Chapter 53
Rhûn, September the 1st, FO 4
Time flowed different inside the quarry. Háca had tried to keep track of the days, but with no outdoor access to witness the alternation of light and darkness, it was damn difficult to do so. He was confident it must have been at least ten days since he arrived, which meant the tournament was drawing dangerously close. The confirmation of how right he was arrived the next day, when their shifts inside the tunnels were suddenly suspended - something that had already happened once before, he had been told, and ultimately led to the King killing Balca in the arena.
Often Háca caught him staring at him, eyes unseeing. While the rest of the prisoners asked over and over again for the tale of what had happened in Edoras, inquiring tirelessly about their families even though they knew by now he could offer no real answer, the King never did. Many a time Háca had brooked the subject himself, assuring him his son was well and that the Queen knew what she was doing, that she wouldn't let herself be caught during the negotiations. He didn't even need to act like he believed it, for Háca truly trusted her: her mental state troubled him, true, but if there was one thing she wasn't going to fail no matter what, was protecting her people.
Unfortunately, while he did not doubt she'd succeed, none could rule out the possibility salvation may come too late for some of them.
"Should I die in the arena, don't tell my family I was alive this whole time", one of the prisoners told him that day, "I don't want their grief to start all over. Let it rest".
His cellmate nodded in agreement, as did many others.
Háca turned to look at the King, his dark brown eyes unreadable. "The death of a King cannot be kept a secret, I fear. Just tell Lothíriel I will keep loving her from whatever place awaits us on the other side and that I hope one day she'll forgive me. My son, give him a hug for me, will you?".
The hope his arrival in the quarry had kindled was quickly burning out, strangled by the fast approaching tournament and what it entailed. There would be no cheating this time and if they didn't fight to the best of their abilities, young innocents would pay for it. Háca knew his position was especially horrific: he had only been a captive for a couple weeks, his body hadn't been as abused and tormented as that of the others; furthermore, he was largely considered one of Rohan's most skilled warriors. There were only a few could stand up to him and while the King surely was one of them, he feared he wouldn't manage in his current state. It wasn't about overconfidence, it was about being realistic: should his name be drawn in the upcoming match, he'd most likely have to kill one if his brothers and bear the guilt for the rest of his life.
It was a dreadful thought, one that became reality just one day later.
Standing in the middle of the dusty battleground, a crude sword in his right hand, Háca stared at the man in front of him. He seemed to know, like he could hear his thoughts loud and clear. "Hold back and Gorgan will notice".
Háca glanced at the chieftain on the stands, the calm cruelty of his gaze making his skin crawl. "Do you have family?", he asked, "Children?".
"No".
It sounded like a lie to him. Maybe at some point he could feign losing his footing? A picture of Aldwyn flashed behind his eyes and war raged inside of him: he had promised he'd return, she was his entire world. But he also knew what it was to be an orphan. Did he have in him to kill a father?
A drumbeat signalled the start of the fight.
"I'd rather die fighting you than hanged by those maggots", his opponent snarled and leapt on him, sword hissing.
Instinct truly was a marvellous thing and Háca's body sprang into action without the need of a single rational thought, dodging and parrying like he was but a puppet to whoever it was that pulled the strings from up above. He rammed his shield into the man's chest and forced him to retreat while at the same time he took two steps backwards.
Time, he needed time to think!
But his opponent granted none as he charged right back, his sword colliding with his shield in a rapid sequence of three blows. The fourth would have gotten him had he not dropped and rolled sideway, the instinct he had honed in many years of service kicking in again and pulling his right arm in an outward arch that cut a deep wound in the other man's thigh.
He had moved too fast, Háca reckoned. It had always been one of his greatest strengths: his frame wasn't as broad and muscular as that of the King, but he moved quicker than the most and never tired, his opponents always run out of stamina well before he did. Where others panted after a tough training, he barely broke a sweat.
"If you don't start fighting like you mean it, we'll both regret it", his opponent warned, now limping badly.
"If I do it, you'll be dead within the next ten seconds".
"Always had the reputation of a cocky bastard. Bring it on, I'd rather it be quick than slow!".
Háca attacked him but his strokes lacked purpose, they inflicted wounds and caused pain but didn't bring the gruesome show to an end. He couldn't continue that way, he knew. His hand hesitated and he paid for it, blood now gushing from his side. At the sight of the next incoming blow, he forcefully waved his shield and disarmed his opponent, who let out a cry of pain, his wrist breaking under the force of the impact, his sword landing far out of reach. Háca's right arm raised above his head and stopped halfway through its descent. When it failed to deliver the fatal blow, Gorgan stood from his place in the tribune. He didn't even need to speak for them to know what he was demanding.
Kill. Or be both killed.
"I'm sorry", Háca gulped.
"Don't be. Go ahead, I'm tired of this shithole anyway".
His hand gripped the hilt of the sword so tight he felt it cramping. Again it stretched above his head and this time, it was a sudden cry that stopped it.
Háca snapped around.
Guards bearing the colours of Umrist's clan were flooding the place and overwhelming Gorgan's men. As if someone had gone back to pulling the invisible strings that connected to his limbs, Háca didn't stop to think about what he was doing. He just did it and dashed madly towards the edge of the arena, vaulted over the fence, climbed the steps two at a time. Only a little closer and he could toss his sword! He had once skewered an Uruk that way, Gorgan wouldn't stand a chance! Someone grabbed him. He managed to break free but tripped and fell. When he looked up again, he had five swords aimed at him. Somewhere not far, their tormentor was being immobilized.
"Black fading hair, blond beard. You must be Lord Háca".
"Gorgan must die!".
"Gorgan will stand trial, our people will decide his fate. You and your countrymen have three weeks to cross the border to Gondor. That is what I and your Queen have agreed as reparation for his infringement of the peace conditions. Now lower your sword and join the rest of your men".
Háca wanted to holler his anger: he had tasted but a tinge of the suffering endured by the prisoners and it had almost driven him mad! They couldn't let Gorgan go, they couldn't trust these people to make him pay like he deserved!
"Brother!", a familiar voice shook him out of his rabid state. Háca instantly dropped his sword and retreated towards it, his body still stiff and humming with anger. "Forget about it. We are in no condition to make demands. Let's just get the men home".
"Yes, Eorl".
All around the eighteen Rohirrim were embracing and crying and laughing. The man he had wounded was being taken care of.
It was over.
Gondor, September the 16th, FO 4
News of the successful liberation of all nineteen hostages had reached them two days earlier. It was only a matter of hours until they arrived at the outpost and Lothíriel was determined to give them a fitting welcome. She had asked the Gondorian commanders to go hunting and was very pleased when they returned with a deer and a wild boar.
A giant bonfire roared in the main courtyard. The mead was ready. Spare tents had been mounted and a healer summoned.
Finally, just as night fell, Lothíriel spotted the flicker of a torch in the distance. She grasped a long sharp knife and started cutting generous slices of tender meat. Beside her, Aldwyn filled the cups. All around the Gondorian soldiers stood alert at their posts. Her presence had unnerved them and she couldn't exclude King Elessar would be grieved by some of the decisions she had taken during the last weeks.
Lothíriel shrugged her shoulders, uncaring.
The first horse came in sight. It was an Easterling warrior and Lothíriel's eyes moved on. The third in line dismounted. He was blond and walked with a limp. "Welcome back Son of Eorl, your safe return fills my heart with joy", Lothíriel greeted him, "Are you in need of the care of a healer?".
"No, your Grace. Thank you for what you did. We owe you our lives".
"Your life belongs to you and you alone. It will be a long journey home. May I have your name so I can send a messenger to inform your family of this happy tidings?".
"Holdman of Caerdydd, your Grace".
Aldwyn wrote his name down and offered him a cup mead. Lothíriel held out a plate with two slices of meat and a small loaf of bread and offered words of encouragement as tears gathered in the man's eyes.
Next was a young rider who looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in far too long. "Welcome back Son of Eorl, your safe return fills my heart with joy".
"Thank you, your Grace".
"May I have your name so I can send a messenger to inform your family of this happy tidings?".
"Frumca of Edoras. My brother Hágrim, h-he serves in the city guard and…".
"I know Hágrim, of course. He is in good health and fought bravely to liberate the city from Wídca's traitors. You should be both proud".
Frumca clasped his hands and dropped on his knees. "Thank you, your Grace. Thank you!". He took cup and plate and moved on to join Holdman.
"Welcome back Son of Eorl, your safe return f-".
Aldwyn's gasp distracted Lothíriel from delivering her line. She turned to look at her, followed her gaze until her eyes locked with the man next in line. Her throat seized up. The plate fell from her hands at the same time Aldwyn dropped the cup in hers. She blinked once, twice and then again. The picture didn't fade and her body swell with an unexpected, overwhelming wave of anger and rejection and fear.
"No", she whispered and took a step back.
"Lothíriel…".
"No!", she said again and it seemed everything around them had fallen suddenly silent. She continued her retreat until she was back against the outer wall of the outpost and had nowhere to go.
Hands – warm, callous, familiar hands, reached for her.
"I buried you", she spoke, as a whisper at first but then it grew into a scream of rage that burned and consumed everything else, "I buried you! I buried you!", she yelled, slamming her fists against his chest, trying to hurt – him, her, she didn't know, to push him away. She was short of breath, could feel the frantic thump of her heart. And then his arms closed around her and she stood still, her balled hands still pressed against his chest, desperately searching for that precious thin layer of separation.
"I'm sorry, Lothíriel. My wife, my love, I…".
She flinched and pulled away. When he tried to hold her, she all but demanded, "Let me go". She could feel his eyes caressing her face and did not dare meeting them. "Let me go", she said again, "I must welcome the rest of the men".
His grip loosened and even as their bodies stood only inches apart, an unbridgeable distance yawned between them.
Lothíriel returned to her place by the fire. "Welcome back Son of Eorl, your safe return fills my heart with joy", she beckoned the next rider.
The man hesitated.
"Step forward. May I have your name so I can send a messenger to inform your family of this happy tidings?".
Footsteps approached; a large shadow fell upon her. It nodded its head and only then did the rider come closer. "Grimdred of Landrau, your Grace".
She offered him a portion of meat, Aldwyn handed out the mead.
"Welcome back Son of Eorl, your safe return fills my heart with joy"…
Lothíriel spoke her line fifteen more times, until each of the former hostages had been properly welcomed. It was then that Kara approached, her gaze fixed on the man standing behind her. For the first time since she had become a forced companion to their journey to Gondor, she addressed her directly, "Remember our deal. Remember my husband's oath".
"I remember. You are free to go, the peace treaty between our people stands". Perhaps she should have offered an apology but it felt hypocritical to do so. After Kara had left and feeling slightly calmer now, Lothíriel asked the looming shadow, "Come with me, let us talk".
Aldwyn had never expected it could happen, but her reunion with Háca, which she had eagerly waited for, had faded into the background the moment she had spotted the King standing right in front of her. Incredulity had been quickly overrun by exhilaration and then, by profound sadness at the Queen's reaction. Every other person presents on the scene had probably expected the reunion to be a joyful moment, but she had immediately known it could never be so simple, that it was too late for that.
Too much had been lost, too much had been sacrificed on the altar of protecting Rohan and her people.
On both sides, most likely.
"You kept colouring your hair", Háca noted as they entered their tent.
"I wanted to be ready in case we needed to enter Rhûn again. Yours look…".
"Awful".
They did. Blond regrowth on ends that had discolored into a weird colour, not black and not brown but something in between, with lighter strands poking out here and there. Maybe they should just shave their heads and be done with it. "I cannot believe he's alive…".
"I know. Will the Queen be all right?".
"I'm not sure. What of the King? How much did he have to endure during his time at the quarry?".
"Three months of underground imprisonments. Forced labour. The only time he was brought outside was for a fight. He managed to kill Balca on that occasion – yes", Háca said at her shocked reaction, "the traitor was there too. The King and Léod were punished with twenty lashes each for cheating the tournament rules. Léod's wounds festered and he died days later, the King only barely survived. Got another ten lashes after he tried to escape".
"Umrist's lucky the Queen is a lady of honour. This could have ended so much worse for his people. What of you, did you have to…".
"Kill one of my brothers in the arena? Almost. Umrist arrived just in the nick of time. Forgive me but I'm tired and I don't feel like talking. Can we just lie and try to forget about it, just for tonight?".
"Yes, of course".
Autumn was early that year and nights in Gondor were getting cool already. Aldwyn covered their tangled bodies with a blanket and closed her eyes but try as it my, she couldn't keep still in the cot, let alone sleep. "Are you worried for the Queen? Do you want to go check on her?", Háca offered at the umpteenth time she tossed from one side to the other and accidentally kicked him in the process.
Sometimes she really had the grace of a mumakil.
"No. I mean, yes, I am worried. But I don't think she'd want to see me. If I know her one bit, she'd rather I act as if nothing happened - at least for now". She looked at her husband and knew she needed to tell him, that hers wasn't a secret she could keep hidden indefinitely and besides, he deserved to know. Just, she was scared – nay, terrified, she might lose him. "There's something I need to tell you".
Háca seemed to sense her distress for he started rubbing her lower back in small soothing circles.
"You've been away for over five weeks and I…", she felt her throat losing all moisture, didn't know how to formulate what she needed to say so she started circling around it, "I haven't been unwell, so please don't worry. But I… I just think it's a good thing you've always been so careful".
"I'm not sure I follow".
"I mean, careful with me".
"I've been careful with you", Háca echoed her, his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher her words.
"Not only with me, actually. With all women you've been, you know, intimate". She huffed, exasperated by the senseless rant she was delivering, "What I'm trying to say is you've been away for five weeks and in that time, I never bled. And maybe it means nothing! I mean, sure, I've never been late before. But these last weeks have been stressful enough and perhaps that's why I skipped my last period and there's nothing to worry about!".
It was dark inside the tent, even so it was hard to miss the sudden paleness that spread across Háca's face. He had always been adamant about not wanting children and while it had initially hurt to learn of it, she had chosen to marry him nonetheless because she loved him and they didn't need to have a brood of sons and daughters to give a sense to their lives!
He sat up and turned away, arms propped on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth. After several minutes of stony silence, Aldwyn couldn't take it anymore, "Háca please, I'm…".
"You must promise me something", he spoke gravely and spun around to look at her, "That you'll kick me out. Have Elfda kill me. Whatever, I don't care".
She stared at him mouth agape, "What are you talking about?".
"Should I fail as a father. Should I prove I am Fastfa's son alright. You'll get rid of me".
"Háca you can't be serious. You'd never…".
"Promise me!".
She flinched. That of all feelings fear would be the prevailing one, that even from the tomb Fastfa was still able to cause him hurt, enraged her. "I promise I will put our child's well-being first, always and no matter what".
His rested a hand on her stomach, timidly. Never had he touched her that way. "Do you feel any different?".
"Not really".
"I'm not good with children, Aldwyn. I'm not even comfortable holding Eadhild and Maerwyn despite how much time they've spent in our house". Gradually the weight of his palm grew firmer, like he was gaining a little confidence and now the fearfulness in his eyes had to compete with a different, warmer type of feeling.
"I was afraid you'd be angry".
"Angry? Why? It's me who lost control that night".
"I thought I might lose you and I don't want to".
Háca grasped her by the waist and sat her in his lap, held her firmly against his chest as he cradled her. "I've made such a mess, haven't I? I'm sorry, Aldwyn. This is a lot to take in and I won't deny I feel utterly terrified. But I swear to you that's not the only emotion I feel at the thought of seeing you with child. My child", he repeated those last two words to himself, like he was trying to discern their taste, get acquainted with it. And as he did so, the tiniest smile appeared on his handsome face, "I will learn".
"Oh, Háca, we'll both do. And we'll stumble and fail in the process and that's still all right, as long as we hold true to our feelings and get back on our feet. I must ask something of you though".
"Anything".
"Pregnancies… they can go wrong. Very wrong. Please don't tell anyone until I'm farther along".
"I won't. But don't hide it from me if you are feeling unwell. Don't play tough".
"I promise", she gave her word and still curled in his lap, she drifted off.
That night like the ones that followed, Éomer fell asleep holding Lothíriel in his arms. That morning like the ones that followed, he awoke to find her perched at the far edge of the cot, their bodies carefully apart. If he tried to pull her to him, she'd let him. But there was always a strain to her body, like a skittish animal waiting for the chance to flee the predator's jaws.
They had spoken, of course. In fact, they had spent most of their first night together talking. She had asked him what had happened after the battle in which they thought he had fallen, she had inquired about the time he had spent captive and expressed joy for his return in the same tone she'd use to communicate someone they had lost a loved one. In an even colder voice she had told him about Wídca and the siege, and informed him of the plans she had made for Rohan.
For over seven months Éomer had yearned for this, for being reunited with his wife and son. His last thought as he plunged into the river had been for her. Every single happy memory he had collected in the past eight years was linked to her. He knew the months he had spent as a captive had changed him, that he had come back a different man and would need time to return to a semblance of normality. But for some reason, as stupid as it was, he had never thought the same would apply to her. Even knowing Wídca posed a mortal danger, in his subconscious mind life in Meduseld was a frozen happy memory that would welcome him back with open arms and hold his hand as he re-learnt how to navigate those forgotten feelings.
But that world no-longer existed. He and Lothíriel had both changed and where his scars were bare for the eye to see, hers were perhaps invisible but just as ugly.
Éomer blamed himself. The grief for what he had suffered and lost in the quarry swirled with the guilt for every life the rebellion had taken to produce a monstrous hue. As he wracked his brains out trying to figure how to best approach his wife, he often found himself thinking of how she had reacted after they had rescued her from her Dunlendish captors. How she had snapped at him, how she had struggled to confide what had happened, how for days she had seemed to float far out of his reach. But he also remembered the relief of that first embrace, how she had held him like her life depended upon it, how she had curled in his arms every night they had spent together at the brothel in Hadleigh.
None of it was there now.
After her initial burst of anger, all that was left was a barren, bitter coldness. He'd prefer it if the anger came back, if she yelled and cursed that it was all his fault, for it was! She had always wanted the Council dissolved, he had thought he could control it and left her to deal with the consequences of his misjudgement. He hadn't even managed to free his men. If it wasn't for her decision to travel to Rhûn, he'd still be in chains, digging tunnels one day and killing his own the next.
Éomer needed her – desperately so. And he knew she needed him too, for she was the other half of his soul and he could see that lying underneath the frosty façade something was raw and bleeding.
But he had no idea how to reach for it.
That morning, he observed her speaking with the men - Holdman especially. She always inquired about how his wrist and leg were healing, then she'd sit to have breakfast with the group but never allowed it to drag. It was like she had a timetable in her head and was determined no matter what to cover the largest possible distance every day. And after days and days in which he had barely managed to talk to her, in which the time they spent alone with each other had become a source of uneasiness and the stretched silences a torture, an ugly thought surfaced in Éomer's head.
What if the war had spared his life but claimed his marriage in exchange?
No, he rejected it immediately. They had gone through worse trials. They'd survive this one too.
The following night, hours before dawn, Éomer slipped out of their tent. There was a settlement about an hour's ride away, large enough that there should be a bakery or at least an inn. He thought he'd be the first to rise but it was not so: Háca and Sedgon were sitting around the last embers of the bonfire and it sounded like they were quarrelling. He walked closer, determined to dissolve whatever dispute had arisen, when he realized it was his wife they were talking about. "What is the matter?", he asked in a clipped voice.
"We're having a difference of opinion", Háca muttered and cast the other man a grim look.
"Care to fill me in?".
Sedgon held his eyes as he spoke, "When King Elessar asked us to escort the Queen to Rhûn, we immediately accepted. Had I known she'd have ordered us to kidnap an innocent woman – the wife of a powerful chieftain to boot, I'd have refused. What she did was wrong and unnecessary. Had you been in her place, Lord King, would you have done the same?".
He would have not, they all knew.
"I am to report to King Elessar next week and that is precisely what I will tell him: that the Queen endangered our peace treaty with Rhûn by taking hostage a woman who is in all but title royalty. I was told your wife was herself abducted years ago. She should have known better than putting another through the same ordeal. We will never defeat the likes of Gorgan if we keep stooping to his level".
Háca's stance went from belligerent to concerned as he detected his change of mood. With slow deliberate movements, Éomer retrieved his saddlebag and took out a clean tunic. "When my wife was abducted, she was drugged". He placed a torch at Sedgon's feet and turned around, his back to him. "She was chained and beaten, hit in the head with a stone, narrowly escaped sexual assault. She was unconscious for over a day, the concussion almost killed her". He removed the upper portion of his clothing to reveal what thirty lashes could do to a man. "Before I was able to rescue her, she was almost strangled, the bruises on her neck took weeks to heal". He dressed up and turned to face Sedgon. "Gorgan enslaved and tortured us, planned on making us kill each other for his own amusement. What he did to my men is ground for another war. That he did it to the King, lesser men would consider it reason for an all-out conflict and the complete annihilation of your people. Report to King Elessar what you deem right, Sedgon. I am grateful for what you and your kinsmen have done for us. Korul died trying to save me and that is a debt I will never be able to repay his widow and children. But don't you ever dare suggesting my wife stooped at Gorgan's level. Do you understand?".
"My Lord, what I meant…".
"I did not ask what you meant. I asked whether you understand".
Sedgon bowed his head. "Yes, Lord King".
Without uttering another word, Éomer headed for his horse. Behind him, Háca followed with an apologetic look. "I'm the only member of the King's guard present…".
"I want to get something for breakfast. We make haste for the nearest settlement and return before the camp has awoken".
They reached their destination at first light and, much to Éomer's relief, the sprawling village offered what he had hoped for. The bakery's front door was locked and after their knocking went unanswered, they sought the back entrance and made their presence known with a discreet cough. A plump man who embodied everything you'd expect from a baker stepped out of the kitchen. "How may I help you?".
"Apologies for the early hour but we cannot wait. Do you have bread and perhaps something sweet to sell us?".
"Would be better to let it cool, but if you're in a rush…".
"We very much are".
"All right then. Come in".
It smelled wonderful inside and Éomer took a moment to inhale deeply. "We are a party of about thirty, but can only carry what we can load on our two horses".
"Five loaves should do".
"Make it seven, one for each kind you have. What pastries are you selling?".
"Honey, blackberry and carrots".
"Nothing with raspberries?".
"I'm afraid not. They don't grow around here. And I regret to inform you I cannot sell you the whole batch - part of it is already reserved by a regular customer".
"Give us what you can and please, could you pack in a separate bundle one honey and one carrot pastry?".
"Naturally".
Háca stepped closer and examined the various sweets. When he asked which was the sugariest one, he couldn't help but chuckling. "Aldwyn's just like her grandmother, isn't she? I remember how she loved to sip on a glass of sweet wine every evening before retiring…".
"Yes. Elfda and I have to endure it too! We were both stupid enough to pretend we liked it the first time we were offered some, and now we're sort of stuck".
The baker laughed and pointed at the honey pastry. "She'll like this one, trust me".
Éomer footed the bill and after a quick stop at the local dairy for some fresh cheese, he and Háca returned to their horses and made it to the camp just as the first riders were emerging from their tents. After the ordeal they had been through, to awake to the smell of warm bread, cheese and pastries truly was the greatest luxury. Éomer insisted they eat to their hearts' content and, convinced Lothíriel would be still asleep, he entered their tent unannounced only to find her in the middle of getting dressed.
She looked at him in an odd way, holding her clothes in front of her to hide her nakedness.
"Forgive me, I'll wait outside", he apologized and stepped out, the awkwardness a heavy burden on his chest.
"I'm decent", Lothíriel called after a couple of minutes.
He stepped back inside and revealed the precious content of the bundle in his hands, a tentative smile on his face, "They did not have raspberry tarts. But honey and carrot are also among your favourites".
"What of the rest of the men?".
"I brought them bread and cheese. Some pastries too, though they'll have to share for there wasn't enough for everybody".
"It seems unfair they must share a few tarts while I get two. Come, let's join them and eat together".
"The world won't implode just because you've had a couple of tarts all for yourself", he snapped in frustration.
It was the wrong thing to say.
Lothíriel stiffened and ate the honey tart in quick rushed morsels. The other, she refused to even touch it. "You can have that one. I don't like carrots".
"Since when?".
"The siege. Eighth day, if you want to know", she hissed, the flash of anguish in her eyes vanishing just as quickly as it had surged. When she spoke again, it was in her customary cold tone, "I'm glad you brought the men breakfast, but we must make sure this unexpected treat won't delay our schedule. We have a long and winding journey ahead".
And with that, she left the tent.
Éomer's hand curled around the carrot cake. Crumbles spilled all over the place. They ignored each other for the rest of the day and the following night, just as soon as Lothíriel had fallen asleep, he again sneaked out. He located a tent on the opposite side of the camp and cleared his voice as he stood in front of the flap. When nothing happened, he called, "Lady Aldwyn?".
A drowsy looking Háca emerged. "Lord?".
"I need to speak to your wife".
Unexpectedly, the other man hesitated. "Forgive me for asking, Lord King, but could it not wait until the morning? She was utterly exhausted when we retired and I'd like her to…".
"Now, Háca".
Begrudgingly, he obeyed. Éomer heard him calling his wife's name at least ten times before he finally detected a mumble in return. Moments later, a slender hand pulled the flap open. "Sorry for making you wait, Lord", Aldwyn apologised. Oddly enough, she did not look surprised by his visit.
Háca made for following her but Éomer immediately stopped him, "I wish to speak to your wife privately. I'll escort her back, don't worry".
Aldwyn pressed a quick kiss on her husband's lips and all but shoved him back inside the tent. Once they were at a safe distance, she warned, "Do not ask what I cannot tell".
"I am your King. I can order you to".
"You can, yes. But then you'd put in the impossible position of having to choose to whom I shall pledge my allegiance. You, or the Queen".
"And you'd choose the Queen".
"I would - forgive me, but I gave her my word".
"What happened on the eighth day of the siege?". It had been an oddly specific reference, one he was fairly sure Lothíriel had regretted making and he'd be a fool not to pursue what hid behind the slipped confidence.
Aldwyn pursed her lips.
"Did Wídca have someone in Edoras? Was she harmed?". The way Lothíriel had hastily covered herself when he had entered their tent had sparked all sorts of awful fears inside him.
"Nobody laid a hand on the Queen".
"What happened then?".
She shook her head no. "It's not for me to tell. I'm sorry, my Lord".
Disheartened, Éomer found a boulder to sit. "I do not ask as a King. Please, Aldwyn, help me understand how I can help my wife", he pleaded.
Her shoulders were hunched as she sat next to him. "I don't think she'll ever open up, not as long as she feels the burden of ruling. Since you left Rohan, it took precedence over everything else. It mattered not that you had died, that Elfwine had been sent away, that people betrayed and insulted her, that…", she halted and appeared to be biting her tongue, "The Rohirrim needed her in charge and she fulfilled their demand. Most would have crumbled under the weight of the disgraces and responsibilities that kept accumulating over her shoulders. She had to find a way to keep going despite tragedy kept striking at her and, I suppose, she achieved it by becoming…".
"Cold? Detached?".
"Not with all, Lord. She isn't cold with the rest of the men. Sterner perhaps, but not cold".
"Only with me then. I understand, after all I have failed…".
"I don't believe she's trying to keep you at arm's distance because she holds you accountable for what happened".
"Why then?".
"Because she loves you and opening up with you means removing the stitches of wounds that have not yet healed, means starting all over after she has paid in blood and tears to make it this far. Your resurrection… it unsettled her, but do not think for a moment it wasn't her heart's greatest desire to be reunited with you. You are after all the reason why we embarked on this journey in the first place and seeing what it led us to, how could one ever doubt you two are kindred spirits, the kind that under even the most challenging circumstances, even when fate is rowing against you, will always manage to find each other".
Éomer raked a hand through his hair and tried soaking in Aldwyn's words. Something terrible must have happened in Edoras, something probably only few knew about. But she was right, not all was lost. "Rohan and my son are both in good hands?".
"Yes. If it wasn't so, the Queen wouldn't have left".
"Then I know what I must do. Are you really as tired as Háca said? He seemed concerned".
Aldwyn waved a hand. "Ah, don't listen to him. I'm already feeling much better. What would you like us to do?".
Lothíriel was surprised when she roused to a tent flooded with bright sunlight. The men normally started making ready at dawn and their noises were her wake up call. For some reason, it appeared they were either delayed or she had overslept. Both options made her instantly upset and with hurried movements she donned her riding outfit and headed out. There, she froze, one foot still inside the tent, the other rooted on the damp grass.
There was nobody, the men were all gone and only Éomer remained. Seated on a wooden stump, he was watching her closely, studying her reaction.
"Where's everybody?", she demanded to know.
"They left hours ago".
Her tone was deceptively calm. "Why did we not leave with them?".
"Because I'd like to spend some time with my wife before we are tossed back into the meat grinder of ruling".
"And you didn't think it worth discussing the matter with me?".
"You'd have said no".
Her voice started raising. "Of course, I'd have said no! This is ridiculous. You are King and I am Queen. There are responsibilities that come with those titles, we can't just take a vacation and leave the country to fend for itself".
"We will follow the others, just at a more leisurely pace. They'll be in Edoras in two weeks, we'll need a month or so. You and I haven't had a break since I left for Rhûn and we both need to catch our breath, Lothíriel".
"We can't afford it!
"We can. Éowyn can oversee things for a little longer".
"Éowyn's home is in Ithilien! And our son…".
"Our son is getting spoiled by his uncles and aunts and grandfather".
"He needs us!", she yelled and was not at all prepared for the much louder scream that answered back.
"Yes, he does! He needs his father, who he thought dead and is himself not sure whether he is really back yet. And above everything else he needs you, his loving mother - not the woman you've turned into, the one too cold and aloof to ever share a smile or a word of comfort outside what her duty as Queen demands".
Lothíriel only realized what she had done after. She stared at her hand like it wasn't hers, like it hadn't been an impulse originating inside her head that had caused it to hit Éomer's face. He stood and towered over her. "Bema be praised, a reaction at last! Do it again, do it until your rage is spent and then, maybe, you'll be able to look and talk to me again!".
"I…".
Éomer turned his head and offered his other cheek. "Do it!".
She stumbled back towards her tent, horrified. Only at the third attempt did she manage to close the flap.
What have I done?
She heard footsteps and prayed he wouldn't follow her inside. He didn't. Even his shadow appeared beleaguered. "It's all right not to be all right, Lothíriel. But we can't provide our son with a sense of home and family if we don't take the time to face the demons we carry within. I won't force you to travel through the winter, whether you choose to talk to me or not we will be back in Edoras within latest six weeks. I just…", he sighed and rubbed his face, "I love you, Lothíriel. Always will".
She covered her ears and shut her eyes closed. The sun rose and then set. There was water and food inside the tent but she did not touch any, did not move until late that night, when exhaustion prevailed and she succumbed to a troubled sleep. The next morning, she waited until she heard noises before venturing out.
Éomer had lit a fire on which he was boiling four small quail eggs. She suddenly worried about how he had spent the night for all blankets had stayed in the tent with her. "I'm sorry for yesterday".
"I forgot already".
"No, Éomer. Hitting you was inexcusable".
"I hardly felt it".
"It doesn't matter, it's the principle of it. You'd never hit me". She sat down in front of him. Once breakfast was ready, they spread the eggs over two slices of stale bread and ate in silence. "I don't know how to do this, Éomer. I wish things could go back the way they were but every time you come close, every time you touch me, I… I can't…".
He hid the hurt well, but not well enough. "We'll do it like we've always done. One step at a time. Together".
"What's the first one?".
He turned his eyes to the sky and frowned, "The weather is worsening. We should make for the nearest settlement and spend the night there".
"I don't mind sleeping in the tent".
"A warm dry bed would be more comfortable. Besides, we need supplies".
Not one hour later they saddled their horses and set off. With Éomer riding at the front, she took the opportunity to study him, her eyes trained on him like she was seeing him for the first time since he had returned.
His left hand was slightly crooked, his cheeks hollow. Though she had only seen their rugged ends, she knew deep scars covered his entire back. He was dressed like a Gondorian because those were the only clothes they had available; his mount was a modest blood bay; an anonymous looking sword hung at his belt. All elements were there for him to hide who he really was. And yet to her eyes, he still looked like a King. Beaten but not defeated. Weakened but still stronger than the most.
"During your absence, Firefoot and I became friends", she spoke spontaneously, surprising herself as she did so.
Éomer turned in the saddle. Now he looked sceptical. "You rode Firefoot?".
"No, I did not dare - I'm quite sure he'd have tossed me. But I often took him out for a walk. He was very gentle, protective even. It brought me comfort to spend time alone with him. In fact, I fear I might have talked his ears off with all my chatting and crying!". She had meant it as a jest but it didn't sound like one. Swiftly and before Éomer could react, she changed topic, "I don't know if Háca told you, but as they searched for your body Éothain retrieved Gúthwinë and brought it back to Edoras".
His eyes widened in stupor. "I was not aware".
"Yes. It was damaged, so I had it sent to the master blacksmith".
"I thought it lost to the river. Like the dagger you gave me for our first Yule together. And the tower sketch. I lost that one too", he confessed mournfully.
"There was hardly anything left of it. The paper was coming apart, the subject had become all but indistinguishable".
"That may be true, but I remember what it looked like. I remember that day, I remember you scribbling the word home at the bottom. It was a cherished memento. Life seemed so complicated back then, yet now when I think of those days I find them…".
"Nothing compared to the hardship that followed?".
"Yes. Perhaps it's because we have already lived through their respective happy endings, whereas presently we have yet to fully savour one".
Lothíriel nodded thoughtfully.
True to Éomer's prediction, they reached the next village under a veritable deluge. They had supper at the local alehouse and rented a room for the night. For the next week they travelled North at a slow pace and never dared talking about the war and the rebellion. The topic loomed over their heads, but it was as if they first needed to get re-acquainted with each other's presence – or at least she did. Éomer seemed to have accepted her need for space and no longer sought to hold her at night. They never undressed in front of each other and the only small touches occurred by accident - like when he helped her mounting or dismounting her horse, or when their hands brushed over supper.
The awkwardness between them gradually lessened. But it was a frosty relationship they established and it hurt Lothíriel to see that even though Éomer needed her, she was still unwilling and unable to extend a hand towards him. One night, as she stared at the dark canopy above her, sleep stubbornly eluding her, she tried to give herself a mental push. "After the siege ended, I had Elfda interrogate the prisoners", she whispered.
Éomer spoke not, but she knew he was awake.
"I wanted to learn as much as possible, every little sordid detail. He started with the mercenaries. As it turned out, they were not willing to suffer to protect the secrets of their employers. Elfda did not need to use a hard hand but if he had, I wouldn't have had a problem with it. Had he asked me to witness it, I'd have watched him torture them without hesitation, pity or regret".
"I relished the feel of Balca's bones breaking under my fists. Had it been possible, I'd have kept at it for hours. No hesitation, nor pity or regret".
"What have we become, Éomer?".
"What we needed to survive".
"Isn't that just a comfortable excuse to justify the hideousness of our acts?".
"I don't know".
"Have my actions in Rhûn caused a rift between Rohan and Gondor?".
"A disagreement for sure. Nothing that cannot be repaired. And I will support your decisions with King Elessar".
Lothíriel faced away from him. She didn't need him to support her decisions.
Actually, she didn't know what she needed.
Shortly before crossing the Mering Stream their journey was delayed by an impetuous storm. It rained for days on end, the wind never ceased howling and temperatures quickly plummeted. It caught them in the wild and it was only after two miserable nights in the open that they found shelter at one of the inns on the Great West Road.
Éomer had meant to avoid them - news of his return had surely spread and he did not wish to be recognized. But for the time being they had little choice but lay low and wait.
He and Lothíriel spent most of the time locked in their room. She'd often sit by the window and stare at the sky, like she could will the weather to improve. It seemed to him that the closer to Rohan they got, the more restless she became. Often she brought up the subject of ruling and every time she pressed him into sharing what his opinion was on this rather than that matter, he was normally vague and unhelpful.
Truth was, Éomer doubted his contribution was worth much. Every time he thought about returning home and coming face to face with those who had planned to take his son and kill his wife, he started seeing red. Committing a massacre was unlikely the best course of action and although Lothíriel did not realize it, her sense of decency and mercy was currently much more reliable than his. Her idea of building outposts across Rohan was very sensible and with all the assets they were going to confiscate from the former advisors, gathering resources for their construction and maintenance wouldn't be an issue. He trusted Haleth and Léored in the tasks she had planned for them and supported the idea of having Aldwyn and Háca take on a more important role at court.
When it came to ruling, it seemed she really did not need him – except perhaps if another war broke out, which he hoped would not happen for a long, long time. His people might disagree, but truth was as King he was largely unnecessary; and seeing how, after more than two weeks alone, his wife had yes softened but was still leagues away from him, made him doubt he was a half-decent husband and father too.
The first step into Rohan felt like a cathartic moment, but it wasn't until a couple of days later, when the landscape changed into the grasslands he had always called home, that it really hit him he was finally back. Blessed with a more clement weather, they could afford travelling off the beaten path. Woods became a rarer sighting and with them, gone were the bounties of mushrooms and easy game.
"There are farms in the valley ahead", he told Lothíriel one morning, "We should stop by and get food for the rest of the journey".
It was around noon when they reached one. A small herd of sheep grazed the surrounding meadows, hens warbled from inside their fenced coop and apple trees surrounded the entire property. A sturdy farmer with ginger hair appeared amidst the tall grass, "Gooday travellers. How can I help you?".
"My wife and I were hoping you could sell us provisions".
"On yer way to Edoras to see the King?".
"Yes, you guessed it right. Is he back already?".
"I don't know but since the news spread it's been an endless stream of travellers. Come inside and I'll show you what we have". The farmer house was rustic but well looked after, a faint smell of stew lingering in the air. "Name is Frummer", the man said while he opened a cabinet and pulled out three blocks of cheese and various other goods.
"Eorl. This is my wife…".
"Sílriel, nice to meet you".
"You two live in Gondor?".
"Aye, just across the border".
"So, Eorl and Sílriel. What do ye want to buy?".
Éomer selected enough to last them hopefully until Edoras. "How much do we owe you?".
Frummer started running the numbers when a woman, who he assumed was his wife, joined them. She was heavily pregnant and donned an apron woven in unusual colourful threads. "We have visitors I see, I thought I heard something!".
"My wife Tiddis is a very talented seamstress. Would you like to take a look at her craft?", Frummer offered hopeful.
"Perhaps another time. We're in a rush", Lothíriel flatly refused.
While he paid the bill and equally out of politeness as well as curiosity, Éomer asked, "How far along are you, Tiddis?".
"Entering the ninth month. Do you have children?".
"One – a boy, almost six years old".
"Is he not travelling with you?".
"No, we left him with my wife's family".
"Do you miss him already, or are you still in that phase where you simply enjoy having a moment for yourselves?".
"Definitely the first", Éomer laughed, "I take it this isn't your first child?".
"We have a son, also six years old".
"Is he happy about getting a sibling?".
"Only if it's a brother, he claims. We're quite isolated up here and he'd… Oh dear, is your wife unwell?".
Éomer looked back only to find Lothíriel gone, the spot where she'd been standing empty, the main door swinging back and forth on its hinges like she had used too much force to push it open. "Sílriel!", he called, but all he got as a response was the soft thud of her feet rushing across the grass field.
He apologized for the abruptness of their leave and stepped outside. A couple of footprints pointed towards the nearby orchard and there he headed, shouting her name in an oddly controlled manner for he didn't want Frummer and Tiddis to discover their real identities. As his efforts borne no fruits, his voice grew louder and more frantic. He looked for tracks but found none, returned to their horses hoping perhaps he'd find her there, but she wasn't.
Éomer tested the hilt of his sword: it was a relatively safe region, but one could never be too careful and Lothíriel should know better than bolting on her own! Again he ventured between the trees, reached the opposite edge of the orchard, scanned the plains to be sure she wasn't out there. As hours went by and light started dimming and he still hadn't found her, his searched turned desperate. At nightfall he finally headed back towards the farm, determined to ask for help. He was but a couple hundred feet away from the main building when he caught a sound, like a sob or a hiccup. Silent he stood, until he heard it again and was able to track the noise to a giant maple tee.
There, crouched in an alcove of musky roots, he found her at last.
Anger for her irrational behaviour surged fast and just as quickly it vanished. He knew immediately what had happened. It had been a long time, but he had not forgotten. The way her body shook, the attempt at hiding herself, the exhaustion…
Éomer sat down beside her. She didn't move, didn't speak.
After several minutes, he scooted a little closer, just so their shoulders touched. Then, perhaps half hour later, he rested a hand over hers and slowly, he let his fingers weave their way between hers. By the time he had her settled in his lap, it was almost midnight. A bright full moon bathed the trees in an ethereal silver light. The hoot of a tawny howl sounded in the distance. Éomer wrapped his arms about her and for the first time since they had been reunited, there was no rejection nor discomfort on her side. She just held tight on him and stoically, he resisted the urge to ask which wound she was so desperately trying to hide.
They needed to do this at her pace.
Hours later, she finally spoke, her voice a pained murmur that all but burned through his eardrums. "I was pregnant when you left for the East".
Éomer rubbed his face, but there was no holding back the tears. At last, he started to understand. The hurt. The coldness. The way she had reacted to that stupid carrot tart and to Tiddis' cheerful chattering. All pieces of a grotesque puzzle. Of too great a loss. "You miscarried during the siege?".
"For weeks I hardly slept. Then food became scarce and I could barely accept it when Amrothos shared his portions with me. I just… I knew I should have taken better care of myself but didn't and…".
His hand snapped to tilt her face upwards. "Don't, Lothíriel. Don't you dare blaming yourself".
"Who else is there to blame? I thought you dead, the child I carried was the last tangible proof of our love. I should have protected him with my life and instead I failed him - just like I have failed Elfwine!".
"You did no such thing".
"I sent him away in the dead of night, Éomer. He pulled a brave face but was so scared. And even after he returned to me, I… I was cold and aloof with him - just like you said, and abandoned him again at the first chance!".
"You sent him away for his own protection. And you did not abandon him, simply you left him in the temporary care of people who love him and who he loves back. Hadn't you acted the way you did, Wídca would have taken over Rohan and me and the seventeen riders in that quarry wouldn't have survived".
"But that's exactly the point, don't you see: I am perhaps a good Queen, but a terrible mother".
Éomer felt his body shake with devastating anger and grief. With an effort, he scoured underneath for gentleness and love. "You're the type of mother who is first at her son's side when he awakes after a bad dream. The one who never tires of talking to him, teasing his curiosity with countless tales and patiently teaching at every chance you get. The one who gets elbows in the dirt to bake a mud cake with him. The one who didn't give up after learning of my death and instead kept fighting".
In his arms Lothíriel broke down and at long last, he was offered a glance over the hurt and torment she had suffered. "I-I was five months pregnant when I miscarried. I had to give birth to a still son and could not even afford the comfort of burying or mourning him, for I feared doing so might have costed me the city. In less than two days I was up and about, pretending nothing had happened. Took me another two to muster the courage to visit his unmarked grave and… it was too much, Éomer, too much heartbreak…I could endure no more".
"I'm sorry I was not there for you. I'm sorry I left you alone facing all of it. But you're not alone now, Lothíriel. When you're ready we'll travel back to Edoras and find our way, like we always did. We shall bury our son in the mound that was erected for me and there he shall rest, until the distant day we join him". He smiled at her frown, "What is it?".
"Queens aren't buried in the Barrowfield".
"Mine will. First and foremost because she has earned her place amongst Rohan's mightiest rulers. And also, because I shan't be parted from her, not in life nor in death".
Lothíriel touched the point on his shoulder where one of the scars stretched. "Forgive me, Éomer. Ever since you've returned, I've been nothing but dreadful to you. You've gone through terrible things yourself and while you searched for me and offered support, I just kept pushing you away. It took me so long to… not accept, for I never managed that, but to learn how to function without you, that finding you've been alive this whole time terrified me".
"Do you still love me?", he asked, his voice full of anguish.
"How could I not?".
"I carry most of the blame for what has happened. To Edoras. To you. To our sons".
"You do not".
"Had I dissolved the Council when you asked me to, none of this would have happened".
"You were right to turn me down - back then, we were not strong enough to deal with the aftermath of the dissolution. And then years went by and I myself never raised the subject again because I thought we had it figured out. We both erred on the side of arrogance. But do not forget that it is your decision to keep Léored within the Council – something I initially spoke against, that saved me. Without his warning, Wídca would have taken Elfwine and, with him, Rohan. And it is your decision to extend a hand towards the Dunlendings that afforded me to reach an agreement with Mata. We share blame and merit equally for what has come to pass".
"You defeated Wídca on your own and succeeded where I failed, freeing us from Gorgan's stone prison".
"How many times have you saved me, Éomer? How many times I was the helpless damsel in need of a rescue? When I stepped onto that bear trap. When Trewyn had me kidnapped. All I did was surviving long enough for you to find me and bring me back home".
As undeserving of her praise as he deemed himself, Éomer still allowed Lothíriel's words to wash over him. A dark pit filled with rage and pain and feelings of inadequacy remained inside of him, one that would require a long time to be emptied and refilled with something brighter.
But for the first time in weeks, he dared trusting the hope.
Author's notes: next chapter is probably going to be the last one, unless I decide to add an epilogue. Hope you enjoyed the long ride!
Tibblets: indeed!
Guest: sorry to hear, hopefully it wasn't too nasty a Covid! I hate cliffhangers too and I know I've been very slow at times. Guess it was a good time to read it again seeing it's almost at the end! I personally dislike stories that are too AU because, well, LoTR is perfect as it is, reason why I deeply appreciate your review! Ah Kara, Umrist and Distal won't get more space I'm afraid, but I think we can safely assume they'll be all right. As per Éomer's injuries, he got 10 lashes but there's a gap of one month between that and Haca finding him, which is enough for most of the damage to heal. Distal considers it in the realm of possibilities that he got himself killed, but he just doesn't know. Hope this chapter lived up to the expectations!
mollymcg1323: oh wow, talking of reviews that make your day! Thank you so much, there's just one more chapter to go and I hope it will be a worthy conclusion to a long journey!