When the princess left the room, in came the servants with the plates full of food and decanters with blood-red wine. They left the trays on Éomer's bed and two of the servants, tall and strong, lifted Éomer and helped him to recline on the cushions. Then they bowed and left swiftly, but one of the servants (all of them were males) spoke in Common speech.
'The pharadine will return in an hour. Eat and take a rest, the guest of Khûr.'
When he closed the door, Éomer pondered a bit. He expected to be raged and revolted, for he was surrounded by his enemies. But somehow these people looked not quite like those he battled against in the Pelennor fields. Their faces were different, their tall slim figures were new to him.
'Perhaps that's because nearly all the Haradrims I saw before were dead and maimed,' thought Éomer. He took a bowl and examined it. It was of solid gold, as well as the plates and the cutlery. He should ask Aragorn if the toll of Khûr is heavy enough, fleered Éomer.
The food was delicious, though Éomer wasn't able to name a single dish on his trays. He never paid much attention to the food, but, truly, he always ate quite simply. Even the King in Rohan was not used to cates. He hasn't had a bite for many days so now he would be happy to see any kind of food, but these dishes were marvelous and he enjoyed every crumble and drop.
In an hour sharp the princess returned indeed with servants, carrying two wooden boxes. She made them a sign to leave the boxes, take empty trays and leave her alone with Éomer. So the servants did, noiselessly and obediently. The pharadine opened one of the boxes, but, obviously wanting more light, stood up and went for the candles, limping slightly. Éomer snorted. The princess gave him a sharp look.
'Did something amuse you?' she asked in Rohirric, moving the vials in her box and examining the contents.
'I beg your pardon, my lady,' started Éomer acidly. 'I can't help but wonder, how am I supposed to be healed by a person who can't heal her own wounds?'
The pharadine went pale. Was it with fury? Éomer didn't expect any answer, he wanted to barb this haughty princess of that cursed land. And he was astonished to hear her words in a calm, though slightly changed tone.
'I was tortured by orcs when they besieged Khûr. I am afraid I am lame irreparably.'
Éomer felt abashed. He felt his face heated and reddened. Now he wished he had held his tongue. In silence he watched the pharadine's skilled hands moving and mixing the liquids in vials.
'Do you have more questions, Éomer King?' she asked and Éomer was relieved to see that the princess was smiling.
'Will I live?'
The question escaped his lips before he could think it over.
The princess hesitated, avoiding his eyes. But then she gave him a searching look and said,
'I guess that you won't count it as life if you're incapable of riding horses and fighting enemies. Now I am still trying to lock the poison in your wound and then clear it, but it keeps spreading.'
'Does it? But I feel so much better.'
The pharadine smiled.
'We still have a long way to go. Try to move your toes.'
Éomer tried and failed.
'See? But the battle is not lost yet, so do not despair, my lord.'
Éomer noticed the thin crescent in the dark sky, resembling the one on the pharadine's neck. It must be getting very late, he thought and listened attentively. There were no noises in the palace, except for the night birds singing somewhere around.
'Are you staying with me overnight?' said Éomer and tried to make his voice sound nonchalant.
'Perhaps even longer,' said the princess with an anxious frown. 'Take this remedy and try to get some sleep.'
The mixture tasted rather good, like honey mingled with milk. The pharadine touched the king's breast, muttering the words breathlessly and rubbing the balms in his wrists. Éomer felt uneasy at being exposed to her eyes once again, but soon his eyelids got heavy and he fell asleep.
...
He was trudging through some marshes and dead bodies were lying everywhere around him, as far as his eyes could see. No life stirred here. Broken spears and arrows were scattered around, torn banners were fluttering in the wind. He was looking for someone among the dead. For whom? For a friend? An ally? He turned over the body nearest to him and saw his own dead face. Aghast, he moved to the next body with shattered shield, and it was also him dead...
'Shhhh, there, there...'
Éomer woke up with a scream and felt a cool palm on his face, wiping his tears, patting his forehead. He felt soft locks brushing his shoulders and finally saw that it was the princess who bent over him and soothed him with her words and touch. He was breathing heavily and was still unaware if his nightmare had been just a bad dream indeed. Was it someone else to watch him crying and screaming like this, he would be mortified. But in the dark eyes that looked at him there was so much understanding and compassion, that his heart lightened.
'I have the same dreams,' she said quietly. 'The war over and over again, never-ending, never-ceasing.'
'I saw myself dead. Thousands, tens of thousands of me dead.' Éomer closed his face with his hands. He felt that the pharadine was covering him with a blanket, tucking it carefully. Then she poured him some water and watched him drink it hastily.
'This war robbed us,' she said softly. 'Not only robbed us of ones we loved, but also of our youth and hopes. Sometimes I feel that I have lost not only my past...'
'... but the future as well,' ended Éomer. He watched as the princess lighted more candles. It was good to find himself in the dead of night with someone, who understood him so well.
The pharadine returned to her chair. Éomer was suddenly unhappy that now she was farther from him.
'I looked at your men today and thought if I killed their brothers then, in the battle three years ago.'
'You couldn't have,' smiled the princess. 'My people never went to war.'
Éomer's eyes grew wide.
'I never favored the union with Sauron,' explained the pharadine, pouring herself some wine. 'My uncle is the ruler of Harad, the High Pharadin, and he was forced to join the dark armies. But my province refused to send the men there. How could I agree to be an ally of Sauron? How could I send someone's sons, fathers, husbands to die for that evil thought in the West? Sauron never wanted to ruin just Gondor and Rohan. He wanted to put an end to the world of men and other free people. It was a matter of time for him to turn his forces against Harad,' she balled her fists. 'That is why the orcs invaded my cities after the defeat.'
The princess paused.
'And that is how I'll never be the queen of Harad. My uncle loves me, for I am the only daughter of his beloved late brother. My dear uncle is old. He wanted to secure my future and I was to marry his heir, one of my cousins. But after the war he thought me a traitor and broke off the engagement.'
Éomer's heart leapt, but he didn't want to think why at the moment.
'Still it is a good bargain, don't you think?' said the princess jokingly. 'I have many lives saved and only my little heart that is broken.'
Éomer felt disappointment, but again decided not to give his feelings a thought.
The pharadine came closer to Éomer in order to check his wound. She took off the bandage and saw that there was blood on linen.
'Ah, that's good,' she said gladly. 'For your wound now looks more like a regular one, that means that you'll definitely live, my lord.'
'You've seen me bare, both body and soul, you can call me by the name,' said Éomer grumpily.
'Éomer King then. Very well!' The princess smiled. 'Then if it is not insulting for you to befriend a Haradrim, you can give me my name. Only if we're alone, mind you, for rules are strict here in Khûr.'
She changed the bandages and spilled some new medicine onto the wound. It burnt and Éomer winced.
'I still don't know your name, my lady,' he said, clasping the blanket in order not to show the pharadine how his wound bothered him.
'Don't you?' The pharadine whispered, noticing his pain and immediately rubbing on an anesthetic solution. 'My name is Lûne.'
