Chapter 47
Rhûn, April the 3rd, FO 4
Éothain grunted his way through the morning, wordless curses rolling out of his mouth every time he almost tripped on the tunnel's slippery ground. They were now about an hour away from the main chamber and while they waited for their scouts to return, Éomer ordered the group to take a last breather before they made a push for the final stretch of tunnels. It was somewhat surreal to see two hundred men all squeezed together, and yet to hear naught but a few discreet whispers.
Seeing the King was busy quietly talking to Gram, Éothain looked around for a spot to sit. Hiking inside a cave in full armour was damn right exhausting and the sooner they got out of there, the happier he'd be! He spotted Háca crouched in a corner and made way towards him, chuckling under his breath: "I swear I'll never understand why you write this much. Can you even see what you are scribbling?".
The other man didn't even look up, let alone answer, squinting eyes fixed on the slip of paper he had stretched over his thigh - the only rider he knew to travel with quill and ink hidden inside his armour.
"Are you writing to your wife?", he tried again. Did she write him back as much? Somehow, Aldwyn didn't struck him as the type of lady who writes letters upon letters upon letters.
"Yes".
"What about?".
"Traditional Easterling's sweet recipes".
Éothain frowned. "You're fooling me".
"How did you figure that one out?".
For once he let his sarcasm slide and sat beside him. Every now and then he tried to get a glimpse of what he was writing, but all he got was one deadly glare after the other.
"You are noisy".
"We've known each other for years and you found it out now?".
Háca sighed, exasperated. "How old were you when you learned how to read and write?".
"Don't know. Six? Seven years' old?".
"I was eighteen. There was this elder man who was no longer self-sufficient and needed someone to help him getting around. I told him I'd work for him, but not for coins. I demanded room and board, and to be taught how to read and write".
"Admirable. At that age, I thought about swords and wenches and little else. How long did it take you to learn?".
"About eight months. I was already training to become a rider back then and being able to read and write opened a lot of doors. You people who learned as kids don't realize it, but it is difficult to elevate one's position if you are illiterate and can't even read or write a simple dispatch. That's how I managed to get transferred to Aldburg".
"Bema, you were an insufferable arse back then".
"That's rich coming from Captain Arse himself".
Éothain pinched his nose to keep from bursting out laughing. "Seriously though. What are you writing? Is your wife really that interested in knowing how many times a day you take a piss?".
"Is that what you write Runhild? Poor woman must be even more of a saint than I already knew".
"If you really want to know, we mostly write about our plans for the future".
"Such as?".
"We'd like to move into a bigger house with a couple of spare rooms".
"And, pray tell, why would you do that?".
"Contributing to Rohan's future generation".
"We are so royally screwed".
"You play tough now, but we shall see in a few years if you won't be building cribs and whatnot".
Háca half-turned towards him and gave him a strange look.
"What?".
"I've never had a father and I don't think I'd be a good one myself. I'm all for ending my bloodline".
Éothain paused, his friend's words taking him aback. He knew many who had chosen not to have children, but none who sounded so bitter about it. "Does Aldwyn know?".
"Of course, she does. I love her, Éothain. Do you think I'd have dragged her into a marriage that I knew would have eventually made her feel unfulfilled?".
"I should have known better than asking, forgive me", Éothain apologized, and swiftly changed topic, "Isn't it funny how you two have ignored each other for years and then, all of a sudden, you have only eyes for one another?".
"You should ask Aldwyn, not me. I never was indifferent to her".
Éothain could feel his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "You don't say. All these years in Edoras, you were but a lovesick pup in disguise?".
"I mean, not exactly. And it goes way back, actually. We both grew up at the Hornburg".
"I didn't know you were childhood friends".
"We were not and, in fact, Aldwyn had no idea who I was until we were introduced after the war. But I knew her. What between her family's notoriety and her temperament, she never was one to go unnoticed. Growing up, I hated her and her shiny perfect life. Even more, I hated that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Like adding insult to injury, really".
"What happened then?".
"Nothing. In her late teens she started spending most of her time in Edoras, I was busy on my own and for years, I lost track of her. It wasn't until after the King's coronation that our paths crossed, and I'll be damned if she hadn't grown even more beautiful. I was torn, attracted to her on the one side, but also convinced she was way out of my league on the other. That was also the time when there seemed to be something between her and Prince Amrothos, so I abandoned all thoughts of approaching her and we each went on with our lives. Is it creepy if I say that sometimes, I still watched her from afar?".
"A little".
"Thought so", Háca chuckled. "After her grandmother died, I watched her becoming the ghost of herself. One day I was at the Hammer, talking to a girl, when I spotted her sitting in a corner all alone, staring out of the window, a half empty bottle of liquor in front of her. Without really thinking what I was doing, I sat in front of her and kept her company, then walked her home because she was far too drunk to wander around on her own. I'm not sure whether Elfda was more worried or angry when he opened the door and saw her in that state".
"I'm shocked he didn't throttle you".
"Well, he did look at me askance for a few weeks after that. I think he feared I was taking advantage of Aldwyn, and I both respected and appreciated his concern. Elfda sees her like a daughter and will always look after her. He's tough, but in a good way".
"Real tough. I don't know a single person he hasn't pissed off at least once".
The sound of snapping fingers caught Éothain's attention: Korul had finally returned and the King required his presence. "Duty calls", he whispered as he stood.
They gathered at the front of the group and Éomer inquired, "What have you discovered?".
"That your Highness was right in insisting we should assess what lurks in the caves".
"Are there more men than anticipated?".
"No. I reckon less than one hundred, not enough to cause us troubles. But they are ready to wreak havoc on your riders, Lord. They didn't keep us chasing them for weeks for nothing. They used that time to build a sophisticated system of rails that can be used to release boulders on the ridge below. Had you order the charge, it would have been a carnage. Forgive me, Lord, I should have seen it coming", Korul pleaded, his head bowed low.
He and his countrymen were strange people and, to this day, Éothain still did not know what to make of them. Proud to the point they'd snap damn easy if they thought someone was disrespecting their heritage, but also keen to earn their place as Gondorians. It all resulted in an appearance that was an odd combination of both countries. They wore their hair in the Easterling way, but dressed and ate like Gondorians. They didn't like it when someone questioned their loyalty. But were obviously ashamed and almost fearful when something happened, they had not foreseen.
It made it hard to trust them. And also, to distrust them.
"Éothain, get the men ready", Éomer ordered, "We will secure the caves and destroy the enemy's devices. Tomorrow we reunite with the rest of men and I will offer the Easterlings a last chance to lay down their weapons. Whichever their decision, we're going to win this campaign in the next couple of days".
"After we leave the caves, shouldn't we leave a contingent of our men here to stand guard?", he suggested.
"We could smoke them", Korul proposed, "The rails are made of wood. Once we have defeated the Easterling warriors, we can pile them and burn them. The way the caves are built, the smoke will build up in the main chamber and it will be days before the air is breathable again".
"That's a good plan. But I anyway want a dozen men to stay by the caves' back entrance so to be sure no one will try to sneak back in and give us troubles", the King decided.
Éothain returned to Háca to put the plan in motion. Not one hour later, they were watching the enemy from a vantage point and he had to admit that if it wasn't for Éomer's good instincts, the Easterlings would have really managed to bring them great harm. Perhaps not enough to defeat them, but plenty to decimate them. They looked like little ants from above – crafty, industrious and never resting.
A lesson he should remember in the future: never underestimate your opponent, never assume larger numbers mean certainty of victory.
A single flaming arrow signalled the beginning of the attack. Outnumbered three to one and caught unaware, the Easterlings had little chance to hold them off. A few managed to flee from the caves and made a run for the army camped on the ridge below, but most stood their ground and only went down after a vicious, albeit brief, fight. Having recognized the King of Rohan was among the attackers, they tried to target him. But he and Háca never left his side and once it was all over, Éothain noticed with some pride that Éomer's armour did not have a single dent on it.
They proceeded as planned and after setting the rails on fire, they traced back their steps and reached the caves' entrance well after midnight. They spent the night there and at dawn of the next day, they mounted their horses and returned to the main camp.
The young Amrothian messenger was the first face Éomer spotted upon approaching his tent. "Iachion, what news from King Elessar?".
"The northern front has been secured and the enemy army wiped out. Gondor's forces are moving as we speak. They should be here within ten days".
Éomer took the sealed parchment Iachion was holding out and offered him to dip into the large plate of food that had been left in his tent. "Did you suffer heavy losses?".
"One hundred thirty-nine. Not heavy, I reckon. But one hundred thirty-nine too many nonetheless".
"True".
After he had dismissed him, Éomer had but ten minutes to fill his stomach before the guards announced Elfhelm, whose grave expression bode ill news: "Welcome back, Lord", he greeted him rigidly.
"What happened?".
"As you asked, earlier today I sent a messenger to the Easterlings, offering to negotiate peace without the need of further bloodshed. He just returned. Tied to his horse. Dead".
Before he had had chance to control his temper, the plate flew from his hand, propelling past the flap and leaving in its wake a trail of scraps. With an effort, Éomer sat back and took a deep breath. "Who?".
"Bregdan, Lord. I believe you never met him. He was new to my Eored, but trustworthy. That's why I chose him".
"Did he have family?".
"A betrothed. They were to marry in the autumn. I will see that she is looked after".
"That still won't give her back her husband to be. I should have known better than offering our enemy mercy".
"We all knew what we were signing up for when we joined you in this campaign. Bregdan's death is not of your making, Lord".
Elfhelm was right. But only to a certain extent. He'd always carry the weight of those who died carrying out his orders. "We ride at dawn and put an end to this", he spoke in a thunderous tone.
"You don't want to wait for King Elessar's reinforcements?".
"No. I will not give our enemy the luxury of a few more days to come up with another trap. This campaign ends now, Elfhelm. Inform the men".
Éomer slept fitfully that night. First he was cold and grabbed a spare blanket. Then he was hot and kicked it away. After that was one weird dream after the other. At some point he got up and took a walk around the camp, hoping to calm the turmoil within. When he returned to his cot, he managed to get a couple of hours of good sleep, until the sounds of the men making ready for battle awoke him.
The weather was ugly. Dark clouds churning low over the canyons, a deluge fast approaching. Elfhelm suggested they postpone the attack until the sky had cleared. But in those lands, it might just mean wait for weeks and for once, he agreed with his younger riders: the time had come to take the initiative.
An hour later, they were leaving the camp. Korul rode within his group, a decision that had upset many among those who did not yet trust him. As he rode by, Balca first scowled at the Easterling and then, grinning like a maniac, he roared, "Let's get rid of this scum and go back home!".
Bema he was an insufferable idiot!
Éomer didn't spare him a glance and under a drizzle that threatened to become a downpour at any moment, he led his men to battle. They reached the ridge in the early afternoon. Smoke was still rolling out of the caves. The river that edged the plateau roared in the distance. The enemy was a solid block of spears and shield. They were determined to fight to the death, which made them ten times more dangerous and likely to adopt reckless manoeuvres than might caught them unprepared, Éomer knew. Dusk was only a few hours away and he wasn't going to risk a fight in the pitch-black night. But he also wasn't going to wait and twiddle his thumbs until the next morning.
Once his forces had regrouped, he ordered a charge to test his opponents. They pushed easily past the first enemy lines, the mud hindering men and horses alike. The battle was in full rage, when the sound of the Easterling's horns obscured everything else. The shift was subtle at first, then more and more prominent as the enemy forces rotated and repositioned themselves with the canyon's wall at their backs.
Éomer ordered his men to fall back.
Once they had retreated a few miles, he took Elfhelm, Éothain and Korul aside and beckoned the Easterling to speak first. "I believe they were aiming to split our backlines from the front ones and push them towards the cliff. A desperate move. They know they can't win this war and are trying to bring down with them as many of you as possible. I doubt they have more aces up their sleeve. The next time we attack, they'll probably try again".
"And they will find us ready. Elfhelm, tomorrow at first light we attack again. I want you and your Eored to stay behind and out of sight. Wait for our enemies to give the signal, give them enough time to reposition themselves and then charge into their flanks".
Éomer had expected to sleep on the hard ground that night, but found that a small tent had been mounted for him. He barely fit in, but it would keep him dry. It was the greatest luxury out there on the plains. That, and the steaming mug of tea he found inside.
"Bless my squire", he muttered to himself.
Unlike the previous night, this time he slept surprisingly well, so much so that he felt uncharacteristically drowsy upon waking up. He and Elfhelm went over their plan once more and, just as the sun rose above the horizon, Éomer sounded the charge once more.
They had barely made contact, when the spear of an enemy got him in the side. It didn't pierce his armour, but managed nonetheless to throw him off balance. The impact with the soaked ground kicked the breath out of him and for a painful instant, all he could do was staring in horror at the stomping hooves dancing mere inches from his head.
Háca was the first to reach him. "My King, are you wounded?".
Behind him Éothain and the other members of his guard rushed in to shield him. He waved a hand to signal he was unharmed and got back on his saddle. He slashed at the enemies in fury: never before had he been unhorsed and he wasn't going to let it happen again. In spite of his determination however, the Easterlings fought fiercely and it wasn't long until they were struggling to advance.
Éothain cut in front of him and gave him a hard stare, "You must get back!".
He looked around and shook his head. They had already pushed much further than he had initially realized. It was only a matter of moments until the Easterlings would try to outmanoeuvre them. Victory was near!
As if to confirm his thoughts, the enemy horns rung. "Keep pushing!", Éomer yelled, the head of their army veering West, the flanks of their backlines suddenly exposed.
The bait worked: the Easterling riders charged and never saw Elfhelm's men tearing into their sides.
The fight became a carnage. Sweat trickled down Éomer's neck. His blows started losing accuracy. He felt like they weren't making any progress but each time he looked up, he was proven wrong. His men were holding up. Hundreds of their enemies lied dead.
Just a little further.
The people around him yelled in fear. What started as a distant rumbling suddenly grew into a piercing roar and for the second time that day, Éomer was thrown from his horse, except this one he could not even say how it happened. Only that the world exploded in a blur of movements and noises and pain. All he could do was trying to stay on top of it, keep breathing, shield himself as best as he could, endure hundreds stabs of harrowing pain.
It stopped abruptly. Or maybe he had passed out and it was his perception to be altered. He honestly couldn't tell.
He fought to get his eyes open but couldn't.
Mud, he was covered head to toes. Wincing, he dislodged his arm from underneath his body and wiped his face. The sight that greeted him was one of devastation. So much so, he could barely recognize the valley where they had been fighting.
He cursed the Easterling at first, thinking they had caused it.
But it could not be, for no device existed that could tear the earth so. The torrential rain of the past days and the weight of thousands of men and horses must have weakened the soil, until it had eventually collapsed. The landslide had obliterated a large portion of the ridge and what was left in its place, was a strip of rocks and debris, littered with corpses.
Éomer tried to pull himself up but immediately regretted it as something behind him gave way. He looked back, his heart skipping a beat upon realizing he was perched at the edge of a steep drop. At the bottom were dark, churning waters - the kind which swallows everything and everyone unlucky enough to fall into their deadly embrace.
Lying perfectly still on the steeply inclined ground, Éomer looked around for a way out.
Where was Éothain? And Háca? Had they fallen too? Were they dead? Had any of his men survived?
He focused his senses and, in the distance, he heard shouts and the sound of clashing metal. The battle was still raging. That was good, it meant only a portion of his forces had been swept away - and not only them, he realized upon seeing the lifeless body of an enemy lying half buried in the dirt.
"My Lord!", someone called.
He turned his head to see Korul crawling towards him. "Careful! The ground is unsteady!", he warned.
The Easterling halted. He was several feet above him, on a rocky outcrop that had survived the landslide. Éomer could feel the ground slowly moving beneath him: it was but a matter of time until a second landslide sent him to his death.
"Grab this, I'll pull you up!", Korul groaned.
The end of a rope landed right in front of him and slowly, one inch at a time, Éomer raised his arms to grasp it. His gauntlets were coated with a slippery layer of dirt and he had no choice but twist the rope around his palm if he wanted to hold on.
"Are you ready?".
Éomer took a deep breath and nodded.
After just one tug, the ground beneath him started to crumble. By the fourth, he was hanging over a deadly chasm. By the sixth, Korul had managed to pull him half of the way. By the ninth, he decided if he ever heard someone questioning the man's loyalty again, he'd rip the person's head off. He was almost within arm's reach, when he suddenly fell several feet down. The rope snapped around his hand, crushing its bones. A scream of pain escaped him, his feet kicking helplessly into the air.
Above him, Korul lied unmoving, a trickle of blood falling from his mouth. Horror filled him when a shadow rose above his lifeless body. One that did not bear the colours of the Easterling tribes, but instead a familiar green.
"You…".
"I", Balca sneered maliciously. He was wounded and battered, but fit enough to stab a man in the back.
The implications of what had just happen sunk in and a dark fear gripped Éomer's heart. Not for him and his impending death, but for his family: Wídca's son was but a puppet and he wouldn't have dared harming his King, not unless his father had ordered him to.
And that could only mean he had plans for Edoras and his family too.
Balca said not a word. Éomer had a feeling the young lord have liked to enjoy the moment a little longer, taunt him, torture him perhaps. But the voices in the distance were becoming louder and whether they belonged to friends or foes, he had no time to spare.
In one swift movement, he pulled the blade from Korul's body and cut the rope.
As he fell, Éomer had but one thought. Forgive me, my love.
Ten days later
Háca was exhausted, his sight blurred, his muscles twitching so hard he wasn't sure whether next time he dismounted, he'd be able to get back on his horse. They all were in the same state: five days spent digging into the earth, uncovering bodies upon bodies of friends and comrades; and then five more spent scouting the riverbanks and facing a landscape just as grim.
Among the shattered, mangled bodies, they had only managed to find fourteen still alive. Two had later died, the others were hanging on. But the King wasn't among them and now, after ten days of fruitless search, the time had come to face the ugly truth: all hope was lost. Éomer King was dead, either buried too deep to be found, or swept away by the turbid waters.
Háca flanked Éothain and grasped his forearm: "It is over".
The Captain of the Royal Guard stared him down, anger and pain crooking his features. They had all failed and lost their King, but he had lost his oldest friend too. He understood his desire to keep searching, but both men and horses were on the brink of collapse and Háca didn't want Rohan to suffer any more deaths. Not when it could be avoided. "It's been too long. When did you last sleep or eat?".
"I will rest when we have found him".
"We never will, Éothain".
The punch hit him squarely. It lacked strength, but he lacked the energy to withstand it and almost fell off his horse. "There will be enough widows as it is. Don't let there be another one. Think of Runhild. Don't get yourself killed trying to rescue those who are beyond our reach".
Éothain crumbled like that damn mountain days ago. Hunched over in his saddle, hands covering his face, he sobbed.
It took their group four days to get back to the Rohirric encampment. During their absence, the army of Gondor had arrived: it would take another couple of weeks to get rid of the scattered groups of enemies that had fled after the landslide, but they had victory. Yet no one was in the mood for celebrating. Not when hundreds of their men had been swallowed by the earth to a heedless death. Not when their King had perished, his body never to return home, not even to be given the grace of resting alongside his forebears.
That he would have to stay in those harsh lands, was too big of an affront.
Háca wrote pages upon pages those days. An incoherent monologue full of pain and anger and grief and guilt. When the day came for a messenger to depart for Rohan to bring news of what had happened, he refused giving him a letter. He didn't want Aldwyn to know how he felt, not when there where hundreds of leagues between them. But then he thought how she'd feel upon discovering the King was dead and found the strength to pen her a short letter, if anything to let her know he was unharmed.
That night, he awoke to the sound of someone entering his tent.
"'Tis me. No need to reach for your dagger", Éothain drawled.
The tent was too small to accommodate two grown man. They sat next to each other, their shoulders and thighs touching. It was the first time since they had returned that Éothain initiated a conversation and while he was glad for it, he knew it was largely attributable to the liquor he smelled in his breath – how he had managed to find any in their camp, he had no idea.
"It's all my fault".
"Unless you have the power to bring down mountains, it is not".
"You saw him that day. He wasn't himself".
"We were in the middle of a bloody battle. There was no easy way out and our King would have never abandoned his men".
"I let him be separated from his guard. I let the rampage of that nullity of Balca split us. If he hadn't perished too, I'd kill him myself. Do you not feel like you've failed your King?".
"I do", Háca admitted, "I am just trying not to fail him again. Our work here is not done. There are battles yet to be fought, wounded to look after, families to go back to. We must be worthy of his legacy. Rohan my not have a King anymore, but we still have a Queen and a Prince".
"They'll need us".
"Aye".
"How long do you think we'll be stuck in this cursed land?".
"Couple of months at least. King Elessar will need to seek a representative of the enemy to negotiate peace and Elfhelm will have to go with him. They want us to stay put, so to convince the Easterling we'd be willing to push further and ravage their cities if needed be".
Éothain nodded absently. He was right there, and yet a thousand leagues away. Not even after the great battles of the War of the Ring had he seemed so dejected. There always had been that spark of foolishness about him that was sure to drive everyone mad. But damn, it lifted your mood at the end of a bad day! It frightened him to see it gone, for they had lost much.
But they hadn't lost everything.
"You never told me how's the hunt for a bigger house going. Runhild found anything she likes?".
Éothain glanced at him, his expression that of a man who knows what game you're up to. "Three of them".
"Is that good or bad?".
"You really that clueless about women? It's bad. Really bad. One has just the rooms we need but it's too close to the Markthalle and we're not too keen on having drunkards emptying their stomachs in our backyard. One is in the upper part of the city, not too big but definitely too expensive. Another has the right size, location and price, but would need to be completely renovated".
"How will you solve it?".
"I had hoped she'd choose by herself while I am away, but in her last letter she pretty much told me she's not going to let me dump the responsibility of such important decision on her alone and that we'll decide together once I am back or else horrible things will happen". He paused and then added, "The list of terrible things was one page long".
"Classic Runhild. What was the friendliest?".
"Neutering".
"That was the friendliest?".
"Says she's done it often enough to geld horses. A man can't possibly be harder to treat".
Háca shifted in his seat, his lower regions feeling rather upset by the way the conversation had turned. "If you need shelter from her ire, I'd be glad to give you one of our guestrooms".
Éothain made a strange noise. Like he had meant to chuckle but wasn't quite able to do anything so merry yet. He crawled towards the flap and before exiting the tent, he turned back to look at him, his expression solemn. "You think growing up without a father makes you unfit to be one. And yet despite you never had a male figure of reference in your life, you turned into a bloody fine man, Háca. And a good husband too".
He had an angry retort ready to burst out of his mouth. But before he could draw breath, Éothain retreated, leaving him alone with his bitter thoughts.
Edoras, May the 10th, FO 4
Amrothos jumped off his horse and flew past a group of bystanders. He had been in Erech when the news reached him and ridden no-stop for the past three days and two nights. Until a moment ago, he had been exhausted. Now, he was simply frantic.
Runhild and Beyrith met him halfway. Ginger looked agitated, dark circles around her eyes. His sister's handmaid was worryingly loquacious as she threw her arms in the air and blurted, "Thank goodness you're here!".
"Where is she?".
"She hasn't left her room in over a week. Only let us in to bring her food".
He entered the Golden Hall to find the entire Council gathered there and barely kept himself from baring his teeth at them. Vultures! All of them! Eofor and Théocanstan were guarding the door that lead to the Royal Bedchamber and hesitated but for an instant before they let him in. His eyes trained over his sister, lying on the edge of the bed, her neck twisted to see who dared disturbing her grief.
"Amrothos?".
He was on her before she had had a chance to move, "I'm so sorry, Lothíriel. I came as quickly as I could".
His heart shattered in a thousand pieces at her devastated sobs. Seeing Elfwine was fast asleep in the bed, he stood and brought her to the adjacent sitting room. Even after she had exhausted herself to the point she could no longer cry, she still clung onto him, curled on herself.
"How can he be gone?".
"I don't know". He leaned back to take a good look at her. She was pale, her eyes dull. "I'm here, Lothíriel. We all are".
She looked away, like his words brought her no comfort.
"Does Elfwine know?".
"Yes".
"How is he?".
"How were you, when father told you mother had passed away?".
"Sad, terrified".
"I always thought that if something was ever to happen to him, I'd feel it in my heart, for how could I not? But I felt nothing, Amrothos. He died and I felt nothing. And now it's like I'm standing on a needle and no matter in which direction I take a step, I will fall into the abyss".
"Is that why you locked yourself away?".
"I'm not ready to confront what's out there. The grief. The sorrow. The condolences".
"I understand. But will you please allow me to stay by your side?", he pleaded.
"You have a family to care for".
"Ealith and the girls will be here tomorrow. They'll stay with Haleth".
"What of the manor?".
"We have people we can entrust it to. If needed be, I can be there within a day".
She again avoided his gaze, likely brooding over what she could say, that would convince him to go away.
"I love you, sister dear. And I loved Éomer like a brother. I cannot even start to imagine how you feel right now and if some of these days you'll feel like cursing me or even beating me, then be it, I'll take it gladly. If our roles were reversed, you wouldn't leave my side until you knew I was off that needle. So, please: do not ask me to leave you".
She nodded, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "I'm pregnant".
Amrothos cupped her face. "You are?".
"Yes", she choked, and he could see how scared she was.
"Do not be frightened, for this is a joyful news".
"This child will never even know his father".
"Oh Lothíriel, that is not true. He – or she, will know him, for even though he won't be here, he will be here. Through the love that will forever bind you to him. Through the memories of all those who had the honour of meeting him. Through the loyalty of the Rohirrim. Through the tales we will tell and the songs we will sang".
She leaned onto him, quietly crying, not even the strength to hold him anymore. "I didn't tell anyone".
"And I won't either. Not until you are ready to share the news".
"I'm glad you are here, Amrothos", she whispered feebly, "And there's something I'd ask of you".
"Anything".
"Father is probably planning to come here, Erchirion and Míririen will likely accompany him. Will you please write them not to? I just… I don't think I can deal with having them around, worrying for me. I know they mean good but…".
"Hush. You don't need to justify yourself with me. I will let them know. I see I've worn you out. Why don't you try to get some rest and, if you'd like, we could have breakfast together tomorrow morning. Only you, me and Elfwine".
"I'd like that. He'll be happy to know you've come".
"Good. What do you want me to bring to eat? Raspberries tarts and what else? Is Elfwine still in his porridge and walnut phase?".
"No, he's into scrambled eggs with heavy cream and chive now".
"Chive?".
"What can I say. He claims they taste foul without it".
"All right, I'll make sure to bring an extra portion".
Over the course of the following days, Amrothos walked the fine line between assuring his presence brought his sister some comfort, while at the same time not making her feel like he was suffocating her. There were days when she'd ask him to keep her and Elfwine company and the hours went by reading books, playing card games and practicing with toy swords. Others when she wanted to be alone and he only stopped by to greet her in the morning and bid her goodnight in the evening.
As she entered her third week of seclusion, he grew worried that she was postponing facing the outside world for too long. Elfwine seemed to be growing impatient too, but when Lothíriel asked him whether he wanted to go riding with him, he flatly denied.
There was so much of Éomer in him. He could see that he wanted out, but he'd never admit it nor do anything to leave. Not until his mother was ready to go with him.
The atmosphere in Edoras was sombre. The landslide that had killed the King had also claimed the lives of two hundred of his men and many were mourning the loss of a son, a brother, a father, a friend. Amrothos paid little attention to politics those days, his focus either on his grieving sister or on his wife and daughters. Then, one night, after they had already retired, an insistent knock pulled him out of bed. He beat Haleth to the main door and swung it open, surprise being quickly replaced by irritation when he recognized the man wrapped in a worn-out cloak was none other than Lord Léored.
"I trust you have a good reason to waltz in here in the dead of the night", he snapped. The past weeks had been hard and his patience was already thin. Last thing he needed was dealing with the bloody Council!
"It's all right, Amrothos. Please let him in", his host urged him.
"We must speak, Haleth. Lord Amrothos and Lady Ealith need to hear this too".
He looked back and forth between the two men. "What is going on?".
Haleth shoved him out of the way to let their guest in. "Wake up Ealith and join us in my study".
He did so and not five minutes later, he and his wife listened in shock to his words: "Lord Léored is a friend of the Crown. I know you are confused and probably think I have lost my mind but please, before lashing at him, hear me out. During Théoden King's rule, Lord Léored and his family committed treason and helped Grima staying in power. His father and brothers died at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. His family was killed by Dunlendings. After the war, Lord Léored confessed his crimes to Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen. He handed in his resignation from the Council and offered to relinquish all he possessed to the Crown, but was denied. The King demanded a different kind of atonement: he was to serve the country he once betrayed, and he was to do so by acting as spy within the Council".
"And you trusted him?".
"No, we did not. Not at first. But now, five years later, we do. How do you think the Crown managed to be always five steps ahead of the Council, to the point they basically reduced it to a symbolical institution, a refuse of bygone times? It was him, Amrothos. It was always him blowing the whistle".
"Why were we never told?", Ealith asked.
"Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen decided it was safer if no one knew. You must understand it was paramount that to the eyes of the rest of the councillors, none of us would treat Lord Léored any friendlier than they were being treated, least it would arouse suspicions. And the Council has many, many eyes".
"Then why are you telling us now? What has changed?".
The eyes of everyone rested on Lord Léored. "The Council is making ready to move against the Queen".
"They are making ready to do what?", Amrothos barked, only barely managing to keep himself from smashing something. Beside him, Ealith stared agape at the other man.
"They want to remove the Queen on the basis that the grief for the loss of her husband has made her unfit for ruling. They will call for a vote tomorrow at noon. They will say she's exhibiting the same type of behaviour that brought Lady Thédowyn to an untimely death. They will claim she's not new to secluding herself, that she did it before, during her first months in Rohan. That that time, it ended with the folly of a flight that almost got her killed. But this time she's Queen and who can say what harm she might unwittingly cause. They will make her look like a heartbroken widow who loves her country and her people, but is too sick to look after them properly".
Amrothos was shaking with rage. "They can do that?".
"With a unanimous vote and enough allies rallying behind them, yes. They can remove a Queen regent".
"But they will never achieve a unanimous vote. They can't possibly think my uncle will be swayed by their argumentations!".
"You are right, Lady Ealith. Which is why they will claim that because of his friendship with the Queen, he is biased and his judgment impaired. They will then appeal to a little-known rule, one I myself knew nothing of, but that Lord Wídca uncovered in some very old documents, the authenticity of which I have already verified. They will call for a leaders vote".
"And what would that be?".
"A vote that includes, alongside the Council, the Marshalls and the ealdormen of each city with a population of over two hundred people. They would then only need two thirds of the votes in their favour to proceed".
"Would they have the numbers to win?".
"No. The Queen is beloved, few will choose to impeach her so soon after the King's death. Lord Wídca knows it too, the vote is but a ruse. They will claim she's unfit to look after the Prince and call for removing him from her care until the leaders vote as a precautionary measure. Lord Wídca hasn't spoken plainly, but it is clear that with Prince Elfwine in the hands of a Council appointed guardian, they will force the Queen to renounce the throne".
Over the years, Amrothos had learned to understand when it was time to step back and clear his head, least he'd do something stupid. Seated on a stool in the empty kitchen, he stared at the array of blades that hung on the wall. Light steps approached. "I'm really thinking of snatching one of those and go gut Lord Wídca and the rest of the lot".
"I know".
"What kind of beast acts this way, Ealith, and strikes a woman who's grieving the loss of her husband, wrest her child from her arms. Can you imagine someone taking Eadhild and Maerwyn from us?".
"I cannot. I don't want to".
"There hasn't even been a funeral yet, and already they are moving to make her look like a woman who's lost her mind".
"You must speak to her, Amrothos. You're the only person she lets in. If killing Wídca solved the problem, I'd gladly do it myself. But the Queen needs to come out and show that she is strong or else, in the eyes of many, Wídca will be proven right".
"Bastard lost a son in the East. He should be mourning, not scheming against his Queen".
"I think people like him ultimately only care for themselves".
She kneeled next to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. His shieldmaiden. His heart. The one who always knew how to reach for the light within him.
"Would you like me to come to Meduseld with you?".
"No. Stay with the girls and please, do not leave the house until I have returned. I know you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself. I know it is most likely an unnecessary precaution. Just indulge me for this one time, please".
"We won't be going anywhere, you have my word".
"Elfda. You're back".
Aldwyn descended the stairs and greeted him with a hug. He had been away for over a month and, in that time, he had sent no news of how things were going.
"How are you, lass?".
"I've seen better days", she sighed.
"The Queen?".
"She hasn't left the Royal Apartments since the news came. Amrothos is here".
"I know. We crossed paths as I was coming here. He was rushing towards Meduseld and didn't look happy".
"He was going to the hall at this late hour? That can't be good. I'll make sure to check on Ealith tomorrow".
"Háca?".
"He just wrote a few lines to let me know he is alive. I almost saddled my horse and travelled straight to Rhûn when I read them. You know him, he's devastated and likely pretending all is well".
"We each deal with grief our own way".
"I know. What a sick twist of fate that a great hero like our King should perish in a landslide".
"Death is death, Aldwyn. If he had died at the hands of the enemy, you'd have felt the same pain. I've witnessed cowards finding sudden courage on the brink of death, and brave men succumbing to fear. Always remember a man by the way he lived, not by how he died".
"You're growing wise, old man. And now tell me, how did Háca's father live?".
"We should sit".
"Will I need a shot of liquor?".
"Probably".
Aldwyn grasped a bottle from her grandmother's stash and sat. She emptied her cup in one and waited for Elfda to do the same. "I've had dinner with him twice a week since you left. His demeanour is subdued. His words always the right ones. And yet, for some reason, he rubs me the wrong way. Is the man really who he claims?".
"He's your husband's father. But he lied about many things".
"Such as?".
"His name".
She chuckled bitterly. "Háca's mother didn't name him after his father?".
"No. Háca was the name of her grandfather, to whom she had been very close".
"I see. What else?".
"While I was at the Hornburg, I tracked down two of the caretakers who used to work at the orphanage. They remembered about a certain young boy named Háca surprisingly well, considering how much time it's passed. They directed me to a woman who they claimed used to work at the same brothel as Éorrun. Her memory too, so sharp. The sob story of a young prostitute who fell in love with one of her clients and bore him a child in secret".
"They had been instructed what to tell?".
"That's the feeling I got, yes. So, I started from scratch. It took me a while, but I was finally able to locate the woman who had been the madame at the brothel where Éorrun used to work. That's one of the few things Háca's father did not lie about: she was a prostitute. But there was no grand romance between her and Háca's father. Quite the contrary. Fastfa – that's his real name, was a regular at the brothel. Always drunk, often handsy, he became obsessed with Éorrun. And when she fell pregnant, he disposed of her like an old shoe and threatened to hurt her, had she told anyone the bastard she carried was his. I couldn't find out much else about Háca's mother, save that she chose to keep the baby and died a few years later, when the roof of the house she was in collapsed".
"How old was she?".
"Twenty-three".
Younger than she was, and already she had suffered so much. "What of Fastfa? Have you uncovered anything else?".
"Aye. I took a trip to Wolford and called some old acquaintances in for a favour. He has a wife, a son and a daughter. He also used to have a gambling habit due to which they ended up on the street more than once, last only a year ago. It is rumoured a distant relative of his wife passed away and left them a sizable fortune. Like you observed, he is doing well now, owns a large house and even paid a generous dowry to the family of his daughter's betrothed. Many noticed he seemed to have grown ill lately, but little else is known about his health state".
Aldwyn poured herself another cup of liquor. "Half of what he said is true. And half is a lie. Is he abusive with his wife too?".
"I was told she often sports bruises".
"Once a beater, always a beater. Why do you think he came here?".
"Does it matter at this point?".
"More than ever. Lately, I've found myself wondering about the timing of his arrival in Edoras. And since the news of the King's death came, I've seen things I do not like, things that disturb me greatly. I had hoped you'd uncover something that clarified this man's motifs. Is it about conscience? Or money?".
"You think a wife's beater has a conscience?".
"No. But a dying man has no need for money, especially when he has more than enough to go by until the last of his days. And I highly doubt he cares about securing a comfortable future for his family after he's gone".
"You have a theory".
"Yes. One so absurd and farfetched, I'd rather not tell you. Not yet. But know this: if I am right, I will kill Fastfa with my own hands before this is over".
"You sound more and more like your grandmother with every passing day".
For the first time in weeks, Aldwyn found herself smiling. "I can only hope".
After Amrothos had barged into her room and told her about his conversation with Haleth and Léored, Lothíriel stood unmoving, an anger unlike anything she had experienced before burning inside her. It wasn't the exploding fury that makes you scream and curse. Nor the one that makes you shatter your teeth and see red.
No. It was focused, strangely clear. Weirdly soothing.
The Council shouldn't have come after her. But she was the Queen of Rohan and should have known better than locking herself away.
"It's the only promise Éomer did not keep".
Amrothos seemed surprised to hear her speaking in such calm voice.
"When after the war I found he had no intention of disbanding the Council, I told him he was insane, that those traitors deserved to pay for their crimes. He said he couldn't afford to antagonize Rohan's most powerful families, not so early into his rule, but promised me that once he had strengthened his position, he'd see them gone. He was right to act so. But then the years went by and we grew… arrogant, lazy. Why giving ourselves the headache of removing the Council, when we can keep the advisors where they are and make them harmless instead?". She tilted her head to one side and opened her arms, "This is why".
Lothíriel sat her desk and set a blank paper in front of her. "Give me one hour, then bring me Théocanstan and Beyrith. In the meantime, go to the stables and have their horses saddled".
"What are you planning?".
"Just do as I say".
After Amrothos had left, Lothíriel wrote two short letters and set their respective envelopes with her seal. She then awoke Elfwine and calmly told him what was about to happen. He rebelled at first. Then he cried. Finally, he promised he'd so as asked. She dressed him in his most simple, worn-out clothes and, once ready, she hugged him tight and waited.
The knock at the door came too soon. She wanted nothing better than yelling at the persons on the other side to get lost. Instead, she kissed Elfwine and called, "Come in".
Hints of tension betrayed Théocanstan's otherwise neutral expression. Beyrith looked alarmed. "My Lady, what is happening?".
"I have a task of the utmost importance, one I will only entrust to someone in whom I have absolute trust. Someone like you".
She motioned for them to sit.
"I have been informed that the Council has a plan to declare me unfit to rule. They intend to take Elfwine from me and use him to force me into abdication. Rohan has fallen victim to the corruption and greed of its councillors once before, and it is my duty to not let it happen again, no matter the cost. I will never give in to their requests, but at the same time I must also protect my son, for he is Rohan's future".
"I have no choice but get him out of the country - so that he'll be safe, so that he may not be used against me. You will leave forthwith and escort him to Ithilien via the Dimholt. Elfwine, dear, what should you call Beyrith and Théocanstan from this moment onwards, and until you are safe with aunt Éowyn?".
"Mother and father", he whispered, visibly uncomfortable.
"Very good. You will pose as a Rohirric family travelling to Gondor. There's a little harbour in Erech. If you leave now and ride through the night, you shall be there in two days. Take a ship to Dol Amroth and seek my father and my brother. Trust them and only them to take you to Ithilien through the safest route".
"No".
Lothíriel smiled. In the long years she had known him, not once had Théocanstan challenged an order, not once had he bore his feelings so close to the surface, that you could see them spilling out through the cracks in his stoic expression.
"I am a member of the Queen's Guard and I will not abandon you, Lady. Not ever, and especially not when I know you'll be in great danger".
"Elfwine cannot stay here".
"Then come with us, Lady. Please!", Beyrith begged.
"And flee Rohan like a thief in the night? If I did, the Council would be right to deem me unfit to rule, unworthy. No, I must stay and fight. Beyrith, you've been by my side since our paths crossed during the fever outbreak in Caerdydd. Théocanstan, you barged into my life when you rescued me from those bandits. So selfless, so honourable, that you were willing to die for me, a stranger. You've always been more than a handmaid and a guard. You're family. And only you can do this".
Théocanstan's eyes searched Amrothos', like he wanted him to say something that would make her change her mind. But her brother knew better. "There's no other way", he doused his hopes, then turned to look at her, "Why the Dimholt. The fastest way to Ithilien is the Great West Road".
"Because that's the same conclusion Wídca will draw and should he and the Councillors send men after them, they'll chase ghosts. But it is paramount that Elfwine is taken under Éowyn's care. Théocanstan, Beyrith: my father might insist it would be safer for him to remain in Dol Amroth. Give him this letter and he'll understand why it is not so".
Beyrith accepted the task she was giving them, albeit with a dejected tone, "What are we to do once in Ithilien?".
"Stay with Elfwine. You are not to leave him, not until we are reunited".
"And when will that be?".
"I don't know, Beyrith. It may be weeks. It may be months".
Théocanstan drew a deep breath and kneeled at her feet. "My Queen, I swear I'll protect the Prince with my life".
There only was the time for a last hurried embrace, before Lothíriel had to watch her son ride away in the darkness of a moonless night. With no assurance when she'd hold him again. With no assurance if she'd ever hold him again.
"This was not a farewell. You will see him again, Lothíriel".
"Go home, brother".
"I can stay".
"I don't want you to", she spoke dryly.
"What will you do tomorrow?".
"What should have been done a long time ago. Now leave".
Author's notes: apologies for the long wait. Life is hectic these days and I am finding it difficult to write this part of the story. To be honest, part of me thinks I should have closed it with Amrothos and Ealith getting together, that it was a good way to end it. But I had the second part planned in my head since a long time and I hope it is still worth the read! Let me know what you think!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: it would appear so, though the circumstances have changed abruptly…
tgo62: happy to hear it! As I wrote above, I am kind of questioning whether I should be writing this at all, but I am also not ready to let go of this characters yet :)