Chapter 20

Westfold, June the 28th, 3018

Éomer and his men left Edoras at dawn of the following day and accompanied Lothíriel and her party halfway through their journey towards the mountains. Their ways parted in the early afternoon when after a last reassurance she was going to keep his wife safe, Lady Aldwyn – with an impressive number of guards in tow, headed West. Observing Lothíriel riding away, a sinking feeling grew in Éomer's chest and not for the first time that day, he wished he had opposed that whole idea of a trip to the mines and escorted her back to Aldburg instead. Yet he knew his was little more than an irrational, selfish desire: he'd sleep better knowing Lothíriel was back home, waiting for him to return; but truth was, she didn't want to live in an ivory tower and deep inside, he adored that about her. He threw one last glance at the direction in which she had disappeared and finally, he signalled his men to follow him.

The ride to the Hornburg was a two days journey winding at the feet of the White Mountains. In the recent past, it used to be the busiest stretch of road of all Rohan but now, like pretty much everything else around there, it appeared eerily quiet and empty. The only good thing about that dreadful desolation, was that they were likely to find accommodation at the Inn at the Crossroads - a landmark and an unmissable stop for all those who still dared venturing on the path between the capital and Helm's Deep. The food wasn't great, the ale watered down and the rooms filthy. But it was surely better than laying on the hard ground, with the risk of some orc sneaking up on you to cut you throat while you sleep.

They came in sight of the inn shortly before dusk and soon, Éomer realized the place looked nothing like he remembered. For once, it appeared unusually crowded: at least twenty horses – and war mounts at that, were stationed in the nearby meadows and a number of heavily loaded carts had been lined up by the entrance of the tavern. A group of men was digging a deep trench around the whole settlement and here and there, tents and other makeshift accommodations had been arranged. As they rode in, Éomer noticed several half-collapsed buildings and judging by their blackened ruins, only one reasonable explanation came to mind: "Fire", he muttered. All sorts of unpleasant scenarios came to mind but as he rounded the corner, an unexpected surge of relief flooded through his veins: "Théodred?".

His cousin snapped around and looked just as surprised to see him there. "Éomer?", he called, his face breaking into a wide grin: "You're the last person I expected to meet, but Bema am I pleased to see you!".

Éomer dismounted and the moment his feet touched the ground, he found himself pulled into one of his cousin's customary bear hugs. It was only then that he noticed his plain clothes and the hammer hanging from his belt: "Did you decide to quit riding and become a carpenter instead?".

"Sort of", he laughed. "What about you, what brings you to the Crossroads?".

"I missed terribly the Westfold!", he solemnly declared.

"Sure thing", snorted Théodred. "Then how about you and your friends from the East do some real work for once in your life? We still have a couple of hours until sunset and much to do: get rid of you armours and lend us a hand, will you?".

"Ah, Westfold's famed courtesy: we have only just arrived, and already you want to put us to work!", huffed Éomer, enjoying way too much the banter with his cousin. He quickly stopped by the inn – just the time to get a room and change into more comfortable clothes, and then returned to help him: "Was the village attacked?", he asked.

"No, but the past month has been unusually dry and last week, a lightning storm swept across the entire Westfold. The Hornburg alone was struck by three lightings which started three different fires but luckily, we were prepared and managed to contain them. Alas, this place was less fortunate: the inn itself survived but as you can see, everything else – including the brewery and the dairy farm, have been burned to the ground. When I heard about it, I decided to come here and see what could be done: if we don't help these people re-building and get back on their feet, they will have no other choice but seeking refuge elsewhere. The Inn would close down then, and travellers would have no other choice but camping in the open air and face all the dangers you can imagine".

"What's with the trench? I don't recall there being one".

"No. But since we were here, I decided we could give the place some sort of basic defence and build a palisade".

"Wise decision".

Éomer lifted a stake over his shoulder and carefully turned around. He carried it to a designated spot and with Théodred's help, they started lashing it together with the other trunks. There were a few men working around them but one after the other, his cousin dismissed them all until they were finally left alone: "So, what really brings you here?".

Éomer secured the trunks with a strong knot and tested it repeatedly to ensure it would hold. His eyes never lifting from the ground, his hands working incessantly on the palisade, he told his cousin all that had happened in the past few days: from the unexpected summons to Edoras to the ambush, from Grima's attempt at turning Lothíriel against him to Háma's suspicions. Théodred listened carefully, his face an unflappable mask; yet as he progressed with his story, his movements grew tense and strained until finally, he snapped and cursed, the hammer flying from his hand and rolling a few times on the soft grass before coming to a halt. He sat on some scorched rubble, his teeth clenched so tight Éomer feared they might shatter: "I see why you came seeking my council but unless you can give me hard evidence of foul play, my hands are tied", he spoke at last.

"You know I have nothing of the sort. But surely there must be something we can do to get rid of him. You're the King's son…".

"My father cares not for my opinion", hissed Théodred, "and Grima's web is thicker and denser than you know. Of course nothing stops me from riding to Edoras to hang him and his henchmen. But it would mean civil war, Éomer".

"Civil war? Come now, who'd dare standing up for him?".

"Don't be naïve. The Rohirrim are proud, loyal people. But we too have our bad seeds and trust me, Grima can rely on many powerful friends and allies. Were I to overrule my father and dismiss him, there are those who will be willing to take up arms".

"Your father…".

"My father is an old man who can no longer distinguish friends from foes", Théodred cut him short. "You think I never tried to convince him to expel Grima from the Council? You think I haven't spent countless hours trying to reason with him? He'll never do it, Éomer. Grima has his ear and his position as Chief Councillor is more solid than yours and perhaps even mine". He paused and stared ahead: "A month ago, we were patrolling nearby the Heallstrem and visited a few villages. You'd be surprised to learn how many people came to me, praising my father and his recent heroic deeds". Éomer frowned, to which Théodred let out a bitter laughter: "Precisely my reaction! Truth is, my father's rapidly deteriorating health may be well known to us and those who hung out around Meduseld. But to the most, he's still the fearless King who charges into battle sword in hand. How much of that is wishful thinking and how much is wisely spread rumours, that I do not know. But if I were to challenge his rule, there will be people willing to believe mine is a coup against a wise and beloved King".

"What do you suggest we do then?"

"We hang on. Grima wants to have Rohan under his control, but as long as the Westfold answers to me and the Eastfold to you, there's only so much he can do. Which is why, one tiny bit at a time, he'll ty to strip us of our powers and put us in a corner. And we must not allow him to succeed".

"It has already started with Caerdydd, I'm afraid", confessed Éomer. "Grima has given me until the end of next month to appoint a new ealdorman; if I fail to do so, he'll take the matter to the Council – meaning into his own hands".

Théodred shot him a murderous glare: "Then find a new ealdorman!".

"Easier said than done. Suitable candidates don't exactly happen to sprout around my feet. I had a few names in mind, but none of them was beyond reproach and I was forced to rule them all out. I'm hoping Elffa might have found someone but if not…".

"If not appoint Elffa himself".

Éomer sat by his cousin's side and stretched his sore neck: "He'd be an ideal candidate, I know. But Elffa is a warrior through and through: he'll never accept hanging his sword to settle in a place like Caerdydd. Not to mention, he has a wife and two kids in Aldburg".

"He'll accept if you order him to do so", growled Théodred. Then, as if realizing the harshness of his words, he placed a hand on his shoulder: "I'm sorry, Éomer. Your wife almost got killed and you had hoped I could help you. But truth is, there's no easy spell that could get us out of this quagmire. From now on it will be a trench warfare, a struggle to maintain our positions while trying to push our enemies back into their ratholes. Sacrifices need to be made: Elffa may not want to be stationed permanently in Caerdydd, but if that is what is needed to contain Grima and his ambitions, then stay he must".

Éomer stood and kicked the charred remains of a once solid wooden plank. With a screeching sound, it splintered into four blocks and left a black imprint on his sturdy boot. He was aware theirs weren't problems that could be readily solved but still, he had clung on the hope his cousin would have been able to give him more than a hang on advice. He knew it was the best he could offer and of course he didn't resent him for that. But that groping around, that blind and endless fighting in the hope things might – or might not, change one day… he had lived his whole life like that and slowly, he could take no more of it.

He walked a little further from his cousin, started down along the crest of the low hill on which the inn had been built. Not a single breath of wind was there to offer relief from the sultry heat but if anything, the sun had finally set behind the mountains. Almost unconsciously, his hand slid into his pocket and pulled out the paper he kept folded inside. He opened it with great care, like it was the greatest treasure he possessed.

"What's that?", asked Théodred peeking over his shoulder.

"I guess you may call it a reminder of better days and happier times".

His cousin gave him a baffled look: "Isn't that Aldburg's old watchtower?".

"It is. Lothíriel… she likes sketching", mumbled Éomer. He felt a little silly for standing right there, in the middle of nowhere, staring with wide eyes at the paper in his hands. Yet he had done it so many times: after a long exhausting ride or a bloody gruesome fight, so many times before going to sleep he had looked at it, wished he could travel back to that day at the tower. Only him, Lothíriel and the red kites above them.

"She seems quite good at it", observed Théodred with a smile. "I take it things have gotten better between the two of you?".

"Too much, actually".

"Too much?".

"It's just that good things don't normally last very long out here".

Located on the slopes of the White Mountains, Lady Aldwyn's estate in the Westfold was an ancient holdfast that had belonged to her family for generations. Constructed by the Men of Gondor during the Second Age, it had been built in a strategic position: both Edoras and the Hornburg could be reached within a day's ride, and so was Dunharrow. Even more importantly, it stood right in the middle of the complex of caves to which Lady Aldwyn's family owed their wealth. The holdfast itself was simple, austere almost: it consisted of a small inner courtyard protected by solid stone walls and right in the middle, was a tall timber tower. The room she had been assigned was located at the very top of it: it was small but cosy and even more importantly, it offered the most spectacular view of Rohan's grasslands she had ever seen.

Lady Aldwyn wasted no time and shortly after their arrival, she snatched her into a tight schedule of excursions and field trips. On their first day, they rode together into the surrounding woods and halfway to Dunharrow. Even from a distance, the Rohirrim refuge in the White Mountains looked impressive. Staring at the clifftop overlooking the Harrowdale, Lothíriel wished they could make it until the Stair of the Hold and climb their way up. But she knew camping out there – even if just for one night, was out of the question, so she kept her wish for herself and hoped one day, she'd get the chance of admiring the Firienfeld stretching at her feet.

On the second and third day, she was finally introduced to the nearest section of the caves. To step into the bowels of the earth, felt like entering a parallel universe: dark, cool and - with the exception of the occasional plinking of water, totally silent. The first two mines she visited had been abandoned since over a hundred years, when the last vein of copper had been dug out. Most of the structures that had once allowed the metal to be extracted had long been removed, but some still remained to that day. Rotten wooden scaffolds, broken bellows and other strange-looking tools could be found scattered around and at times, Lothíriel felt as if at any moment a miner might have popped out of one of the tunnels to collect his utensils and resume his work. The caves she visited the following day were very similar in size and appearance and only differed from the previous ones for being still active: bright torches teared into the darkness, the heat of the furnaces warmed the place to the point of sweating and the deafening sound of pickaxes and hammers echoed all around them.

For the whole time they spent underground, Lady Aldwyn kept a close eye on her and it wasn't long until Lothíriel started to have the feeling she was testing her. And when she asked her about it, the answer turned out to be a resounding yes: "Exploring a cave is not for everyone, and that is especially true for the one you'll be visiting tomorrow. Narrow tunnels, cramped spaces, stiff air. I've seen people entering with confidence, only to panic moments later as they realize what it's really like to be under a mountain. Take these last two days as a kind of training, or a trial if you wish: I wanted to be sure you'd feel comfortable underground and now that I know you do, I'll arrange for you to visit the main mine tomorrow".

"You won't be coming along?".

"I'll accompany you through the shallowest tunnels, but after that it's going to be you, Elfda – for protection naturally, and Gamor. He has been in charge of the excavations for many years now and he'll be able to give you a comprehensive tour of the whole place. Unfortunately, that involves some quite… how shall we say, challenging passages. Too challenging for my age, hence the reason why I'll stay behind".

"Shall I be concerned?".

"Of course not. But I shall give you some more appropriate clothing to wear".

Lothíriel looked down at herself. Sure, her skirt was covered in so much soot to appear homogenously black, but that hardly seemed to be a problem around there. "Why? What's wrong with my dress?".

"Nothing. But if you wear it tomorrow, it will only hinder you. Which is why, you'll be wearing breeches instead".

Lothíriel's jaw dropped: "Breeches?".

"Yes, breeches: you know, leather made, ankle length, with separate coverings for each leg…".

"I know what breeches are!".

"Good because I brought some of my old ones with me and I'm quite sure they'll fit you nicely: just pick one and wear it tomorrow".

The following morning, Lothíriel sighed in dismay at her reflection in the mirror: wearing trousers – and man looking ones at that, felt horribly weird. What was more, Lady Aldwyn must have been somewhat leaner than her in her younger days and her breeches felt a little tight around her waist and, well… her backside! Also, she didn't know if it was her mind playing tricks on her, but she had the feeling every single person they crossed while on their way to the mines, stared at her in the most bizarre way. Because of it, she was so tempted to run back to the holdfast and change into her old dirty clothes, that she practically didn't hear a single word of what Gamor was telling them during the first part of their visit. It was only when they approached the main chamber and Lady Aldwyn took her leave, that the sight around her had her coming back to her senses.

While the entrance to the cave had looked rather inconspicuous and not too dissimilar from the ones she had visited the previous days, as they progressed inside it evolved into something completely different and… enormous, impressive, frightening almost. The main chamber was so large, Lothíriel judged it could have easily hosted two or three holdfasts the size of Lady Aldwyn's one. A tangle of scaffolds and ladders covered the walls; dozen of holes had been drilled into the hard ground and the incessant coming and going of miners reminded her of a busy beehive. Crossing the place was only possible through a system of suspended and rather precarious looking bridges and slowly, Lothíriel started to understand why Lady Aldwyn had chosen to stay behind and why she had insisted she wore breeches.

"When I first started working here, the size of this cave was less than a fourth of what it is today", yelled Gamor. He glanced over his shoulder to check whether she was managing to keep up with him and in all honesty, it was no easy feat. The man reminded her of a cat: small, nimble, his steps light and silent. She and Elfda on the other hand, they looked like two clumsy fools!

"So, as the veins are gradually depleted, you dig further into the earth to enlarge the chamber and open new holes?".

"Yes. But the deeper we dig, the harder the rocks. I reckon we might have another three to five years before we'll hit a dead end".

"What then?".

Gamor climbed up a ladder, took a sharp turn to the left and led them into a dimly lightened tunnel. They crossed some miners heading the opposite direction, their backs curved under the weight of heavily loaded baskets. Lothíriel greeted them but all she got as an answer, was a hostile glare. "Do you know what magnetite is?", asked Gamor as they approached a split-off.

"A mineral, I suppose?".

"An iron mineral, to be precise. What about limonite? And siderite?".

"Also minerals?".

"Correct. Magnetite, limonite and siderite are all iron minerals".

"So, what's the difference between them?", she asked.

As if pleased by her question, Gamor stood hands on his hips: "Iron content. You see, among all the iron minerals, magnetite is the purest form we can find. So pure, we can feed it straight into our furnaces. Limonite and siderite on the other hand, are much more difficult to work with. Now, in the main chamber we are mining limonite but at the end of this tunnel, is the richest deposit of magnetite of all Rohan".

He walked them deeper into the left-most gallery and the more they advanced, the narrower the way became. The ceiling progressively dropped and in the last stretch, both her and Elfda were forced to duck down, with the man panting heavily, his bulky figure making it all the more difficult to squeeze through the close walls. At the end of the tunnel, was another – much smaller, chamber: its walls had already been stripped of the ore and its ground descended progressively into what looked like a surprisingly clear pool of water. "On the other side of that flooded section, lies enough magnetite to satisfy Rohan's demand of iron for generations to come", explained Gamor.

"How do you know?".

"Because he has seen it".

Lothíriel spun around and noticed a small man following their tracks. He collected his tools from the ground and as he retreated back where he had come from, he scowled at her like his fellow-workers had already done moments earlier: "They don't like having you here", said Gamor.

"Why is that?".

"Working underground is dangerous, my Lady. Accidents happen, and we all know no matter how careful we are, the mountain will claim its toll. And when any moment could be your last, people tend to become superstitious".

"And what do I have to do with that?".

"Nothing, except that you are woman. And many believe having women down here brings bad luck".

"What's with Lady Aldwyn then? They didn't seem bothered by her presence…".

Gamor stared at the ceiling and chuckled: "Let's just say a woman's presence might bring bad luck. But crossing Lady Aldwyn, is sure to bring a shit-ton of bad luck upon us all!", he said with a roaring laughter. "Anyway, as I was explaining, the young man you just met dove into the water and managed to reach the other end of the cave. Bloody bugger can hold his breath longer than the three of us combined!".

Lothíriel choose to ignore the man's colourful language: "If he has found such large deposit, why haven't you started digging it out?".

"We weren't able to drain the water", sighed Gamor, "so we are just scraping what we can but it's not an easy job. I've had six major injuries in the past month alone and slowly, it's getting difficult to find men willing to come down here".

Upon hearing those words, Lothíriel's heart almost skipped a beat. Lady Aldwyn had warned her she hadn't understood the importance of what she was doing and obviously, she had been right. What had started like an innocent correspondence with her cousin, wasn't simply going to make the mines more productive: it was going to make those people's life easier and - even more importantly, safer.

Éomer had hoped he'd be back in Aldburg within a few days but in the end, he spent an entire week at the Crossroads.

There was no shortage of things to do around there and Théodred hadn't hesitated in taking advantage of their presence to speed up the reconstruction of the settlement. At first, it had been the palisade. Then, the removal of all the scorched rubble. And finally, the cherry on top: finding – and escorting, a herd of goats all the way back to the inn so that they could start again the production of cheese and other dairy products. He didn't know why on earth his cousin had thought him fit for such task but suffice to say, it had been a nightmare. Together with Éothain, he had spent two full days riding up and down the Westfold searching for a shepherd who was willing to sell his cattle. Some outright refused, others tried to push him so hard on the price that he had been very tempted to punch them in their faces, and one man went as far as trying to convince him to put Firefoot in the deal. "I could use a draught horse", he had told him. As if Firefoot was a draught horse! As if he'd ever allow someone to treat him as one! The only thing that had saved the man from experiencing the full extent of his wrath, was the fact he was old and – according to Éothain, not right in the head.

Their efforts paid off however and within a week, the inn was able once more to host and feed passing travellers. Shortly afterwards, Éomer started making preparation to ride home but of course, Théodred insisted on expressing his gratitude for the help they had given him and on their last day, he made arrangements for a sizeable amount of top-notch ale to be delivered directly from the Hornburg. They lit a big fire in front of the inn, slaughtered a couple of pigs and it wasn't long until not a single sober man was left standing in a radius of miles. Even Wulf, who was normally quite moderate and did not like getting wasted, got so shamelessly boozed that the last time he saw him, he had been emptying his stomach behind a bush, his face looking worryingly green.

Sitting on an empty keg, Éomer exhaled and shut his eyes closed: he was at his fifth pitcher, his head was spinning, his back ached and on his left hand, was a deep cut he had remedied when thinking he could saw plank without looking at what he was doing. Literally, every single bone in his body was crying for a good night sleep, so much that after a while he just started dozing off.

"Tired, my Lord?", spoke a feminine voice. The soft touch of a lithe hand lingered on his thigh, almost innocently at first. But then, it turned into a slow, deliberate caress and instantly, his eyes snapped open, his fingers locked tight around a thin wrist: "I need no company. Go find yourself someone else to entertain", he growled.

Maerrun - the young woman who had been ogling at him since the day he had arrived, cast him an embarrassed look: "I-I'm sorry, I did not mean…", she stammered, but of course she did and in a sudden fit of rage, Éomer tossed his pint away and walked straight back to his room. Bema, if he ever caught a man having the balls to behave in such a brazen way with Lothíriel in spite of knowing perfectly well she was his wife, he was going to shred him into tiny little pieces!

He flopped onto his bed and sunk his face in the pillow, but regretted it almost immediately as his nostrils were filled with the stench of sweat and rotten hay. He rolled on his back and staring at the spiders-infested ceiling, he wondered how Lothíriel's stay in the Westfold was going. And even more importantly, whether she was as tormented as he was by the memory of that night in Edoras because to him, waking up to the sight of her warm body half-trapped under his, had been the sweetest type of torture ever devised. For a split of a second, his muscles had tensed and he had almost jumped out of bed. But there had been such a blissful smile on her slightly parted lips, that he couldn't have moved or looked at anything else even if he had wanted to. All of a sudden, the world around them had been reduced to a fading, distant memory. And as he drunk in the sight of her, all he could think of, was that he'd wait for her to wake up, he'd wait for her grey eyes to look back at him and then, he'd kiss her senseless. But then, one little inch of skin at a time, he had become aware of everything else: the arm wrapped around his waist; Lothíriel's thin chemise; their entwined legs; and lastly, his hardened manhood pressed against her thigh. Reluctantly, he had dragged himself out of bed and spared Lothíriel the embarrassment of finding out the effect her closeness could have on him. But he'll be damned if he hadn't been able to think of anything else ever since!

At first, he had assumed she hadn't known what had happened, hadn't realized that in his sleep he had pulled her into his embrace in what he feared she might have considered a rather inappropriate fashion. And yet when their eyes had met later that day, he thought he had seen… something. Like a twinkle, or a gleam – one he did not recall being there before. Their parting too had felt odd, as if too many unspoken words had been looming over them and none had had the courage of speaking them aloud. And now, seven days and just as many sleepless nights later, Éomer felt dangerously close to a breaking point – meaning the one where he'd saddle Firefoot, ride in all haste to Lady Aldwyn's mansion, sneak into Lothíriel's bed and pick up things where they had left them that cursed morning in Edoras…

…him lying on top of her… her breath tickling against the skin of his neck… the faint scent of lavender of her hair… the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest…

His hand slid down to his breeches and fumbled desperately with the belt. When his fingers encircled his throbbing flesh, he shuddered… Lothíriel.

Lothíriel chased a lonely bean in her plate and of course, her brooding mood did not go unnoticed to Lady Aldwyn's keen eye: "You've been unusually quiet today".

"I'm just tired, that's all", she lied.

An attendant cleared the table and served them the raisin wine Lady Alwyn liked to sip on before retiring: "So, you've spent most of the past ten days underground. What do you make of what you've seen?", she asked.

Lothíriel considered carefully her next words. "I think I won't ever be able to look at any metal object the same way I used to. Of course I've always known metals to be extracted from mines, but my idea of what that really meant was so naïve, that I might have just as well thought iron and gold were growing on trees or sprouting from the ground. Now I look at this", she said getting the thin white gold ring that had belonged to her mother off her finger, "and I see sweat, blackened hands, backs curved under the burden of crushing weights. But also courage, resilience, inventiveness, creativity…".

"Not all heroes wear shining armours".

"No", agreed Lothíriel, "maybe only those we sing about".

Lady Aldwyn smiled and raised her glass: "A toast to all forgotten heroes".

"To all forgotten heroes", she and Elfda echoed her. Lady Aldwyn's guard was a man of few words, but she had come to like him a lot. For the entire length of their stay in the Westfold, he had never been more than a step away from her; he normally answered her questions – or anybody's questions for the matter, with a shrug or a grunt at best. But behind that gruff, grim façade, he was a witty man and possessed a dry sense of humour that had her cracking with laughter all the times. "I was told your father was one of such heroes. Is that true?", Lothíriel asked him.

"Aye. Worked his whole life as a hewer. Had many accidents too. Once, a tunnel caved-in and he remained trapped for five days before they managed to rescue him. Another time, an explosion caused by sulphur fumes left him badly burned and anyway, less than two weeks later he was already back to work".

"A strong man…".

"… and a father of seven. Life was hard, winters cold, the food never enough… it taught us to be thankful for what we had and also, to fend for ourselves. Two of my brothers followed in my father's footsteps and by the age of fourteen, they were already working alongside him. Me sisters stitched clothes and baked bread for the workers. And as for me, at fifteen I started hunting for pelts. That's how I first met Lady Aldwyn".

"Really?".

Elfda emptied his glass and judging by his almost sickened faced, Lothíriel guessed she wasn't the only one who didn't appreciate Lady Aldwyn's fondness for sweet wines: "Yes. Her daughter – who had been only seven years old at the time, had gotten in her head that she could live in the forest on her own. She stole a bow, headed into the woods and almost immediately got lost. She had been missing for two days when I heard about it. Nobody had been able to find her anywhere…".

"…and he got her back within half-day. Can you imagine?", Lady Aldwyn finished the story for him.

"That's quite impressive. How did you manage to do it?".

"I did what I always do: putting myself in my prey's shoes. And since my prey was a child and I was myself little more than a lad, it worked like a charm. I found her trailing along one of the streams flowing down the mountains, famished, cold and a little bruised, but otherwise in good health and spirit. In fact, it took me a longer time to convince her to come with me, than to actually find her".

There was a smug grin on Lady Aldwyn's face: "She made me sick with worry and after Elfda brought her back, I had her grounded for an entire month. But once I got past the initial scare, I must admit I felt more than a tinge of pride: her father had taught her what berries and roots could be eaten, where to seek shelter were she to find herself in the wilderness; and she obviously managed to put all those teachings into practice, or else she wouldn't have lasted that long on her own".

"Your pride was more than justified. Why, at seven years of age your daughter fended for herself better than I could do now!", laughed Lothíriel.

"That's not true, you did it too: fend for yourself, save that child's life", pointed out Elfda.

"What I did was yelling, falling from my saddle and being dumb enough to step into a trap".

"Without any weapon on you, there wasn't much else you could have done to distract the wargs".

"Are you suggesting I should start carrying weapons?".

"It wouldn't be a bad idea…", pondered Lady Aldwyn.

"Éomer said the same thing and even offered to teach me how to use a knife. But I just can't see myself wielding a weapon. It would be like casting pearls before swine".

"Bollocks", snorted Elfda. He stood and dragged her up with him: "Even if you do not want to carry a weapon with you, it wouldn't harm to learn some self-defence tricks".

Lothíriel shot Lady Aldwyn a hesitant look: "Go on", she encouraged her.

"What shall I do?".

Elfda started circling around her like a wolf waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey: "What's your biggest advantage when facing an attacker?".

"Advantage? I didn't even know I had one…".

"You don't look like much. You are not big, you are not scary. An attacker will judge you harmless and let his guard down. Use it to your own advantage".

"How?".

"Do your best to look as little of a danger as possible. Bide your time, wait for the right moment to strike and when it comes, do it without hesitation". He halted right in front of her, his chest only inches away from her face: "What's a man's weakest point?".

Lothíriel's eyes darted down towards his legs: "I-I think it's… you know…".

"Wrong. A man wearing armour is normally well protected down there and even if he is not, it's likely he'll expect a well-placed kick in that region". His hand snapped and locked around her neck: "His throat, that's his weakest point", he whispered pressing on her windpipe just enough to give her a hint of what a well-aimed blow could do. He released her and placed her forefinger and middle finger where his hand had been: "Do you feel the hard notch-like lump?".

Lothíriel probed her neck until she had found it. "Yes".

He slid her fingers up towards her chin: "Can you feel it going down into kind of a trench?".

"Yes".

"If you apply pressure on that spot, the airway will close and your attacker will be left gasping for air, giving you plenty of time to make your escape. Strike it hard enough, and you might just kill him".

"How do I know where the exact spot is?".

"Just hit here", he said closing her hand in a fist and resting it against his throat, "It'll be effective regardless of whether you get the right spot or not. The best way to do it is grabbing your attacker by the scruff of his neck with your left hand, step back with your right feet to get a solid and stable position, then bring your fist up, elbow sticking out behind you, and strike as hard as you can". Elfda had her practicing the movement a couple of times, then just as she was starting to get the hang of it, he unexpectedly turned her around and locked his arms around her: "Break free", he ordered.

Lothíriel tried to wriggle out of his grip but it was pointless. So she tried to kick him but from that position it was simply impossible. And he was keeping his sides well protected from her elbows. She struggled for some minutes before letting out a frustrated growl: "I don't know how".

"Use your weight. Bend forward to throw me off balance".

She did as bid and felt Elfda's feet scrambling, his boot squeaking on the smooth stone floor, his grip gradually loosening: "See, you made it difficult for me to keep holding on you. Now you need to twist, hit your attacker's face with your elbows and then strike his groin".

"I thought you said it wasn't a weak point and that I shouldn't target it".

"No", Elfda corrected her, "I merely said it isn't the weakest point. Throat, groin and eyes are good targets to focus on. If someone attacks you, don't just start throwing random punches: all you'll achieve, is to exhaust yourself. Instead", he said knocking his knuckles on her head, "stay focused, identify your opponent's weaknesses and get ready to take him out. And remember…".

"Don't look like too much?".

"Yes. The more scared and crying and trembling you are, the better. Don't give yourself away until the time is right".

"I'll remember", she promised.

Lady Aldwyn stood and circled her shoulders with one arm: "Maybe Elfda could give you a couple more lessons before we part but for now, I think we should call it a night. We'll be leaving for Edoras tomorrow at dawn and I'd like to have you properly rested". Lothíriel bid the man goodnight and together with Lady Aldwyn, they headed up the stairs leading to her room: "So, now that is only the two of us, will you tell me what's wrong?".

"Nothing".

"Then why that sullen face? I thought you'd be happy of going back home…".

Lothíriel exhaled, exasperated. There was just no escaping from Lady Aldwyn! "I am happy. I just…", she paused, unsure how to express the worries that had been nagging at her since they left Edoras ten days earlier. "It's about Éomer…".

"You don't say!", gasped Lady Aldwyn in mocked surprise.

Lothíriel halted and leant on the sill of a small window overlooking the mountains: a rising full moon cast a silver light on their slopes and in the distance, a hound was barking furiously. "Three weeks ago, a man called Dernda showed up in Aldburg".

Lady Aldwyn arched an eyebrow: "Am I supposed to know the name?".

"No. The man is a scoundrel and I won't bother you with his story and why he came seeking Éomer's council. Suffice to say it was about him not wanting to take responsibility for the child he had fathered. I confronted him and obviously, he did not like what I had to say and question my judgment because I do not share Éomer's bed and as such, what can I possibly know of such matters. He went as far as insinuating I was having an extra-marital affair with Gárwine…".

"Please", said Lady Aldwyn trying to stiffen a laughter, "don't tell me you let some moron's nonsense get to your head. I assure you no one would ever believe such insane allegations".

"Here's the funny thing: I did not care about that part. But that he spoke about me and Éomer not being intimate in front of everyone, that bugged me enormously. For days I thought of nothing else and when Éomer came back, I started avoiding him. Even after I confessed him what was worrying me, I still could not explain why that comment had bothered me so. But then the other night in Edoras, it occurred to me what the reason was: I was afraid".

"Afraid of what?".

"Afraid Éomer would seek elsewhere what I haven't been able to give him so far. Just the thought of him entertaining himself with another woman makes my stomach turn, because…".

"… because you want to be that woman".

"Yes. And I feel like Éomer is tiptoeing around me, expecting me to do the first step so that I don't feel pressured into moving forward with our relationship. And I want to do it, but I just don't know how…".

This time, Lady Aldwyn did nothing to contain her amusement. She burst out laughing but upon seeing the offended look on her face, she tried to compose herself: "I'm sorry I laughed, it was deaf of me", she said pressing a kiss on each of her cheeks. "But Lothíriel: I saw the way Éomer was looking at you the other day and trust me, whether you take this first step or not, I'd be very surprised if he'll manage to keep his hands off you the next time you two meet. I know he can be intimidating and perhaps you've heard… stories about him being a heartthrob. But trust this old woman when she tells you your husband is hopelessly smitten with you and you shouldn't concern yourself with the thought of other women, for they ceased to exist for him a long time ago. Éomer has eyes only for you, my dear. Just like you have eyes only for him".

Éomer stormed out of his bedroom and flipped nervously through the pages of the report he had started filling out the night before. He headed towards his study and was so taken with trying to decipher what he had written down, that he saw nothing of what was happening around him: not the unusually crowded Hall, not Ides rushing up the stairs holding a drenched cloak in one hand and pair of dirty boots in the other, not the sudden appearance of a trail of wet footprints leading straight to his study. He barged in and almost jumped out of his skin when he realized he was not alone.

"Hello Éomer".

Lothíriel stood right in front of him, her damp hair gathered in a messy braid, her feet bare, the smile on her lips as dazzling as he remembered. Éomer froze and just like that morning in Edoras, he found his brain could only think of one thing: kiss her senseless! And yes, he knew he had promised he'd let her set the pace in their relationship. But Bema she was lovely and he was but a man! He tossed the papers away and snapped her in his arms, his lips descending on hers in a kiss that was not slow nor tender, for she was like the very air he needed to stay alive.

Lothíriel!

(to be continued)

Author's notes: hopefully the last part of this chapter made up for the disappointment that nothing happened in Edoras! :) During the past chapters, tension had been building between Éomer and Lothíriel and finally, it exploded upon being reunited.

Fun fact: not sure whether it's a general superstition, but underground workers in Italy often consider a woman's presence bad luck. I guess it was more a thing in the past but I have a good friend of mine who does safety audits in galleries and you'd be surprised to learn how many times she had to deal with guys who didn't appreciate her presence there and demanded a man to do her job instead… she always made sure they regretted their foolishness though! :)

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: it was high time for some light and hope. And a little more is presumably on the way ;)

Katia0203: you can breathe, the mining venture went smoothly. Lady Aldwyn is the noble lady Lothíriel met back in chapter 3, not long after she had arrived in Aldburg. She encouraged her to get to know Éomer better and, more in general, to get out of her room and start living her life. They kept in touch ever since and as mentioned here and there during the story, she helped her understanding how things work in Rohan.

KatDelk: I figured with someone like Éowyn, a little friction would have been unavoidable. But they got to see eye to eye and with time, they might grow closer. As per To Grow into Love, your words really made my day because that's what the story was meant to be. Ok, now I get what you meant with the noun/verb placement: honestly, I never thought about it which is why I'm glad you flagged it out for me! :)

alive by grace: thank you! I'm always glad to receive grammar advises and correct my mistakes, so I appreciated you took the time to drop a review. Also, I'm happy you are enjoying this version of Lothíriel, warts and all. In most of the stories (mine too) she's usually depicted as very mature. But she was so young during the events of the books, that I felt leaning towards a more childish and immature version of her, who's only coming now to see the world for what it really is.

Wondereye: only one step but at least Éomer sort of picked up things where they left them…

Catspector: I honestly love writing about her maturing and proving what she's made of!

emma claude: thank you! Yes, I agree. They're like two different worlds clashing together and if the circumstances are not right, things are bound to go south.

SwanKniightoftheNorth: it took its time, but yes it is happening :)

Rho67: yes, it was a very tender but also sensual moment and I loved that you loved it :) To answer your question, yes: I plan for the story to go through the destruction of the ring (after all, it's only nine months time from now). The pace has been very slow in these past few chapters, but I expect it to pick up at some point. I also had in mind to let the story move past the events of the Ring War and follow Éomer and Lothíriel as they rule Rohan as King and Queen. However, I think I'll do it in a separate sequel instead and give myself the time to work on a new E-L fanfic I have been thinking about.