no sense of danger here, and Lothíriel got up on her feet as well.

"Looking for you of course! I was starting to think you had vanished into thin air!" replied the young leader of the riders, the one she guessed was Edelric.

"I was trying to, more or less", Elfhelm answered. "Now get here, you lot! I don't want to spend the entire night on this hill yelling at you."

It was peculiar to see the change in the Marshal; before, he had looked just as tired and discouraged as the others, but a sight of friendly face appeared to have cheered him up almost instantly. Edelric and his company rode up hill to meet them. As they approached, she saw clearer Erkenbrand's son and remembered she had seen him in Edoras, perhaps during Théoden King's funeral. Like his father, Edelric was not as tall as Éomer and Elfhelm, but of broader build he was,and he had the signature blond hair of the Rohirrim. Moonlight swallowed most colour but she knew his eyes to be dark blue, and his face had not yet lost all of its boyish looks. Still, he was armoured as any warrior and seeing he was riding before fourteen men could only mean he had been well-trained in arts of war. But then, nothing less could be expected of the son of the great warrior Erkenbrand.

He appeared to have seen her too and the friendly smile on his face turned into surprise.

"Lady Lothíriel! What are you doing here of all places, and with Lord Elfhelm?" Edelric asked, having reached a distance that did not require shouting anymore.

"Lothíriel Queen came with me to provide some assistance in the form of archery, as she is rather gifted with her bow. We were not certain if you were enemies or not", Elfhelm explained. Edelric's eyes widened even more and he looked at her as though he only now saw her.

"So it is true, then? He is alive? He has come back?" asked the young man heatedly.

"Aye, it is very true. He is waiting down the hill", she replied. Edelric grinned as an answer.

"That is the best news I've heard in months", he said emphatically.

"You and me both, laddie", Elfhelm said warmly. Then he asked, "What are you doing here? Where's your father?"

"I'll tell you all about it, my lord, but first I'd like to greet Éomer King. No doubt he'd hear my tidings as well", Edelric suggested.

"You're right. Let us get down from this hilltop", said the Marshal, and so they began to make way down the hillside. Edelric's riders followed, muttering softly to each other – she heard her and Éomer's name uttered among them.

All signs of melancholy were gone from her husband's face once they met him down by the root of the hill, minding the horses with Alger and Arric. Instead, he received the new arrivals with all the grace of a king, and one might have thought he was standing in Meduseld instead of a desolate dale in the middle of a night. Edelric and his men readily got on their knee before him, all swearing allegiance to him once more, and Lothíriel felt at least somewhat encouraged. Now they were not so defenceless anymore, should it go so unfortunately Feran's men would find them.

Getting up on his feet, Erkenbrand's son asked: "My lord, what are your plans? Were you making for Aldburg?"

"Our plans", Éomer said at length and looked about, "would now be to settle down for the night. We are all quite exhausted, as are the horses. Moreover I would like to hear tidings of your father."

In a few moments the entire company was in the middle of preparing a night camp. Fire was started – inconspicuous enough so possible malevolent eyes would not notice it – and what food happened to be in saddlebags was shared. Arric looked rather cold so Lothíriel dug through her own saddlebag, which she had luckily been able to take along, and borrowed him one of her own tunics.

When the camp was set, she moved to her husband's side, to listen to what Edelric had to say.

"A word from Gamling asking for help came to the Hornburg just before Yuletide", he started his explanation. "Father decided right away to send me with half an éored to Harrow, and I would have done just that. But even as I was preparing for the journey an uprising took place. The underking knows Father is a loyal supporter of our rightful king, so he had placed many of his own folk in the Hornburg – no doubt they were just watching and waiting for an excuse."

"What happened? Is your father all right?" Éomer asked. His voice was steady but on his face she saw a frown, and could only imagine what these news made him feel now.

"Far as I know Father was taken captive, Sire. The event itself was a very chaotic one, and we were taken unawares. We would have been able to overthrow them, but then in the middle of the battle the gates were opened, and... there were Dunlendings, and they overwhelmed the defence. I can only assume Feran has made some kind of a deal with them", Edelric continued, and Elfhelm let out a low growl. Lothíriel expected something similar from her beloved but he was quiet. Dunlendings in the Hornburg! Could this get any worse?

Edelric sighed and looked into the fire, "I only got out because Father ordered me to leave before it was too late. He said someone needed to take a word to Gamling and Lord Elfhelm. So, while the battle was still raging, myself and the men you see here made it out."

He looked up then, "However, I knew there was a chance pursuers would come after us and we would be captured, or that there would be more Dunlendings lying in wait close to the fortress. So I sought refuge in Glæmscrafu, where Lord Gimli and his folk live. Since the Great War there has only been friendship between our two peoples and he gladly let us enter. As soon as I told him what had happened in the Hornburg, he locked the doors and if Feran's henchmen ever came to demand to get in... well, I understand Gimli's guards had great fun in telling them horribly rude things."

"How were you able to get out in the end?" Lothíriel asked for her part. She had not visited Lord Gimli's home in Aglarond – it had been one of the places she had planned to see soon as she'd marry Éomer, but in the end plans had much changed. And now the most urgent matter was staying alive.

"We had to stay in Glæmscrafu until the storm had passed, and once the weather was clear, Gimli took us this secret way, so we did not need to go through Helm's Deep. Whoever keeps rule in the Hornburg now, they probably think we are still in the caves with the dwarves. Be it as may, we rode for Harrow soon as we could... but then on the way we encountered a small family fleeing – they told us Éomer King had returned alive, but Feran had tried to capture you, and you had escaped. It was a difficult decision, but instead of seeking for Gamling, we thought it is our priority to make sure our king is unharmed. Then we figured you'd try for Aldburg, and so rode like a battalion of orcs was on our tails", Edelric concluded his tale.

A silence had fallen around the camp fire. No one seemed to either know what to say, or want to speak before Éomer did. His eyes were downcast and his face was unreadable – what thoughts moved in his mind then even Lothíriel could not tell. But then a question occurred to her, and she looked around.

"I was under the impression Feran had dismissed all my husband's supporters. Why did he leave Erkenbrand in the position of Marshal anyway?" she asked.

"Well, Erkenbrand has always been widely respected in the land. He has been a trusted lieutenant both to Théoden and Éomer", Elfhelm started. "I'd say our highly esteemed underking was trying to appeal to the people. Let them have at least one thing to remind of good old times, something solid to hold on to. It was easy to dismiss me, seeing I had let our king ride to what we thought as his death, and Gamling was supposedly too old. But there was no excuse to strip Erkenbrand of his position."

"If you ask me, it was also partly because Feran is scared of my father. That villain used to serve under Father's command back before the Great War. And no wonder – you would have to be mad to go against the old man", Edelric put in.

"Hmm. Let us hope then his guards will remember that too. We could use Erkenbrand's skill and wisdom", Lothíriel muttered and rubbed her forehead. She glanced at her husband, who still remained silent.

At last he let out a small sigh and lifted up his eyes, gazing at the company gathered about the fire.

"We will rest here for the night and continue as soon as sun rises. We will ride for Astdun and seek the aid of Lady Ceolwen, Elfhelm's wife", he said at last, his tone nondescript. "Then we will figure out how to deal with this underking."

He continued, "Edelric, organise watches until morning. Rest of you, eat and get some sleep."

With that the crowd dispersed. But Lothíriel and Elfhelm stayed close to Éomer.

"You think Erkenbrand and Gamling are still alive?" asked the Marshal quietly, and she saw a look of pain quickly pass on her husband's face.

"We can only hope so", Éomer said quietly. Then his features became grim and frightening, "I should have killed Feran when I had the chance. I should have buried my blade in his guts when he stood before me."

"Then you would have been just like him", Lothíriel said gently, touching his arm. "But you're king. Rohan will remember that."

His only answer was a half-audible grunt, but his expression revealed he was not much consoled by her words.

"It's going to be fine. I promise. Once we get to Ceolwen, we'll send riders everywhere. We'll muster as many éoreds as we can. I swear to you we will take down this villain", Elfhelm said. His voice was that of a convinced man but his eyes revealed his concern.

But still Éomer remained quiet. She thought at first he might not say anything at all, but he did, and he did not try to hide the pain in his voice.

"I left my people. I left them when they needed me, and now people are dying for me. I can't bear it again", he said and rested his head on his hand, his shoulders low, like there was a weight on him he could barely carry.

"What do you suggest you could have done for anyone? Think of how you were back in Pelargir. Could you have handled all this? Do you think you could have been the king they need?" Lothíriel asked forcibly. "Be merciful to yourself. You didn't know. And I believe with all my being that you needed the time we were alone."

Yet even as she hoped those words to cause at least some reaction, her husband said nothing. Lothíriel and Elfhelm exchanged a troubled glance, and then the Marshal reached to rest his hand on the younger man's shoulder. When he spoke again his voice held all the faith he had in his king.

"Please. We need you to hope again."

At those words Éomer looked at last to his friend. If she thought he might say something at last she was mistaken, for he just sighed and then stood up. Lothíriel and Elfhelm followed the example.

"I must think about this", Éomer said quietly. He turned and strode from the vicinity of fire; Elfhelm made a movement as to follow him but she stopped him by laying her hand on his forearm.

"Let him go. I think he needs to take a moment alone", she told him softly. The Marshal was still frowning but he complied nevertheless. He looked at her and on his usually cheerful face there was a dismayed expression. She offered him a smile, "Believe in him like I do. This is not the worst he has faced... he'll remember that, too."

Now the Marshal smiled as well and he regarded her fondly.

"For all the doubts I had about you, back in Mundburg after the war had ended... I never realised just how well he chose. You are a true gift, my Queen", he said in warm tones.

"I am glad you think so", she said.

Elfhelm smiled and ushered her back to the fire in order to get warm. She sat down next to Arric, who was shivering there and looking very small and downcast.

Seeing her work was not yet done for the night, Lothíriel reached for her saddlebag once more and found there in a small pouch, which held some dried fruit. It had to be from that farm she had bought provisions from, the one where she had first received the news something might be wrong in Rohan.

"Do you like dried fruit, Arric?" she asked the boy gently. His head shot up and he blinked.

"Aye, milady. Very much, but we haven't had any since my da died", he answered.

"Well, I happen to be in possession of some. Would you like to share?" she asked.

"I would, milady!" he said enthusiastically. She gave him a smile and offered him a handful of her bounty. Arric tossed two or three pieces into his mouth right away and looked like the happiest lad alive.

"Are you feeling well, Arric?" she asked then, after they had both enjoyed the dried fruits for a moment. "I know you are a brave lad, seeing how you have endured this road so well even when us adults are exhausted. So if you are scared or tired, you can tell me."

The boy bit his lip and stared down on the palm of his hand. Then he looked up at her and she saw the doubt in his eyes.

"Aye, I'm tired. But I can handle it, milady. Squires have to be strong and tough. And I don't want to disappoint Lord Elfhelm", he said. "It's just..."

"Just what?" she asked softly.

"I miss my Ma. I didn't even tell her goodbye when I ran away. What if something happened to her? What if Feran will hurt her somehow?" he mumbled unhappily.

Gently she wrapped an arm about his skinny shoulders and pulled him closer to her.

"I'm sure your mother will be all right, and know to hide from the battle. Feran has no reason to harm her in any way. And she knows you were with Lord Elfhelm, and that we'll look after you", she comforted the boy. "We'll send a rider to ask for her as soon as we can."

Hearing those words Arric smiled. She returned it and tousled his messy blond hair.

"Now, seeing you don't have a blanket for the night, would you like to have my cloak? It is very warm and I don't want you to get cold while you sleep", she offered. That had the boy's eyes widening in surprise.

"Won't you get cold then, milady?" he asked.

"I have spare clothing with me I can put on if I'm cold. And my lord husband should be willing to share his cloak with me", she said nonchalantly. Arric hesitated at first but then gave her a small unsure nod. Lothíriel smiled at him and undid the plain brooch on her throat. Then she wrapped her dark-blue cloak, the one Éomer had given to her on the day of their wedding, about Arric's shoulders. She didn't think her husband would mind such use of the garment.

She placed a small gentle kiss on the lad's forehead.

"Get some sleep, Arric. It has been a long day and tomorrow may be longer still", she told him gently.

"Thank you, milady", said the lad heartily. Then he moved to find a spot he could lay down on, and curled up under the blue cloak. As for Lothíriel, she looked up to see Elfhelm watching her. The Marshal smiled and mouthed "great job" at her. She winked as a reply to him.

Having given up her cloak she did feel the need for some extra clothing, and so she turned again to her saddlebag to find another tunic to pull on. Hopefully they would reach Astdun soon and acquire proper gear for the time of year. She thought to herself how it would be like, when they would arrive in Lady Ceolwen's town, and what the woman herself was like. Considering she was wife to Elfhelm, Lothíriel could not believe she could fall second to the man himself – especially because she had never seen him as the marrying kind. The woman he had taken to wife had to be special.

Hopefully reaching Astdun would restore Éomer's spirits as well. Indeed she had not seen him looking so melancholy ever since they had left Pelargir. Then again, perhaps it was understandable there would be setbacks before all was said and done. He had done very well so far, and she was sure he'd find his resolution again.

But then, even as she thought of her husband, she gazed about: where was he, anyway? He had gone to seek some solitude but now he was nowhere near the camp anymore.

"Elfhelm", she called the Marshal sharply, "where is Éomer?"

After leaving Pelargir Éomer had generally felt better – almost like his old self. Each day the wounds had healed a little bit more, and by the time they had left Heming and Eadgyd, he had been sure it was all scar tissue now. However, past two days had proved he was not yet in the place he wanted to be.

Quietly he left the camp fire, fighting back the grief and despair. Gamling and Erkenbrand... if they were both dead, he did not know how he should handle it. He had counted on they would be there when he came home, as he would need their help to restore the Mark again... but it was more than that. He had seen too many a friend die because of him. And having to leave Gamling behind had tore open some wounds that had not yet healed.

Éomer did not particularly pay attention to where he was going, and so he came to the top of the hill at last. There he stood watching the plains, bathed in bright moonlight. Mist had risen and wisps of it rested in the belly of the valley before him. His heart was heavy and tired and he had no idea of what he should do... how he should endure.

It was too much. Now two more of his friends could very well be dead, just like his guard... and he remembered that ill-fated valley, his friends and riders around him fighting to defend his life... he buried his face in his hands and fought the tears as he remembered how it had felt like when Firefoot's legs had given in under him and he had seen the wild look in the stallion's eyes moments before he had died. And the shouts of dying men! It was too much then and it was too much now. My fault all dead I'm so sorry...

A howl, raw and feral as that of a wounded animal, was building up at the back of his throat. But somehow he was able to hold it back – the last thing he needed now was his wife and company thinking he was about to lose it. They believed in him so steadfastly and he could not betray their trust – couldn't let their hope die, like his own was dying. He had not come back for this! He couldn't have survived just to see the Mark burn, to live only to understand he was a failure!

But it was too late to turn now. He had made his resolution... he had decided to come home. This road he had chosen might very well lead to his death, but he would have to walk it until the bitter end.

It was then, as Éomer stood there despairing, that he appeared for the third time.

He came from the mist, quiet and weightless as if he were a phantom. Surely his appearance was that of a ghost: on his shimmering grey coat pearls of dew glistened and his feet fell in the long grass with graceful ease. But he had to be a real horse, for he did not disappear as Éomer gazed at him in wonder. If there was in the Riddermark a horse alike to Shadowfax the great, this stallion was him.

It was like in the dream from long ago... or the night he and his men had been riding back to Aldburg – the night Théodred had died. He had wondered then if he should see this stallion for the third time. And here he was now, and Éomer knew this meeting was a sign.

The steed slowed down then, and Éomer stood still and silent. For some time, the man and the horse both remained motionless.

"Westu hal, hláford min", he said at length; those words seemed to be the most natural thing to say right now and the stallion tossed his head as if to answer the greeting.

Suddenly the silver horse moved again and he approached Éomer; the throneless king still did not dare to move. But the stallion stopped at his side and neighed softly, and at last he shifted. Ever so gently he placed a hand on the powerful neck of this extraordinary animal. When he felt the soft coat under his hand, he shivered and let out a breath he had not noticed holding.

Firefoot had had some mearas blood, but only some. Whereas this stallion was of pure mearas breed, and after Shadowfax he had to be the most magnificent horse that Éomer had ever seen in his life. Being an Eorling and a King of Rohan, he knew something of horses... and as much he had loved Firefoot and the stallion had loved him, he knew even kings got to meet a horse like this only once in their lifetime.

But then, as he was still in the middle of admiring the stallion, he suddenly fell down on his knees... and Éomer understood he was asked to ride.

Without a moment of hesitation he leaped on the animal's back, never even stopping to think of the camp down below or that he should say something to his wife or men there. The stallion rose up on his feet again. And he began to move, slow at first... in the movements of his powerful muscles there was solace perhaps only one of Eorlingas could understand, and Éomer closed his eyes.

He let this stallion carry him where he would, trusting the steed to not let him fall even though he did not hold on or even look ahead.

And the stallion began to gather speed and the cool air whipped at Éomer's face and he breathed in the scent of it, until his breaths turned into cries, and he was weeping for his agony and love and grief and pain and doubts and shame... he wept, until tears became laughter; there was something mad about the sound even as it left his lips but also something that made him feel free. He was free, perhaps for the first time ever since that day he had been taken captive.

They rode over the plains, through the mist into bright moonlight, and no hostile eye or secret arrow could have found him then, for the stallion was flying with such speed that surely the two of them would only have looked like phantoms racing, like Eorl had returned from his grave to travel through his kingdom once more. Wind was in his hair, catching at the silver and gold and he spread his arms, to just...

Just fly.

Éomer thought of Eorl, of the House he had founded, his sons and grandsons and all the lives that had sprung from his seed until this Twilight Age; he thought of South and North, of blood on his hands, of friends dead and gone, and of Lothíriel, the one who had saved him... he thought of Meduseld, of Edoras, of scars on his back and in his soul that may never fade the way he'd want them to...

And he remembered the sight of his father's dead body, the grave they laid his mother, and Théoden's hand on his shoulder... the day he had become a Marshal, Théodred carried from the Fords of Isen and the ride to Mundburg, Éowyn lying on the battlefield and the White Horse rippling in the wind as he charged over the Pelennor fields, and then a night in Ithilien and a dark-haired woman riding from the shadows... he thought of his throne and how he had lost it and known he was not a king anymore...

But now it had all changed.

Now he was riding a mearas stallion. He was in this kingdom Théoden had left him with and one of the great horses of the West was carrying him.

Only the King of the Mark can ride the mearas.

At last Éomer understood his fate, and who he needed to be.

A/N: And I return with an update! This chapter is much shorter than the last one, but it really needed to end where it did. I must say I'm pretty pleased with this one, and was very excited to upload it here.

Seeing how Éomer had to abandon Gamling in the last chapter, I felt it would be something to sorely discourage him, especially because it would bring back memories of the slaughter of his guard in south. So in this chapter we see him more melancholy than he has been a while. However, it is precisely that moment of despair that the stallion of mearas appears; and you can see now what was all that talk about mearas way back in the chapter 6, and the encounter he had in chapter 41 was quite meaningful as well.

Now our company is not so alone anymore, as they have been joined by Edelric. Sadly Erkenbrand is inconvenienced at the moment but I thought you, my dear readers, may flog me if I didn't give our favourite horselord and his queen some help at least.

Glæmscrafu is the Rohirric equivalent for Aglarond, or Glittering Caves as they were named before Gimli and some of his people from Erebor settled there after the War of the Ring. I'd think Gimli is in pretty good terms with Erkenbrand and subsequently Edelric, and would happily give him shelter.

I usually don't talk about the songs that have inspired me in writing this story, but when I drafted the scene of Éomer riding through the fields of the Mark on the back of a mearas horse I was listening to Hans Zimmer's song Flight (for the soundtrack of movie Man of Steel), I had this vision so powerful in my mind's eye that I can't but recommend that you find it on Youtube and listen to it – especially the latter part of the song. It conveys, I think, all the emotions Éomer goes through in the last scene of this chapter, and also the kind of rebirth he experiences as a man of Rohan and as a king.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Quote in the beginning originally by E. E. Cummings.

Inspiration for the chapter: Hans Zimmer – Flight

LittleNK - Seeing you react so I can only deem I've managed to create a good villain! And by good I mean the kind that rouses emotions in my readers. :) We'll see how his story goes!

Jo - Glad to hear that! Hope you like this chapter as well. :) I seem to recall you were pretty excited about mearas, so hopefully this answers all your expectations.

DanaFruit - I would imagine a lot of people would enjoy the event of Éothain giving Feran a proper beating... we'll see how that goes.

I'm not sure it's looking so good for Gamling, though.

Talia119 - Yes, that was really one very meaty chapter. Not sure if I've ever before written something so massive. :D

What can I say? Once you get the taste of the blood you can't stop. :D

Kiiimberly - Feran had better hopes for it when he thought Éomer would never be able to come home from the south. He obviously has to re-think a lot of stuff now. As to why he was so successful in the last chapter was mostly because the men following him had yet no idea of what was his true purpose for trying to take Éomer in custody, and at any rate people who follow him have their various reasons for it. We will most likely hear about these reasons soon.

brandibuckeye - It was long coming indeed! And hope you like this chapter. :)

Thalia - It's a thick chapter indeed, and I very much enjoyed writing it.

Éothain should be on his way home now, and you're right in saying he's been through a lot. I'll have to think about that reunion scene!

As for Ceolwen and Erkenbrand, he is currently held back, but perhaps Ceolwen will make an appearance soon. ;)

Bowmaiden - Welcome back! Your comments are always appreciated. Sounds like your kid is really growing up fast!

I promise I'll think about the scene of reuniting Éothain with his family. :)

Shadowstorm - Glad you had time to review, though! :)

And yes, Feran is one of the few people who are not at all pleased about Éomer's return.

Starlight - Thank you! :) I don't think it looks too good for Gamling or that he could be saved, but that was the sacrifice he made. Éothain should be now on his way home, and seeing so many are asking for that reunion scene I'll probably have to very seriously consider it. :) And yes, Elfhelm does most likely very much miss his wife, but when and if they find each other again will remain to be seen!

Wondereye - It doesn't seem so good for him at least!

Vilwerin - Yes, the last chapter was pretty big one, but this should be more easily digested. :)

MairaElleth - The scene with Gamling was a sad and difficult one to write as well, but one has to make sacrifices - especially in a story like this. And yes, Feran doesn't have a clean way out now!

It was a devastating thing for Éomer indeed, and it plays a significant part in why he is so out of his mind with grief and hopelessness in this chapter.

almythea - I'd say every committed writer is a sadist to an extent at least. ;) Sadly I can't promise an update every day, because when the chapters are +6000 words long it does take time to write, and I've got my real life as well. I do try to update as often as I can, but you simply have to be patient with me.