My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
Not decked with diamonds and Elven stones,
Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:
A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
- Ecthelion, The Bard of Lossarnarch
Chapter 52
The rush was nothing like she had ever experienced before.
Though Lothíriel had now some experience of fighting, she had never taken part in a battle of this scale; the voices of captains shouting orders and Éothain and Ceolwen commanding them with such authority as none would dare to refuse, and the fixed lines of Rohirrim as they rode for battle... briefly she thought this all could have made her feel fear, and yet she did not. The sight of Éomer and Silfren was all the reassurance she needed.
The first clash was perhaps the most violent one, and she knew it could not go on for long. But it did not need to, because it was not long now that Éomer would arrive and when he did, the lesser numbers of her company would cease to matter. Her mind was calm and concentrated, having played her part to all her and Éomer's expectations, and the arrows she delivered were mostly to incapacitate her opponents. And she did not worry for her own life, for Ceolwen was on her one side and Éowyn on the other, and it would only be moments now that the King and his riders would join the fray.
"Hail Éomer King!" she shrieked into the face of battle and many voices answered her, and then...
Then she saw the White Horse upon Green.
The commands had been given, the lines were in formation. Now all remained to carry out the plan he had devised, and so far it was going as well as he had hoped it would.
Silfren lead the charge. The great stallion flew before the muster, but Éomer held him back to let Elfhelm stay by his side and his riders close to himself. Before them he saw the battle and his force was about to penetrate the left flank of his enemy. Just as he had hoped Feran's force had engaged in combat with the éoreds staying at the main camp, and thus exposed themselves to anyone who might want to join this struggle. Now when Éomer and his riders were doing just that, Feran's folk had realised their mistake in the attack. He saw the swarming of the line as Feran's captains desperately tried to marshal their men into a defence.
It was in vain. Even from afar Éomer saw the dread and doubt on the faces of men, and all the while the Queen's company was pushing like a wedge against them. Those doubtful faces grew outright fearful, though in numbers they must have been even. All the same Feran's lines stumbled and wavered before there even was battle contact. On the last seconds before crushing those lines Éomer saw outright terror claim the men who would have fought his queen.
The battlefield turned into chaos. For even as the traitor's men turned to face this new challenger, the first thing they saw was the White Horse rippling in the wind, and then came their rightful king riding on a great horse of silver... lines fell into disorder and there was a calamity of noises: "The King! The King is returned! Arisen and Blessed!"
His own shouts came in a mad furious bout, directed to both no one in particular and to Feran at the same time: "I rode and survived the Pelennor Fields! I saw the Black Gate! I made it through the south! And you shall not have my realm!"
And the men he dealt his strikes were one in ten, for riders would flee before him, and some of them would drop their weapons on the way. Most were smart enough to make their flight lest they were trampled to the ground, and thus set even more of them to escaping. It was strangely similar to his charge over the Pelennor fields almost three years ago; like in that battle, Éomer simply rode over the field. Only, now his mind was devoid of blood-red haze of madness, and he knew already the outcome of this combat.
Legolas had described Éomer's plan to her. First, hold back the traitor until the King and the muster with him could arrive. Second, provoke Feran to attack and engage him on the battlefield. Third, let her husband take care of the rest.
Even in the middle of this battle and death Lothíriel's heart was singing, because all had gone after Éomer's mind: she had managed to infuriate and provoke Feran into attacking, and thus the usurper had exposed his force on the field. All Éomer had to do was drive his own company as a wedge into the lines of his opponent. Deadly like the spearhead he had already pierced the flank of the usurper's force, and now before her eyes he was simply riding over the field, trampling down those who did not make their escape in time. Elfhelm was there as well, and Legolas and Deorwine and a thousand other men, and the White Horse lead their charge.
To her, it seemed he did not even need the power of numbers. For who would dare to face on the battlefield this man who had returned from death?
"Ride forth, Eorl's son!"
As Éomer rode and cleared the way there was one face he was hoping to see. He had seen the standard of silver spears from afar, but it was not leading the crumbling defences anymore, and for a moment Éomer wondered if Feran had simply ridden away like a coward. Such disappointment the returned king would not take – all of the realm needed to see and know this underking was dealt with like traitors deserve. And more than anything Éomer wanted to meet him on the battlefield and make an end of him with his own hands.
Then suddenly he spotted the standard of silver spears, and there was the face of his enemy, covering behind his guards. His jaw set, the King of the Mark grimly thought of the revenge he would have this day.
I will come for you, and Gamling can rest in peace.
"Deorwine!" he bellowed over the noise of battle, "You take your éored and keep going!"
Soon as he had got an affirmative shout from Deorwine, he turned enough to see his Marshal, "Elfhelm, with me!"
These men were seasoned warriors and knew what to do. While Deorwine lead the charge towards the southern side of the field, Éomer and his company made a turn slightly to west... heading straight for the usurper.
What men there were between him and his target simply ran away, with few exceptions that met quickly their ends; as he rode to meet the usurper Éomer saw the guards before Feran wavering... wondering if they could just toss down their arms and the standard of two spears.
"Feran! I have come for you!" he roared and his voice easily carried over the calamity of noises, his heart was beating fast now and the lust of battle was on him. This he knew well, for he had been a warrior for many a long year before the crown had come to him or the south had happened. On the field of war he found again that young famous rider who had fought in Helm's Deep and on the Pelennor Fields, and seen the Black Gate opening.
The guards fell away and there was his enemy, pale and gasping for air. Silfren leaped forward and then steel clashed as Feran thrust out his sword to a parry, and on Éomer's sides Elfhelm and Folcred pushed back the usurper's guards to give space for their king.
Mercilessly Éomer dealt his blows and strikes to Feran, testing the other man's skill in swordsmanship, and soon finding it less than his own. Silfren moved in tune with him, easing his parries and adding a little extra to his attacks, and steadily Feran was forced backwards. At last he forsook even the attempt of answering Éomer's assault and merely fought to guard his life, but the growing fear on his face raised no pity in Éomer's mind.
Sternly he urged forward his stallion, and perhaps he might have finished Feran in that very place had not Elfhelm suddenly shouted over the noise: "To the King!"
Then riders flocked to him and the King of the Mark gazed about to see a reserve of Dunlendings pushing against them, and though it came as a disappointment he knew he had to move his attention from Feran for the time being to deal with the new challenge.
But the situation changed again, for now Éothain rode with half an éored to them, and in that company Éomer spotted his wife: Lothíriel was raining arrows on Dunlendings, and Ceolwen and Éowyn defended her flanks, while Amrothos and Erchirion protected them from behind. His breath caught in his throat as he regarded the three women, for they looked like three powers of war, fierce and glorious. Now he had a chance to regard the devastating effect of his charge over the field, and know his plan was nearly fulfilled.
There was a shout calling to him: "Éomer King!"
Éothain rode to him from the thickness of battle. Horseback he was just as any rider, and in his hand he carried a sword dripping of blood.
"Captain. Good to see you", Éomer replied as his friend fell to his side.
"Sire", Folcred spoke up suddenly, "Feran is trying to escape."
Elfhelm reacted before anyone else. He thrust the royal standard into Éothain's hand and looked sharply at his king, "My King, Captain, go and get that bastard. I'll finish up here."
Éomer glanced at Éothain quickly. There on his captain's face he saw his own resolution mirrored. In seconds they had their horses turned to chase after Feran.
It was time to end this war.
The noises of battle fell behind as Feran urged his horse, digging his heels into the animal's sides to make him move faster. He had known his war was finished the moment he had seen the King of the Mark charging towards the battle... his following was not so absolute or loyal that the men would dare to face Éomer son of Éomund or fight him when facing him like so. But then, he too had known this enemy was too much. His eyes ablaze with cold fire, a naked blade in his hand, and riding on a great horse of silver, Feran knew he was no match for the returned King. For a moment he had even thought he may just die there on the field, by the King's own hand, but the arrival of his Dunlending reserve had given him the chance to make an escape. All the same he had never guessed the magnitude of the effect the King's arrival would have on the morale of his followers. In the end the roots of the House of Eorl went far deeper and stronger than his own.
If only he had realised what that Gondorian wench had been doing... if only he had attacked her company soon as he had arrived. He would have been able to catch some very important prisoners and something could have been bargained. Now, however, his defeat was complete.
Feran grit his teeth and gazed ahead, up the hill he was meaning to cross in his flight. He had to get out of this place as fast as he could before his absence would be noticed and search parties would be sent after him. Maybe if he was lucky, he could find some farm, take himself a fresh horse, and then ride northwards. If he was able to elude the King's men, he could try and pass into the lands of Eriador in the west. There no one would know his name; it would not be much compared to everything he had enjoyed as an underking, but at least he'd be alive.
Damn that stubborn, near invincible king! All had gone so well and all Feran's wishes had been just at the reach of his hand... up until Éomer had returned against all odds. Then somehow he had acquired a stallion of mearas and was riding up and down the land, and in frenzy the people would talk about him, turn towards him once more. All sorts of wild stories he had heard since the day he had seen the King of the Mark emerging from a crowd in Harrow and he did not believe half of it. But he had to agree his opponent's flair was irresistible to Eorlingas and the man knew how to make use of it.
Down the hill and on the banks of a swampy pond was the answer to the question of how he'd get away. A small herd of horses was grazing there, indifferent to the battle raging nearby. Even here one could hear shouting and clashing of arms, though Feran did not believe it would go on much longer. Soon as the King's men had finished those Dunlendings he had allied with, it would be over. Feran's Eorling supporters at least could hope for mercy, but the men from beyond Isen, mostly brigands acting against the will of their elders, had crossed the river against the oaths they had taken after the Great War... and he did not think Éomer King would have very fond feelings towards them, especially when the man noticed Feran himself was gone.
Now he just had to catch one of those horses... they were mearas, this much he could see from afar, and having perceived that great stallion Éomer now rode he was confident no one would catch him, unless the King himself came after him.
So Feran rode downhill, wishing he might have had some rope for catching one of the horses grazing near the pond. They did not seem to mind his presence at all, which was hopeful – they would let him get close enough to catch one, and he knew how to ride bareback...
He guided his own horse, panting and his sides foaming, into the middle of the herd. He spoke softly in Rohirric like riders did when calming nervous horses, but none of the mearas about him paid him any heed. There were mostly mares, some yearling stallions, and a few foals. He quickly picked a beautiful grey mare grazing nearby. Yes, a mare was a good choice; if she was not pregnant now, perhaps he could use her for breeding... he could make a very good living with the help of a mare of mearas herd. Even half mearh was a horse fit for kings.
Feran was approaching his chosen steed when suddenly one horse turned sharply and snapped at his own, baring her teeth. His steed stepped back and tossed his head nervously. Then the horse before him – a large, powerful mare – reared and neighed loudly.
His horse was spooked and the animal under him reared as well, throwing him off and down to ground. Fortunately the grass was thick under him, softening his fall. For a moment Feran lay on the ground and blinked as the world spun above him. He could move though and nothing seemed to be broken, and he thought to himself, Get up. Get up, damn you.
He stumbled up on his feet and felt dizzy for a moment before his eyes sharpened again. And his sight only cleared to see another horse coming at him. Feran was enough of a horseman to sense the danger.
He stepped back, once, twice, but to no avail – now the entire herd about him was agitated and they were cornering him, even the smaller yearlings. The air was full of equine shrieks. Gone was their previous calm indifference and wildly he thought if it had been but a show.
But these were just horses!
Feran stumbled backwards, gracelessly in growing panic, and his attempts to plunge sideways were met with rearing hooves and snapping teeth.
His foot slipped in water. The mellow floor of the dark pond slightly sucked in his foot and he wavered, nearly losing his balance. Terrible dread fell on Feran, for at last he understood what the horses about him were doing.
It couldn't be... it couldn't...
And yet even in disbelief he remembered what they said about these animals. Béma brought them from the Undying Lands... taught them to understand the speech of Men... intelligent, long-lived, but wild... only Eorl could tame one of them...
His pride had betrayed him.
Only the King of the Mark can ride the mearas.
The great mare was approaching him. Her dark eyes were fixed on him and the gaze was endless... somehow accusing – like she knew exactly what he had done, and judged him for it.
"I'm sorry", Feran stuttered as he took another step backwards, his feet slipping as it fell on a stone under water. "I didn't mean to... I didn't realise..."
But the mare kept coming and he was forced into deeper water. So dark were those waters, one could fall there and never be seen again...
"Mercy!" he exclaimed, wildly searching for anything... or anyone. There, on the hill he had come from, were three riders. He saw the White Horse upon Green and knew no help would come. And the mare kept forcing him backwards.
He stumbled back, his clothes and gear pulling him down in water... until suddenly his foot fell down and found no more support. The floor of the pond simply disappeared.
Feran sank as though a rock might sink. The last thing he thought before the black waters closed over him was I can't swim.
The last Éomer saw of his enemy was his head going under the surface of the dark waters of the pond, and he never appeared again. In cold certainty he knew this had been the end of Feran, and the end of this civil strife. Meanwhile, the herd had already returned to the field and was now calmly grazing there – couple of foals were even tottering about in some equine game. The horses did not pay attention to their spectators, but he knew it was not a confirmation of anything.
At last he was able to tear his gaze from the scene before him and turn to look at Éothain. The captain's face had gone pale and he was staring at the pond in a mixture of horror and disbelief, and his knuckles were white from gripping the standard so tightly.
It was Legolas who spoke at last; he had ridden after the two men to join them in chasing Feran.
"The Riddermark is yours, Éomer King. I believe Oromë the Great has just expressed his final word on the matter", said the Elf solemnly, though he did not seem half as taken aback as Éomer himself felt. One dreadful instance the King of the Mark even wondered if Legolas had somehow known this would happen.
He didn't know what to answer, so he just grunted vaguely in reply. He looked at his captain again.
"Have some men look for the body. But make sure they can swim, and tell them to leave the herd alone", he said, keeping his voice steady as he could.
"Aye, Sire", Éothain muttered.
Without a further word, they turned their backs to the dark, nameless pond where Feran the usurper had at last perished.
The battle was almost finished by the time the three riders got back to the field, and the return of the King to the field soon saw the end of the struggle. The rush of the fight was gone as Éomer gave his orders; Deorwine he tasked with disarming Feran's remaining supporters, of which there were not particularly many, and of Dunlendings he did not see a single man standing. Grimly he thought the broken oath had been amended. Hopefully this would mean a more lasting truce between the two peoples – he at least wanted nothing like he wanted peace.
Elfhelm came cantering then to meet him and his company, wearing the look of a man who was in his element.
"Did you kill him?" the Marshal asked bluntly.
"I did not", Éomer said wryly, "but he's very much dead."
That made his friend blink, at which he made a vague gesture of his hand. "I'll explain later."
He scanned the field with his eyes, seeing all the dead bodies of men and horses... he did not feel joyful or victorious. He was just tired and there was only one face he wanted to see. But he could not glimpse her, and for a moment a terrible dread grew in his chest: maybe he had won the day, but Lothíriel had fallen. How was he supposed to go home and pick up the pieces of an old life without her help, and her light?
"Lothíriel? Where is my wife?" he asked, his voice coming out choked... but then he saw her at last, and he breathed deeply in relief. Still gripping her bow she was stumbling towards him, as fast as her feet could carry her. He didn't know where her horse was but he didn't care – all that mattered was his queen. In one swift movement Éomer slid down from Silfren's back and hastened to meet his wife.
And she darted towards him, her bow dropping from her hand. There was blood and dirt on her face, her hair was in sweaty tangles, and she looked like she had wrestled orcs, but her eyes blazed bright and brilliant.
He caught her in his arms and pulled her close, and she held him tight, his beacon of hope and clarity, the one who had brought him back to life...
The weariness at last made way to the joy and relief of seeing her unharmed and having her in his arms. Now, as she held on tight to him and mumbled half-coherent words of relief, he truly felt like King.
"Lioness. My Lioness", he uttered weakly.
"My King", she answered, her hands cupping his face. And he kissed her, in this place that was so full of grief but yet it was where the throne and the crown were his again, and he had his Queen – his brave Lioness.
Éomer remembered what mattered. They were alive, they were together, and though there were great many things he would have to mend and heal, he would not find it an impossible task as long as this dauntless woman walked that road by his side.
From beyond the haze of his tired relief voices rose: "Hail Éomer King! Hail Arisen and Blessed!"
There was no victorious feast in the camp that night. Though the battle had hopefully ended the strife and unrest in the Mark, no one forgot Eorlingas had spilled each others' blood on this day and there was no joy in it. The grief was quiet and above all there was a wish to go home. There would be a day of celebration, but not now – not before the King and Queen would return to Edoras.
As such, Éomer dismissed as many éoreds as he could, especially those of common folk, though not before thanking them for rallying to him on this day. Those to stay behind were the seasoned warriors of permanent éoreds. Them he tasked with many duties that came with the battle's end, including guard duties and transporting the prisoners towards the capital. Dealing their judgements would have to wait for the time being.
The ending of the battle was not the ending of the day, and Lothíriel and Éowyn were busied with organising lodgings and care for the wounded, and on the field of fight many men laboured to see to the dead. Indeed, there was so much to do that it was late already when the King and Queen of the Mark could finally sit down and talk properly of the day's events with their closest companions.
It was in the royal tent they gathered: Lothíriel and Éomer, her brothers and his sister, Elfhelm and Ceolwen, Éothain, Legolas and Edelric and Alger, and even young Arric was still up and about even though the Marshal had already suggested him to go and get some rest. When Lothíriel had unceremoniously settled to sit on her husband's lap – he didn't seem to mind, Erchirion's eyes bulged – he finally started to explain the things that still remained unclear.
"As you recall, I was originally called away when we got news of orc sightings. I was worried it would be a graver thing than it turned out to be, but my scouts quickly found the tracks and deemed there could not be more than twenty of them. This did not sound much of a challenge for two éoreds, and so I sent several of my riders to the villages in the area to muster more men to fight against the usurper", he explained, leaning back his head as he spoke. "I do not suppose I have ever disposed of orcs quite so fast as we did this time. For not only were they weak with hunger, I happened to receive the help of two and a half éoreds."
"You see, Captain Osgar from the Watch of the Wold had received news of orc sightings as well, and he had ridden to investigate it with the two éoreds at his disposal. He had heard of my return as well and also Feran's call to arms, but kept his men out of it as he didn't trust any rumours or news. But upon meeting me on the plains of Eastemnet, he joined his force with mine. The last half of an éored consisted of men sent by Feran. He too had received news of orc sightings and was hoping to catch me chasing orcs. Only, most of the riders he sent had no qualms forsaking their orders in favour of mine as soon as they met our company on the plains", Éomer explained and rubbed his forehead. He let out a small wry laugh, "It was very nice of him to send me more riders like so... at any rate he seems to have overestimated how faithfully people really followed him."
He shook his head and fell momentarily silent before continuing with his tale.
"More men came soon with the riders I had sent, until at last one late éored from the Eastfold found us on our way back. At this point it looked like we would be very well armed against Feran and his force", Éomer recounted and fell silent for a moment. All this was known to Lothíriel already, as Legolas had brought her the news of the swollen numbers riding with her husband.
Her King looked at her now, "Perhaps you would like to continue?"
"Of course", she said, looking about the company gathered around them. "As you know, upon hearing Feran was marching to meet us I did not know what I should do, so I sent Legolas to find Éomer, hoping he would be fast enough to deliver the tidings before it was too late. This he did, and was able to return very quickly as well. He came back with orders from Éomer. To put it simply, my task was to hold back Feran as long as I could and give time for my husband to ride to our help."
Éowyn nodded thoughtfully, looking like she already knew precisely what the plan had been.
"Now, it was clear Feran was a pompous bastard and he would love to get a chance to gloat and enjoy the situation where he'd believe he had won. So, I had to make him believe he had us under his thumb – let him think he had his victory. And I knew just how to do that. If I told him I was ready to negotiate our surrender, then I might be able to fool him long enough. However, I was certain he would not believe it unless the reactions of my companions would be genuine. My friends, I could not tell you the plan because I needed you to be truly shocked and dismayed by my declaration of giving up. It was my hope Feran would see how disbelieving you were and think he had won indeed. This would reassure him so that he wouldn't know to suspect anything. Which he didn't in the end, as you could very well see. At this point the only thing I needed to do was play time and keep him engaged long enough to give Éomer the time he needed", Lothíriel explained for her part, watching the faces of her friends and kin as they stared at her. "The rest... well, you know the rest."
There was a silence in the tent. The expressions on the faces of the company varied – some seemed ashamed, others were just disbelieving. But both Éowyn and Éothain were smiling, and the captain looked at his king with deep, silent reverence.
Erkenbrand's son was the first to speak out loud.
"I'm really very sorry for doubting you, my lady. I should have trusted you", Edelric said and looked embarrassed, and something similar seemed to touch Amrothos' face.
"It is all right. I know I acted strangely, and to be honest I fully expected people to doubt me", she said and waved her hand.
"No, I don't think it's all right. You told us to trust you, trust Éomer King, but I did not have faith", muttered the young man and shook his head. "I dare not think what my father will say when he hears."
"Edelric, it is fine. I knew the risks just as well and I understand this day has demanded much of us all. During this affair, you have already proven yourself to me many times. And I know you will do so again in the future", Éomer stated, firm and strong. The edge in his voice closed the topic before it could continue.
"Father would be so proud of you, Lothíriel. I will be sure to give him a detailed account of everything that has happened today", Erchirion said then, gazing at his little sister solemnly. As ever, the mention of their father made her miss him tremendously, and there was that lump in her throat again when she thought of how many months had passed since she had last seen their sire. Even so, she was able to give a smile to her brother.
"I just look forward to telling everyone back home about this. I don't think they will believe a half of it!" Amrothos retorted for his part and grinned. "Don't be surprised if some of the more delicate ladies run at the sight of you when they next see you, though."
"You are an idiot, Amrothos", Lothíriel told him. "But somehow I still love you."
That brought out some chuckles, though the general mood was tired. Her husband held her a bit tighter and she felt him hide his yawn against her arm – the poor man must be exhausted. Gently she ran her fingers up and down the side of his neck. While she knew the necessity for this gathering, she was rather anxious for the moment they would be alone, and she'd get to curl up in his arms and sleep.
It was then Edelric spoke up again.
"By the way, I received a rider from Helm's Deep just before you called us here, Sire. It so turns out the Hornburg has been freed", he said. His words had Éomer tensing in surprise.
"How is that? I thought your father was being held prisoner", her husband wondered out loud. Now Erkenbrand's son smiled once more.
"Apparently Gimli took my father's imprisonment as a personal insult. They are good friends as you know. He launched an attack on the Hornburg only yesterday... Father didn't say if this caused some damage the fortress, but the most important thing is they took the men holding the keep completely unawares and were able to free Father and his men. As a result the Dunlendings were completely defeated. Father rules in Helm's Deep again, with those of the faithful ones who were imprisoned with him. He sends regards to you and will ride to Edoras as soon as he can to greet you. And apparently Gimli is lending him a hand in defending the fortress", Edelric answered and even grinned now. Éothain, who sat beside him, was blinking his eyes like he wasn't certain if he was dreaming.
Lothíriel felt her husband relaxing again, and she too smiled at this news. It looked like things were truly falling into their right places once more. Of course, much would have to be done before they could say the Mark had recovered from this past year, but she was hopeful.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear I won't have to worry about freeing the Hornburg. It seems I owe Gimli a favour", Éomer said, rubbing his forehead.
"My friend, I happen to know that Dwarf fairly well, and I can tell you there is no giving him a greater reward than the brawl itself", Legolas said good-humouredly, at which the King of the Mark snorted.
"Dwarves", he muttered and shook his head. "Even so, I'm not sure if I should be very disturbed to hear Gimli knows how to get into one of the Mark's greatest fortresses."
"For the sake of your peace of mind, don't think about it", Elfhelm said and grinned. He leaned forward in his chair, "Éomer, you said before you'd explain what happened with Feran. I was wondering how did you take care of him?"
All eyes were again on her horselord, as the busy day had not given him a chance to give an explanation to others than his wife. Éomer let out a small breath and she saw the strange expression on his face; it was not exactly fear but she knew what he had seen, and she fully understood why he was still feeling shaken.
"When the battle had turned against Feran, he did as the cowards do – he abandoned his men and tried to save his own skin by fleeing from the site of battle. I suppose he knew he would have to leave the Mark altogether, as I wouldn't have spared effort to hunt him down", Éomer started, his voice quiet and slow. A frown had come to his face and he went on, "We rode after him – myself, Éothain and Legolas, that is. I was thinking we should have to chase him a long way, or perhaps have our Elven friend shoot the horse from under him..."
He shook his head then, "In the end, all we had to do was watch. For Feran rode right in the middle of a herd of mearas. You all know they graze the plains of the Mark freely, and for one reason or the other, they happened to be near the battlefield. If I should guess, Feran was thinking of catching one of these horses. Only, when he rode into the middle of them, they..."
Éomer took a deep breath and looked around his audience, which sat absolutely silent.
"They forced him to dismount. Then they drove him straight into a deep pond in the dale. He went under and I never saw him resurface", he finished his explanation, and there was a long, almost terrified silence in the tent. When Éothain spoke, his voice was thin as though he didn't exactly want to break the quiet.
"I sent men to look for the body as soon as the battle ended. So far they have not found anything – the waters of that pond are very dark and it seems to go deeper than you'd think. Maybe they will eventually find him, or maybe not", he said gravely and shivered noticeably.
"Éomer, are you perfectly confident it's safe to ride that stallion of yours?" Amrothos asked. His voice was rather thin as well and Lothíriel noted how pale he looked. However, her husband just shrugged.
"He chose me. I would trust him with my life", he retorted and did not seem to find anything odd with the matter.
"I'm not sure I understand", Amrothos said doubtfully. This time Éomer didn't answer himself – instead it was Ceolwen.
"He's the King of the Mark. It is said only him, and his children when they come, can ride the mearas", she said plainly. Amrothos still seemed like the matter mostly escaped his comprehension, but he did not ask more questions. Instead he sat back wearing a thoughtful expression.
"At any rate this should make sure people will be leaving mearas alone – even the scum like the dearly departed Feran", Éothain muttered darkly.
"And they will remember where the crown of the Mark belongs", Legolas continued solemnly. A serious silence followed her words and all sat quiet in their thoughts. Lothíriel looked down at her king and sought his eyes. He lifted them up and met hers, quiet and weary. How tired he looked! Yet he still managed to conjure a small smile for her.
It was then Éowyn stood up, glancing about the company gathered in the tent.
"Well then, my friends", she said in a strong, calm voice. "It is getting very late, and I believe my brother may just pass out in that chair soon. I suggest we all go and get some rest."
Her words raised agreeing mutters among the others. One by one they picked up themselves and bid good night to the King and Queen before leaving the tent. Last remained family members; Lothíriel rose up to hug Éowyn and then Amrothos and Erchirion.
Her sister-in-law stopped by Éomer's side. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and smiled at him – he returned it, but the weariness was engraved in his expression. Some soft words they exchanged that no one else could hear.
The princes and the White Lady were last to leave the tent. Finally, after a very long day, Lothíriel was alone with her husband, and it felt like he had left many weeks ago. Quietly she climbed back into his lap and he wrapped his arms about her.
"How do you feel?" she asked eventually. Though she felt how very much they both needed sleep, there were some things they needed to speak of first.
"I suppose it has not yet hit in", he replied at length, resting his head against her. "Perhaps I am too tired to really feel anything except for... something like grief."
"It could not be helped. If there was any other way, you would have found it", she said softly, hoping she might have had some better way of comforting him. The fact that Eorlingas had spilled each others' blood today was something she feared might add to the company of ghosts that were already haunting his mind on the darker moments.
"At least we'll be going home", he said softly and held her a bit tighter. Then he lifted up his face and some of the heaviness seemed to leave his features, and it seemed to her there was some light in his eyes.
"I haven't yet thanked you properly for what you did today. You were very brave, not only to face him but also to let everyone think you had given up", Éomer said gently. She gave him a smile.
"If I was brave it was because of you, beloved. I couldn't let you down, for I am your queen and it's my job to support you", she told him and planted a kiss on his brow. "Even if it is difficult sometimes... it wasn't easy to lie to everyone like that."
"Of course", he said, his voice falling softer. "Hopefully I will no have to ask you do such a thing again... even so, it was because of you that we prevailed today."
"But we both know I couldn't have done it without you. I'm not the kind of leader you are, and we both know I would never have come up with that plan if you hadn't devised it. And even then, I could have had him chatting with me until nightfall, but he would still have outnumbered my company. And when you appeared on that hill, riding Silfren... I do not think anyone alive could have caused the kind of stir you created. His force practically fell apart at the mere sight of you! I have never seen anything like your charge today, and I do not expect to witness such again", she said and recalled how he had looked like, riding to the scene of battle... the white horse-tail of his helmet flowing in the wind, the royal standard rippling, and the fury on his face... it was no wonder the lines had broken almost immediately.
Her husband made a vague sound at the back of his throat. Before any troubled mood could take a hold of him, she cradled his face between her hands and kissed him, long and gentle. When it ended after a while she remained close still.
"All this will pass. We will be all right", she murmured gently and even saw one corner of his mouth lifting.
She straightened then and looked at him briskly.
"Your sister was right. You are going to pass out in that chair if you don't get up and come to bed with me now", she said firmly, queenly as one would hope to be.
Now he was smiling for real.
"Of course, my lady", Éomer said and struggled to stand up when she had left his lap once more.
Not many more words were exchanged between them as they undressed and more or less fell on their bedroll, but then again talking was not required any longer. Words would come later... after all, they had their entire lives to speak, to be quiet, to love. There would be a time for grieving as well, and a time for rebuilding the realm. But for the moment all of it was yet in the shadow of this night, and tomorrow they would start with the tremendous task of moving on.
For tonight, all her heart desired was just comfort... just rest.
The war was finally over.
A/N: And here we are at last at the other side of the struggle. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
So, here you see the full explanation for what Lothíriel was doing precisely in the last chapter. In order to fool Feran she had to fool her friends as well, and make them believe she was really going to surrender. Like she says, their reactions would lead Feran to believe he had won, and so he would lower his guard. Once he did, she could make use of his distraction and thus give Éomer the time he needed.
Then once the battle would take place, I would imagine a few men would actually dare to face their rightful king when he is charging towards them. For one, most are more loyal to Éomer and secondly he is a great warrior, famed for his skill.
When planning the last chapter and this one, I contemplated Feran dying by Éomer's hand. But somehow it wasn't working in my mind, and I realised that was because of two reasons. The first one would be, I did not think he woudl be a warrior of Éomer's calibre, and it would not be much of a showdown to just have our favourite horselord hacking his enemy into the mud. Second reason was, Feran 1) knew he wouldn't be able to beat Éomer 2) was too fond of his life to just let himself be killed if he could help it. So he flees from the battlefield. Only, I knew my readers would probably come after me with pitchforks if I just let him go, and frankly I was just as eager to see him put down as you are. However, there was also a theme in my story I had used for some mysterious atmospheres and events: mearas. When I recalled that, I knew I had my answer. To me, it makes perfect sense they would be the ones to dispose of Feran, and I hope you like that outcome too!
I already have a very good idea of what the following three chapters will be, and I am getting very emotional now, because we are so close to the end of this story. But there are still some things left to be said, so stay tuned for more!
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by William Shakespeare.
Inspiration for the chapter: John Murphy - Sunshine (Adagio In D Minor)
Amanda – You say you have read all the 52 chapters but I must wonder if you have been paying much attention, especially last few chapters? There are plenty of examples of Éomer actively leading, making decisions and giving orders that are not dependent of her (rather, she's following his lead in the matters of ruling). People flocking to him and turning on Feran is because of him, not Lothíriel. He is the soul of this expedition and none of it would be happening without him. Also I'm not sure where you got the impression that the plan to fool Feran was not Éomer's making? Lothíriel herself would not have come up with a way to beat Feran. True, he needed her help to make it happen, but it was his strategy and the success required both their effort and skill. The point is they achieved it together.
The idea here is they both draw strength from each other, Éomer perhaps more obviously (which should be understandable with the trauma he has had to deal with) but just because she is more subtle in that matter doesn't mean she doesn't need him at all, or that he's not what keeps her going. Without him Lothíriel wouldn't and couldn't be doing any of this. It's his unfaltering trust that helps her to emerge as a queen. And if he somehow seems lesser than her you need to consider he was the one to go through some very traumatic events, and it has been only months since that experience. The fact Éomer survived in the first place, and that he's already leading his people again, should be the proof of his strength of character. That he sometimes needs her help and support doesn't make him "less". It just makes him human.
Felion - Please do not apologise for a lengthy review! As a writer I love it when I get long responses from my readers, and yours shows you understand what this story has been trying to say. It is indeed about trust between these two - how their trust in each other and their love helps them to overcome obstacles around and inside them. And their success definitely depends on both their abilities: Éomer's as a leader and strategist, and Lothíriel's as a dauntless fighter.
Thank you for your amazing reply!
Jo - Thanks! I must say I did enjoy that bit as well. :)
DanaFruit - :D I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no detailed punchings here!
Anonymous - Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)
Kiiimberly - It was Éomer's standard Legolas brought here. And last chapter he finally receives it, when Elfhelm gives it to him.
Thalia - Oh, the last chapter is not 9000 words actually. It was just that and this one together, at a point when the chapter was still unfinished. I cut it somewhere around +6000 words because I knew I could not make these two chapters fit into one decently.
The punching part was enjoyable to me as well to write. :) I believe he did go to ground for a bit, both for the force and for the shock of being punched by her like that. :D
What can I say? There is a sadist in me, and it emerges often when I write! :D
Talia - Glad you liked it! Feran's support does pretty much crumble the moment they see Éomer charging towards them. I don't think there are many of the sane mind who would dare and face him like so.
I don't know if this chapter satisfies your wish for a gruesome end for Feran, but I do hope you like it at least.
Simbelia - I'm sorry, but I cannot help myself! :D Here at least is a peaceful ending of a chapter to calm our hearts. Is it bad I think it's great that you think this story is good for the soul but bad for the heart?
MairaElleth - Multiple point of views definitely work better in a scene like that. I'm glad I went that way with the chapter - it reads much more nicely. And you definitely don't have to say why you liked that part! I had great fun with it as well. :D
Bowmaiden - Sorry, I just can't help my love for cliffhanger endings! But maybe this close to the ending there won't be any more of those. :D