Chapter 27
Rohan, September the 15th, 3018
Éomer was impressed.
And a little peeved.
But mostly impressed.
Dol Amroth was well-known for their chivalry and he was of course aware that in the veins of their mounts, run more than just a bit of Rohirric blood. Yet what had he had seen in the past few days –especially with respect to his brother-in-law, greatly surpassed his highest expectations. In spite of having spent most of his life at sea, Erchirion was just as comfortable in the saddle as he was at the helm of a ship. More than that, he was an astounding fighter. Fierce and confident, brave but not unnecessarily reckless, he was able to manoeuvre his men on the battlefield with uncanny ease. So much that he and his Swan Knights had made the past three days spent hunting orcs in the woods surrounding Caerdydd, feel like a breeze!
It hadn't been though, and not for the reasons Éomer had anticipated when he had learned his brother-in-law intended to stay in Rohan for a while. Back then, his reaction had been a grumpy snort and an exaggerated roll of his eyes: he had braced himself for weeks of hostilities and awkward conversations but in the end, he had found it all too easy to get along with Erchirion. On their first encounter he had accused him to be a Gondorian fop, but he couldn't have been any more wrong: Lothíriel's brother was indeed one of the nicest, most down-to-earth persons he had ever met.
And perhaps, that was exactly the problem.
Observing him and Lothíriel spending long hours together, Éomer had realized his brother-in-law had proved a far more understanding man than he'd have been in his place. Really, had Éowyn gone through even just half of the things that had happened to Lothíriel since her arrival in Rohan, he'd have strapped her to his saddle and rushed her back home. Granted, his sister would have probably run a sword through him at the first chance, but at least he'd have died knowing her safe! Erchirion on the other hand, had simply accepted his sister's decision to stay in Rohan and never questioned him, never challenged his capacity to keep her safe. And that he'd trust him so, was surprisingly uncomfortable for Éomer. He kept thinking Erchirion would soon realize what a gamble he was taking and take Lothíriel away and because of it, he was constantly on his guard around him, ready at any moment to prove himself worthy of that trust he had put on him, that he did not feel he had deserved at all.
Distracted from his brooding by a rising commotion, Éomer lifted his eyes from the gauntlet he was trying to scrub clean and almost groaned in despair.
Erchirion was a good man and so were his knights, but with one notable exception: Girdir. The son of a captain who had served under Imrahil for his entire life before passing away a few years earlier, the man was standoffish, obnoxious and quite unbearable – to the point that even his fellow countrymen were often put off by his manners and preferred avoiding him altogether. Incidentally, he was also the one who had dared challenging him on the day he had returned from the Eastemnet. Put those two things together, add the likes of someone like Éothain and Háca, and there it was a nice brewing disaster at hand!
"Worse than toddlers", growled Éomer, still not quite understanding how exactly the two Rohirrim had managed to go from being sworn enemies to as thick as thieves with the arrival of their Gondorian guests. It was as if their hatred for Girdir had made them overcome their differences in the name of one common enemy. And Bema were they annoying! All the three of them! Always bickering and mocking each other over the silliest things! In that instance for example, they had been sent collecting wood for the fire. As if their pride and honour depended on the amount of twigs and logs they managed to collect, Éothain and Háca had now returned to the camp with enough wood to set the whole Aldburg on fire, and were sneering wryly at the much more modest load the Gondorian was carrying in his arms. But because Girdir was no better – nor more mature than them, he muttered some insult which in turn, sparked a pointless, heated diatribe between the three of them.
"I should tie them to a tree and leave them at the mercy of whatever haunts these woods".
"That hopeless?".
Éomer turned around to see Erchirion approaching. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of babysitting them".
"If it can make you feel any better, then let it be known I regretted taking Girdir with me almost as soon as I set out towards Rohan. I should have left him in Dol Amroth: it would have saved me plenty of troubles – also among my men, trust me".
"Is he always so…".
"Insufferable?".
Éomer had other adjectives in mind, but insufferable would do. "Yes".
"Quite so. I don't like him very much either, but our families have always been close and in spite of his manners, I can assure you he is a man of great honour and valour".
"Is that why you took him along?".
"No", said Erchirion, and the way he glanced furtively at him, told him he was not going to like his next words. "He insisted on coming because – and please don't make me regret telling you this, he has always had a soft spot for Lothíriel".
"Just when I thought I couldn't like the man any less than I already do!".
"You may take comfort in knowing Lothíriel never realized Girdir has feelings on her: she has never been fond of him and probably spoke to him no more than a handful of times over the past few years. So, no reason to hate him - especially because seeing you two lovebirds together, I can assure you you've already crushed his heart".
Éomer chuckled. He had never been called a lovebird before, but he couldn't say it bothered him: he was after all madly smitten with his wife! "What about you? Is there a woman in Dol Amroth we should know about? Someone who might break the hearts of half of the female population of Aldburg?".
"No, but I'd kindly ask you not to shout it from the rooftops: those ladies are already brazen as it is, and they really don't need to be further encouraged – especially Wilrun!". Erchirion grew surprisingly sombre then, his mind seemed to wander away with him: "What you and Lothíriel have is precious, Éomer, something few can even dream to achieve in a lifetime of struggles. Seeing the two of you together, knowing the difficulties and adversities you have overcome only to come out stronger and closer than ever… it gives me hope. Reminds me of what it is that we are fighting for - something so easily forgotten during these dark times".
Éomer's heart sunk, for he knew all too well the feelings his brother-in-law was speaking of. "How are things in Dol Amroth, Erchirion? Your father once mentioned about having troubles with the corsairs, but said little more than that. Is the situation really as dire as I fear?".
"Yes", he admitted laconically, "We've been struggling with those sea rats for a few years now but until not long ago, we managed to contain their threat– though the cost has been high and often paid in blood. Since last autumn however, things have started deteriorating at a pace we find difficult to match. The rest of Gondor isn't faring any better either: in June, we lost control of the east bank of Osgiliath and we now need to hold desperately on the west bank to deter any attempt of the enemy's forces to cross the Anduin. My cousins - Boromir and Faramir, have grown restless and last July, Boromir set out on a journey North – a journey his father Lord Denethor reluctantly approved".
"North?".
"A dream came to them both, to seek council in Imladris".
"Imladris", Éomer echoed him, "it's the name of an elven town, isn't it?".
Erchirion let out an outraged scoff: "You are wiser in the lore of Gondor than I am, brother. When Faramir told me about his dream, I had no idea where – or what, Imladris could be. Lord Denethor however was able to say it's none other than the old name of Rivendell, home of Elrond the Halfelven".
Éomer frowned, unsure what to make of that information. He had met Boromir when he had travelled to Minas Tirith and the man had surely left him with a positive impression: noble, proud and stern, he had thought he'd make a fine Steward one day. To learn that he had left his city and his people to heed a dream, left him bewildered and confused, torn between hope and dread for what the outcome of his long journey would be.
"Very few people know about this, so I'd appreciate if you kept this information confidential", asked Erchirion, "and while we are at it, there's also something else I'd like to discuss with you. I mentioned it to Lothíriel already, and she warned me it's a topic that might irritate you: horses".
Éomer's eyebrows shot upwards: "Horses?".
"Yes. We have lost a great number of mounts last year and recently, one of the royal's stables has been torched".
"Dol Amroth has been attacked?!".
"No. The House of Dol Amroth could always rely on two royal stables for the breeding of its horses: one is in Dol Amroth of course, while the other is located in the outback, about a day's ride from the city – Cirich Manor is the name of the place. Most of our steeds were bred and trained there, and the enemy must have known that destroying it would have crippled the strength of our chivalry. It was deliberately targeted, Éomer: we had a dozen men stationed there, but our defences were quickly overwhelmed and wiped out. The attackers then locked the horses inside the stables and set them on fire".
Éomer shuddered. "How many horses have you lost?".
"Not that many to force our Swan Knights on foot, but enough to compromise us in the long term. I know Rohan's herds have suffered too and by all means, I'm not asking you to send me back to Dol Amroth with a hundred of your best mounts in tow. But we should at least try to reach an agreement because our stables may be worryingly empty, Éomer, but our cellars are stocked at full capacity: striking a deal would be beneficial for us both".
"I take it Lothíriel has told you about our supplies running low…".
"She didn't go into details, but it's clear she's worried. Don't be upset with her, she was just…".
"She was just trying to do what is best for our people – I know", he finished the sentence for him, and upset was really the last thing he was in that moment.
During the past couple of months, Lothíriel had tried time and again to convince him to reach out to Gondor to ensure they'd be well-prepared for the winter, but he had always refused listening to her. Partly because he knew all too well Grima's laws concerning trading, partly because his pride made it so damn difficult to do what she was suggesting. But with so much at stake, he could hardly afford the luxury to sit back and watch in silence while his people starved.
"We need those steeds desperately, Éomer, and my father would be willing to pay a hefty price in order to get them", Erchirion insisted.
Éomer stood, a plan slowly forming in his head. If he wanted to sell horses to Dol Amroth in exchange for supplies, he actually didn't need Grima's consent: just the one of the King's Council. And with Lady Aldwyn's help and the willingness to share at least part of the spoils with those old fogeys, he might be able to get it. They had to be discreet though, because if Grima ever caught wind of their plan, he'd surely find a way to blow it.
"You'll have your horses before the first snowfall", he promised, "but keep what we discussed today between the three of us or else, I won't even be able to sell you a decrepit pony".
"And? What do you think?".
Realizing she was gaping in the most unbecoming way, Lothíriel closed her mouth and trying regaining her composure: "I think I can hardly believe my eyes", she admitted to a gloating Garhild.
In spite of its commercial relevance – or perhaps because of it, in the recent years Caerdydd's infrastructure had become dramatically inadequate to handle the trade that had made it prosper in the first place. The main reason for it, had been Fulor's failure at understanding that if he wanted his city to continue thriving, changes to its layout needed to be made. For the entire twenty years of his ruling, the old ealdorman had acted as if Caerdydd was nothing but a small farmer's village: if he saw the need to enlarge its storage capacity, he'd build another storeroom. And when the following year the need would recur, he'd build another one. And another. And another.
Merchants arriving in the city were often forced to scatter their goods at at least a dozen – totally unsuited, different locations, and throughout the years that had often caused chaos, tension and malcontent.
One of the reasons Éomer had chosen to appoint Elffa as the new ealdorman and endorsed Garhild as his deputy, was that they both had a head for business. As such, it probably shouldn't have surprised Lothíriel to see that the first project they had taken on, aimed at solving such sticky situation. But either way, she was still stunned with what they had accomplished.
Located right in the heart of the city and served by a road wide enough to allow for the transit of heavy loaded wagons, now stood a large two-storeys warehouse. Large enough to replace all the existing storerooms at once, and able at the same time to offer a comfortable indoor space for trading goods in the winter season.
"How did you manage to pull this off in just two months?", she asked.
"Oh, I assure you it hasn't been easy. Especially during the first weeks, we faced a lot of resistance".
"People weren't happy about having a warehouse built?".
"Most of them were. But there used to be houses here and as you can imagine, their inhabitants were not amused to see them demolished".
"You provided them with another accommodation, I hope?".
"Yes – and a better one at that: with the warehouse's construction, the old storerooms became redundant. We converted them into houses for the families we forced to move out and on top of that, we paid them a small compensation. Some are still bugged about having to leave the city centre for the outskirts, but nevertheless I feel confident enough to say we all gained something from this project".
"I'm sure you did", Lothíriel convened as she climbed one of the sturdy ladders leading to the warehouse's upper storey. "What about you, Garhild? How are you finding your deputy role?".
"I'm enjoying it more than I thought I would. And I must admit appointing Elffa as ealdorman instead of myself, was the right thing to do: had I been on my own, I'd have never managed to get this done so quickly".
"Don't underestimate yourself, Garhild".
"Trust me, I don't. But truth is, many were reluctant at dealing with someone like me and having Elffa backing up every decision I took, made my life just so much easier. Not to mention that running this town also requires a number of skills he excels in, and in which I'm utterly ignorant – namely everything related with patrolling and improving the city's defences".
"Or, in other words, you make a great team together".
"Aye, that we do".
Seeing how confident Elffa and Garhild had grown in their respective roles, Lothíriel drew an inward sigh of relief: for almost as long as she could remember, Caerdydd had been a thorn in the flesh for Éomer but finally, it looked like things were turning for the better!
"Lady Lothíriel! Lady Garhild!", someone shouted below them. Lothíriel leaned on the banister to see a young man barging into the warehouse. He was panting, his face was red and sweaty. "Folláf sends me!", he yelled.
Garhild frowned, her gaze growing worried: "Folláf is our healer", she explained. "What happened? Was someone injured?".
"No, milady. But three days ago, one of the masons fell sick with a high fever. The day before yesterday, three of his co-workers fell ill too, followed by four among their family members. Three people have died already and Folláf fears is the beginning of an outbreak!".
Upon hearing those words, it took Lothíriel all her self-control not to panic. "An outbreak?! Has this ever happened before?".
"In the p-past, yes – quite a f-few times indeed. But not s-since I moved here…", stammered Garhild. She was visibly shaken, all colour had drained from her face. She was looking at her like she expected her to take charge and know what to do but truth was, Lothíriel had no idea! Seeing the fear in the woman's eyes however, she realized she needed to remain calm - or at least act like she was, or else the whole city would be soon screaming in terror.
She descended the stairs and approached the lad who had raised the alert: "I need to speak with Folláf", she demanded. With Eofor and Balláf in tow, she followed him towards the Northern side of the town, where most of the workshops seemed to be located. In spite of being midday, the streets were empty, the blacksmith's forge silent, the doors shut. The place looked completely deserted but as she walked by, Lothíriel noticed the curtains at many windows moving almost imperceptibly. Realizing the eyes of the whole city were fixed on her, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, tried her best to look in control of the situation.
The boy led them inside an abandoned building. He asked them to wait there and when after a few minutes of anxious wait a cloaked figure appeared at other end of the room, the first thing Lothíriel thought was that that, ought to be one of the most frightening sights she had ever seen: the man carried a stick in his right hand - but used it not to help his steps; he was covered head to toes by a waxed overcoat and his face was concealed behind a leather mask; even though there were at least fifteen feet between them, she could smell clearly his pungent scent – a mix of herbs and spices, most likely. Something about his appearance was inherently terrifying and Lothíriel couldn't help but shuddering: "Are you Folláf?".
She made for taking a step towards him, but Balláf promptly grabbed her arm: "You shouldn't get too close".
"Your guard is right, my Lady. The further the safer, I'm afraid".
Of course, how could she not have thought about it! "Your man said there might be a fever outbreak?".
"Not might, but rather is".
Behind her, Garhild gasped. "How bad is it?".
"Eight patients so far and three deaths, but the number is sure to rise within the next few days. I took the liberty of shutting down the neighbourhood. I realize I should have discussed it with you, but this isn't my first outbreak and I deemed the measure to be too urgent to be postponed any longer".
"You did what you had to do, Folláf. I'll be honest, I have no experience dealing with such situation, so I'll need your guidance. Tell me what we can expect, and especially what I can do to help you".
The healer nodded and removed his mask, revealing piercing blue eyes and a face marred by deep wrinkles. "It's too early to say. After the first symptoms, the illness progresses shockingly fast and my administrations can do very little. But it doesn't seem to be spreading too quickly, which is good".
"Not too quickly? You just said you have eight patients already!".
"All belongings to four families which count over thirty people all together. My apprentice is keeping them under observation, but most of them show no sign of fever. My point being: it could have been way worse, we could have had dozens of sick people by now. But it's an aggressive fever, my Lady, and if we let it spread throughout the city, by the end of the week we'll have corpses piled at our doors".
Folláf obviously knew how to make his point. "Is there something we can do?".
"Indeed", he said sternly. "By now the news of the outbreak has probably reached every ear in town. People will panic, and panic makes people do stupid things. See that they don't, keep them away from this neighbourhood and make sure that anyone showing symptoms, is immediately brought here".
Lothíriel turned to look at Garhild. The woman was still worryingly pale, her hands were clenched nervously together. "How many men have Elffa and Éomer left us with?".
"Seven, my Lady".
"Aside from the main gate, does the city have other entrances?".
"A small one on the Southern side".
Seven men. Two gates. Probably over ten miles worth of walls to watch. Lothíriel was no expert, but the odds didn't seem to be in their favour. "Balláf, you know those seven men, I assume?".
"Yes, they were stationed in Aldburg until not long ago".
"Then you and Eofor should summon them and see that both gates are shut: nobody is allowed to either leave or enter the city unless I say so. Nobody, Balláf".
"Aye, my Lady. But I must insist you keep Eofor with you".
"We have bigger problems and too few men to spare me a personal guard".
Balláf opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Garhild, who seemed to be slowly coming back to her senses. "I'll stay with Lady Lothíriel. I'm no battle-hardened soldier, but I know well enough how to wield a sword".
"There, I'll have a shieldmaiden of Rohan watching my back. Now: go and shut those gates!".
Balláf nodded and albeit reluctantly, followed her orders. Lothíriel knew her decision to lock down the city was not going to be a popular one, but one thing she knew for sure: if they let the outbreak reach other settlements and potentially Aldburg or even Edoras, things were going to get ugly very fast. What should be done next however, that she did not know: she was out of her depth, in a city she knew very little of, surrounded by people to whom she was nothing but a stranger and a foreigner. Garhild was looking up at her like she expected some wise words to spew out of her mouth, but she had none to share.
Feeling her legs growing wobbly, she sat on a dusty crate and stared at her sweaty palms.
Panic makes people do stupid things.
How true that was. And she more than anyone should know about it. Panic makes you miserable but especially, it makes you desperate: if they allowed fear to take over the people's heart, they had already lost the war before the first sword had even been unsheathed. "Garhild", she said, her voice sounding firmer than her confidence, "we'll need to address the city, and we need to do it together".
The week that followed proved the most gruelling, exhausting, harrowing time in Lothíriel's entire life. By the seventh day of being stuck into the city, she felt so drained – both in her body and especially in her mind, that she'd have surely had a mental breakdown, hadn't the news delivered by Folláf's apprentices been so encouraging.
After an initial couple of days when the number of patients in the healer's care had risen dramatically to well over thirty, things had gradually slowed down and for almost an entire day now, there hadn't been any new reported case of fever. A veiled optimism was beginning to stretch throughout the city and though Lothíriel was wary of it, she was also glad for the respite it had granted her. Since the beginning of the ordeal, she had barely had a chance to catch some sleep: there was always someone questioning her choices, challenging the rules she had imposed or implying she shouldn't have been in charge at all. There had been three attempts at forcing the gates open, a thoughtless old man had broken his leg while trying to rappel down the walls and a riot had almost ramped up when they had discovered a family covering up for two of their members who had fallen sick.
Surviving the past week had been a matter of delicate balance between truth and a completely made-up confidence. In order to ensure the people – or most of them at least, would take the situation seriously, Lothíriel had had no other choice but sharing how grave their predicament was. At the same time, she had had to convince everybody that she knew what she was doing or else, it would have been a disaster. From the very first day, she had taken to spending her entire time among the people. She'd start in the early morning with walking alongside the walls and climbing to each of the three small lookout towers to see how the guards were doing. For lunch, she'd help serving food at one of the stalls located in front the warehouse: the locals would line up by the dozens to have a bowl of soup served by a Gondorian princess, and she'd have a reassuring word and a smile for each one of them. In the afternoon, she'd retire to Garhild's house – where she had taken quarter for the time being. She'd keep the main door purposefully open and bore with polite kindness all those who came knocking and asking her all sort of questions. For dinner, she'd visit every day a different tavern and consume her meal sitting at a shared table. She'd crawl to bed around midnight and spend the following hours in and out of a light, restless sleep. And Valar, it was taking a toll on her!
The worse thing of all was having none of her friends by her side. Back in Aldburg, even when Éomer was away she was never alone: she could count on Gárwine for an advice, on Runhild for a hug, on Wilrun for a laugh, on Dúnor for taking a beating with his practice swords, on Endien for her daily intake of purring and cuddling. But in Caerdydd, she was all alone: Balláf and Eofor – the only two familiar faces out there, had been busy on their own and as per Garhild, the woman had had a difficult time coping with the outbreak. More than once Lothíriel had thought about sending someone after Éomer and Erchirion, but after ten days of patrol they might have been anywhere, and she had no man to spare for a hot pursuit.
Sitting in a dark corner of Garhild's sitting room, her head held in her hands and her heart beating worryingly fast, Lothíriel took a deep breath and tried calming down.
It had been a difficult week, sure. But seven days are hardly a long time and besides, Folláf was positive that the worst was now behind them: within a few days they might be able to re-open the gates, Éomer would soon return to Caerdydd and things were going to be alright. Lothíriel nodded and forced back the tears welling in her eyes. She told herself over and over again that there was no reason to whine and so engrossed she was with her self-convincing effort, that she did not hear Garhild coming in.
"Lothíriel?".
Her head snapped up, a forced smile stretching her lips. "I'm here. Do you need anything?". Please tell me you don't bring any bad news, she silently begged.
"No, no. You just disappeared and I wanted to make sure you were well".
Ah! Well indeed! "I am. I was just resting for a moment", she lied, but after a week spent side by side, Garhild had started to learn how to read her moods.
"It's just the two of us, Lothíriel. No need to keep up the charade". She sat next to her and offered her a cup of water and a slice of buttered bread: "Have you eaten anything at all today?".
She hadn't. She had been starving since lunchtime but had been so busy that she had simply forgotten to eat. Leaning back against the wall, she took a small bite of bread and closed her eyes.
"I realize you probably wish you had never come to Caerdydd, but I cannot express how glad I am that you were here when the outbreak started. I wouldn't have been able to handle this situation on my own", Garhild told her.
"You'd have found a way, I'm sure".
"I don't think so. And mine is not false modesty, nor an attempt to cozy up to you. When Folláf told us about the outbreak, I panicked. I know you did too, but at least even in your stressed state you were able to think straight and take the right decision. I know there are many who are upset because of the measures you took, and I know that because those are the ones who shout the loudest, it's easy to assume theirs is everyone's opinion. But it isn't, Lothíriel: most of the people have your back".
"For someone who isn't trying to flatter me, I dare say you are paying me an indecent amount of compliments".
"Ah well", Garhild said with a shrug, "nothing wrong with that anyway!".
"True indeed", she giggled, "but don't forget you've helped me a great deal".
"I did little more than standing silently by your side, Lothíriel".
"You trusted me, openly supported every decision I took, offered council whenever you could".
"I should have been able to do way more than that. It's just that this whole situation – the outbreak, all those people dying, brought back too many painful memories", Garhild said, her fingers reaching for the golden bracelet she always wore on her right wrist. "My husband died of a similar disease".
"I did not know".
"He passed away a year and a half ago", she said in a shaky voice, "one day he was his usual self, up at dawn and hardly ever resting until dusk, the next he was bedridden, burning with fever, his whole body shaken by a terrible cough. He insisted it was just a cold, said I did not need to call for a healer. On the fourth day, he started coughing up blood. I sent for help but by the time the healer made it to our manor, it was already too late. That's also another reason why I decided to abandon the place and move to Caerdydd: too many memories, too many ghosts haunting my steps".
"What was your husband's name?".
"Holdtor. Our was an arranged marriage, you know?".
"Really? I thought they were uncommon in Rohan…".
"More uncommon than in Gondor perhaps, but they do happen – especially among affluent families. I was about your age when I married him, and he was almost twenty years my senior".
"Were you… happy about it?".
"Enough to consent to the marriage. Holdtor proved a caring, attentive husband and in time, we grew to love each other – madly so! We had a happy ten years together, before he was taken from me".
"Love has a habit of thriving in the most unexpected places, doesn't it?", pondered Lothíriel.
"It does", Garhild agreed with a knowing smile. She made for saying something but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her maid – a lovely girl who reminded her a lot of Wilrun, stepped inside the room and one look at her face, and Lothíriel already knew she was about to be delivered bad news.
"What happened?".
"One of Folláf's apprentices came by. He said Somerhild's condition has worsened and that they fear she might not make it".
Lothíriel cursed - in Rohirric to boot. Somerhild - Caerdydd's midwife and the one who had taken Beyrith in after Fulor's death, had been the last person to fall sick. Her fever had been mild until earlier that day and she had hoped with all her heart it would have stayed that way.
But of course, faith had other plans in store.
As they approached Caerdydd, Erchirion had the distinct feeling something was wrong.
At first it was just that – a feeling, a worry growing in his chest that he tried to dismiss. Then, he noticed the closed gates. The eerie quiet around the city – no coming and going of merchants, no cattle grazing on the grass, no washerwomen crowding the banks of the nearby creek. Éomer and Elffa spurred their horses forward and demanded the gates to be opened, and when Balláf's head popped out from behind the battlement, Erchirion knew something must have been really wrong for Lothíriel's personal guard to be up there.
"I can't let any of you in", Balláf declared, his voice as firm and steady as the day he had threatened to escort him to his quarters. The man surely knew how to stand his ground!
"And why would that be?".
"Lady Lothíriel's order. No one's allowed in or out of the city without her explicit permission. I've already sent for her: she'll be here any moment now and explain what is going on", he said before disappearing behind the merlon.
Éomer removed his helmet and dismounted. He started pacing restlessly back and forth and when Lothíriel finally arrived, none of them liked what they saw: his sister's hair was tousled, her cheeks pale; there were dark circles around her eyes and she was leaning against the parapet as if too exhausted to stand on her feet, her hands slightly trembling as she tried to smooth the fabric of her wrinkled gown. Éomer's steps faltered, his eyes grew wide with worry: "Lothíriel? Are you alright?".
She smiled then – nay, almost laughed! "I'm so glad you are back", she said, her voice barely more than a whisper as if she was speaking to herself.
"What's happening? Why are the gates shut?", asked Éomer, his right hand clutched nervously around the pommel of his sword.
"There has been a fever outbreak, but I think we managed to get it under control. Provided we don't get any new case in the next hours, I'll be able to let you inside the city by tomorrow evening already. But for now, you need to wait".
The word outbreak had barely left her mouth, that Erchirion's feet had already touched the ground and his steps propelled him forwards. "Open the gates!", he and Éomer growled as one.
"And put all of you at risk? No, that's out of the question".
"You just said you have it under control!", Éomer rebuted her.
"I said I think we have it under control. Folláf needs another day to be sure, and the gates won't open until then".
"Fine, we won't come in. But then I want you out of the city: right now, you hear me?!".
A deep flush crept up Lothíriel's neck. Not one of embarrassment – Erchirion realized, but rather one of anger. "No", she hissed.
At her refusal, Éomer looked like he wanted to tear down the gate with his fingernails and in all honesty, so did he: he didn't give a damn how sensible the decision to lock down the city was, he wanted his sister to get out of that place and as far as possible from anyone who had as much as sneezed once in the course of the past month! "Don't be silly, Lothíriel. Listen to your husb…".
"Stay out of this!", she snapped. "You think I want to stay here? You think any of us wanted to get stuck behind these walls during a fever outbreak? You think it was an easy call to make, to shut those gates nine days ago? It wasn't! And you can't come in here and ask me to be the one to break the rule I enforced just because you're worried! If I come out now, then why shouldn't everybody else do the same?".
Her words hit him like a punch in the guts. He had spent the past two weeks singing her praises and marvelling at what a smart, brave woman she had become, and at the first sign of trouble there he was again, treating her like a child and undermining her authority when in all likelihood, she had been the one person who had kept the city from falling apart during the outbreak! Éomer must have realized it too, for he placed a hand on his shoulder and in his dark eyes, anger and worry were now mingling with regret, shame almost.
"You're right. The gates should remain close – to everybody", he said, spelling that last word loud enough for the entire town to hear him. He looked up at Lothíriel and no word were spoken – none were needed, to convey what they were silently telling each other.
Feeling like the odd man out, Erchirion took a bashful step back. Back in Gondor, many among his friends had married for love and yet, he had rarely ever seen a bond as strong as the one that existed between Éomer and his sister. It was like an invisible thread that held them together even at times they were leagues apart, one that only needed their eyes to lock or their hands to touch, to grow stronger and deeper.
"Will you tell us what happened?", asked Éomer.
"It all started ten days ago, when the first patient with signs of fever sought Folláf's help. Luckily, the healer realized almost immediately it was nothing like a normal disease. With so many merchants and farmers coming and going, I feared the outbreak might have easily spread beyond the city's walls, so I ordered the gates to be shut. We've been steady at forty-six cases and fifteen dead for almost three days now".
"What of Garhild", inquired Elffa, "is she alright?".
"She is", Lothíriel reassured him and as she proceeded to give them a more detailed account of what had happened in Caerdydd, Erchirion turned around and walked slowly away. He found a small pond just beyond the forest's edge. A spot lonely enough for him to deal in peace with the chocking feeling in his chest, but also close enough to the city that he could still keep an eye on the gates. It was there that Éomer found him hours later, sitting in the growing darkness and staring pensively at the tadpoles swimming in the muddy water at his feet.
"Planning on how to take Lothíriel back to Gondor with you?".
He was smiling as if it was meant to be a jest, but Erchirion knew better.
"No. Why would I ever do that?".
"I don't know. Something having to do with the fact she barely escaped death four times in the course of the past six months alone, I suppose. First those wargs, then the ambush, then Meregith's betrayal and now, this", he said nodding towards the city.
"That only goes to prove how tough Lothíriel is. I will ride home next week, Éomer, and the only thing worth telling my father will be that my sister is happy where she is – in Rohan, where she was lucky enough to find a husband who saw in her more than any of us did in her eighteen years in Dol Amroth".
"I wouldn't praise my…".
"Really, we have been such fools!", he burst out, his anger taking them both by surprise, "We raised her in a golden cage even though we knew perfectly well what the world outside of our palace was. Whenever we were discussing something unpleasant and she entered the room, you know what we would do? We'd change topic, we'd go from talking about civilians being butchered in the umpteenth corsairs' raid to unicorns and fairy tales because - Valar forbid, learning about the harsh reality of our situation was no matter for a princess' ears. We never encouraged her, never allowed her to have any ambition beside collecting books and buying expensive clothes. Many in Dol Amroth thought her snotty and uppity, just because she was never given the chance to prove herself otherwise. But the fault was ours, Éomer – mine, my father's, my brothers': it was… convenient for us to know her spending idle day after idle day in her room, rather than doing something meaningful with her life. That way, we could return home and find her waiting for us, a living memento of our blithe childhood to be jealously cherished. We did it with the best intentions but in the end, we brought her harm and clipped her wings. She's no silly, empty-headed girl: she's a smart, compassionate young woman, and look how she has thrived since she has left Gondor!".
Realizing he was shouting like a madman, Erchirion tried to cool off by splashing some water on his face. His thoughts were a turmoil, and he didn't even know why.
"Lothíriel deserves more than what she had in Dol Amroth, Éomer. It saddens me that she found it in such faraway place, for I know it means I won't be able to see much of her in the future and I do miss her greatly already. Sailing back home after weeks spent at sea and finding no one waiting for me, feels bitter enough – trust me. But I'll be damned if this isn't the place she belongs to. And you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened here: fever outbreaks occur all the time – in Gondor too. Just be glad Lothíriel was in Caerdydd when it all started because by the look of it, she and Garhild might have saved you from something far worse than fifteen dead".
Hearing those words, every single fibre in Éomer's body seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He sat on a fallen trunk, his head hanging back. "Loving your sister is the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me, Erchirion. I worry constantly for her – even when I know her in Aldburg, among friends and with plenty of guards to ensure her safety. Whenever I ride back home after a patrol, there's always this part of me that holds its breath up until the moment I finally see her, like a constant foreboding I cannot ever fully shake off. And yet, in spite of this, in spite of the difficult age we live, I cannot remember a time in my life when I've felt any happier or more hopeful than I am now. It's true that Lothíriel has thrived here, but trust me: so have we – all of us, and especially me".
Erchirion smiled and stretched his hand out: Éomer wasn't a man of many words, but when he did speak, it was always from the heart. "The first time I saw you, I was very tempted to run my sword through you. But I think we finally see eye to eye".
"We do", he agreed, "and you'll always be welcome here, Erchirion".
"No longer keen on getting rid of me?".
"Not at all. In fact, I'd be happy if you remained with us – even if that means Girdir gets to stay too!".
"I'm honoured, really. But I've already made up my mind. The wind calls me back to the sea, to my people...".
Erchirion closed his eyes and inhaled deeply: he could almost smell the salt in the air, feel the boat rocking under his feet, hear the seagulls' racket above his head. Lothíriel might have found home on those grassy lands, but his heart would always belong to Belfalas' blue waters, to horses made of wood and hills of foam.
Just like Lothíriel had anticipated, at dusk of the following day Caerdydd's gates finally opened.
Éomer was the first to dash in, followed shortly afterward by Elffa and the rest of his men. On Garhild's advice, he hurried towards the brightly coloured cottage located nearby the city central square. He shoved aside anyone who dared standing in his way and caused at least a couple of people to tumble down, but he didn't as much as slow down to apologize for his manners, hastening instead towards the late midwife's house. He barged in and looked frantically around, his impetus wearing instantly off the moment he saw Lothíriel sitting on the ground, cradling a sobbing Beyrith in her arms. When their eyes met, a tired wink and a sad smile was all she managed to give him before returning her attention to the girl sitting in her lap, murmuring something in her ear that he did not understand, but that seemed at least to calm her a little.
Éomer stepped out of the building and patiently waited for her to come out. But as darkness enveloped the city, he remained alone standing in front of the door and soon, his presence was needed elsewhere. It wasn't until a couple of hours later that he managed to return to Somerhild's house, but alas the situation hadn't improved one bit: Lothíriel was still trying to soothe Beyrith's sorrow and to make things even worse, a pounding rain accompanied by great gusts of wind had started to fall upon the city. He waited until he was soaked we and eventually, he decided to retire and wait for Lothíriel in the room they had taken at the local inn. Keeping his ears open for the sound of incoming steps, he lied awake for a while, until weariness prevailed and he dozed off.
"Éomer?".
His eyes snapped open. He saw a flash of raven hair and in an instant, his arms were locked around Lothíriel's neck, his body washed by that profound sense of fulfilment and contentment her presence always brought.
"I just stopped by to bid you goodnight", she told him, burying her nose in his hair but resisting stubbornly his attempt to pull her down on the mattress.
"You're not staying?".
"I'd like to, but I don't want to leave Beyrith alone. I don't know if they told you, but Somerhild…".
"She passed away, I know".
"Yes. Life really has a way to rage against some of us, doesn't it? As if the girl hasn't been through enough already: first she was orphaned, then she ended up with that old pervert of Fulor, and now that things were finally starting to look a little brighter, she had to lose the one person who had been caring for her".
"How is she?".
"Not good. She cried so much that she passed out. She's sleeping now – that's why I managed to sneak out, but I fear it won't be for long. And I'd like to be there when she awakes".
The light of a veiled moon filtered through the window, baring Lothíriel's exhaustion after what must have been a nightmarish week. "You are tired. Stay here and get some sleep, I can stay with Beyrith".
"I'm not tired, Éomer: I'm shattered. But I've spent the past two days with Beyrith, and it should be me the person she'll see once she awakes".
Knowing perfectly well that once Lothíriel had set her mind on something there was no talking her out of it, Éomer was left with little choice but agreeing with her plan: "As you wish, dear. I've already made arrangements for riding back to Aldburg tomorrow, but perhaps it's better we postpone until you have gotten a chance to rest".
"No. If Elffa and Garhild have the situation under control and don't need us here, I'd rather go back home. I'm… tired of this place".
Éomer brushed her hair back and kissed her softly. "I know. I'm sorry I was not here to help you when the outbreak started, and I'm sorry for the way I reacted yesterday".
Lothíriel chuckled. "I had expected far worse, to be honest. Besides, your outburst unwittingly made my last day here much easier, so no need to feel guilty".
"Easier?".
"Yes. The people were growing impatient and the elders were constantly at my heels, pressing me for opening the gates ahead of time. But after I refused leaving Caerdydd, they suddenly lost their nerve and became upstanding citizens, dutifully following my rules without ever daring to raise one objection".
"Bloody morons", muttered Éomer, "one would think old-age made them wiser, not more stubborn and unreasonable!". He stood and turned Lothíriel around, braided her hair like he knew she'd always do before going to sleep. He wasn't particularly good at it, but he had done it often for his sister when they were children, and he knew Lothíriel liked it: "Garhild says the city would have been lost, if it wasn't for you".
"I simply followed Folláf's advices".
Éomer rolled his eyes. Really, Lothíriel had such a natural talent for belittling herself! She was the type of person who might single-handedly slay a pack of orcs, and then brush it away as I was merely holding the blade. He fixed her braid with a leather tie and circled her waist to bring her closer. She didn't complain when he picked her up and headed for the midwife's house, her head resting on his shoulder and her eyelids growing heavier with each further step he took. Balláf and Eofor had resumed their duties and followed them at a short distance as they crossed the streets under a light but persistent drizzle. "I know now it's not the time", Éomer whispered in Lothíriel's ear, "but tomorrow you should try speaking to your brother".
"Why? Did you two argue?".
"No, quite the contrary - we've been getting along splendidly. But yesterday he was… upset. Not with you nor with me", he hurried to say, "but rather with himself".
"What for?".
"I'm not sure. I think being here in Caerdydd, witnessing first-hand the type of challenges you have been facing since you arrived in Rohan and seeing the person you have become, has made him feel regretful".
"Don't tell me he wants to take me back to Dol Amroth! After all I …".
"No, no. Erchirion feels guilty for the way you were raised, Lothíriel. He thinks that because of how overprotective he and the rest of your family have been, they kept you from growing into the woman you are today and never provided you with the means required to face life in the real world - outside of your father's palace, that is".
Lothíriel frowned and for the rest of their midnight stroll, she remained silent and brooding, occasionally chewing on her fingernails. As they arrived at their destination, Éomer put her down and tilted her head upwards so he could look into her grey eyes: "Your brother wishes he had done more for you, and he misses you. Trust me, those are two awful feelings to go together".
Lothíriel stood on her toes to kiss him lightly. "I will speak to him, don't worry", she promised. "And Éomer: I haven't asked her yet, but I think Beyrith will want to come to Aldburg with us. Without Somerhild, there's nothing to keep her in this place, and I believe it would do her good to join our household".
Éomer smiled and held her closer, a warm feeling growing in his chest as he realized Lothíriel wasn't simply the woman who had captured his heart and soul: she was the best thing that had happened to the East-mark and her people in a very, very long time. "I'd be happy to have her with us".
Lothíriel murmured something and wavered, and he knew she'd soon be sleeping on her feet: "Go inside and try get some rest before Beyrith awakes".
Hands closed in small fists, she yawned and rubbed her eyes, looking utterly adorable. "You know what?", he teased her, "I think once we are back in Aldburg, I will keep faith to the word I gave you the morning we rode to the lake and see that we get to spend an entire day in bed together. How does that sound?".
"I was under the impression sleeping wasn't exactly what you had in mind back then. So, unless you want me to fall asleep in the middle of it, you should better make it two days".
Éomer scratched his beard: "Yes, my pride would be rather bruised, were you to pass out while I'm making love to you. Two days be it then!".
Lothíriel nudged him gently and after one last hurried kiss, she dragged herself inside Somerhild's house and locked the door behind her. "Goodnight, Éomer".
Author's notes: I started writing this story before the COVID mess unfolded and in my initial plan, the fever outbreak storyline was supposed to be a way lengthier one and play a central role in the plot. However, it felt somewhat inappropriate given the current situation, so I decided to shorten it into something that started and ended within one single chapter.
SwanKnightoftheNorth: thank you so much for your review! Yes, it's definitely going to be two against all from now on and the Ring War is fast approaching already, so challenging times are around the corner. My initial intention was actually to take the story into Éomer's Kingship and though I might take a little break before jumping into the Fourth Age, I think I'll stick to that plan :)
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: I'm also really growing fond of Erchirion!
Katia0203: now I'm curious as to which story you're speaking about! Glad the fluffiness was appreciated though and as per the runaways, we shall see. I will try to speed up the pace in the next chapters, so hopefully it won't take too long to find what's going to happen next…
Rho67: it definitely felt warm writing it, I tell you that much! :) There will be troubles (I mean, the war's coming after all…), but I think Éomer and Lothíriel share your feeling that they'll be able to handle and defeat anyone who dares standing in their way right now. And I absolutely ADORE your point about Éomer and couldn't have said it any better! Yes, Erchirion was a bit overbearing, but he meant well after all.
tyskvalkyrja: could be an idea lol! The events of the Ring War are quite close indeed and I'll try to quicken the pace, so the wait might be not too long ;)
Wondereye: yes, Lothíriel needed someone to knock some sense into her. Doubting Éomer was legit, but leaving him that way wasn't.
tgo62: glad you liked them! Well, Erchirion has apparently made up his mind and will soon return to Dol Amroth, but that doesn't mean we won't see more of him… ;)