Chapter 4 - Éomer

“Demon! Give me my sword and I shall show you the meaning of deception.”

Red rage gave way to confusion, and the world tilted like the prow of a ship, tipping Eomer into consciousnesses. A soft noise sounded nearby as he relaxed his clenched fingers, releasing the wrist he had trapped within.

With consciousness came sight, and the shapes around him formed into figures and faces - familiar faces...

"Eowyn!" In the strangeness of the scene he reached out for his dear sister. Unease blossoming into horror, he felt Eowyn pull sharply back from his grasping hands, fear in her blue eyes.

He could just make out the tall figure of an Elf standing behind Eowyn... Legolas? The Elf placed a hand on Eowyn's arm and the motion seemed to ignite something within him, sweat suddenly beading on his brow. He pushed the grey blankets from atop him, aware of the perspiration soaking into his clothes and the sheets about his legs, and was sick over the side of the bed.

Cool hands soothed him, holding his hair back from his face, as he gradually grew steady enough to speak.

"Dearest sister..." He kept his eyes pressed shut lest any sight provoke the sickness to return. "If this be real and I laid low with some fever or plague, ease my mind and tell me all."

"Do you remember nothing, brother?" Eowyn's voice returned, and he could hear tears behind the words.

Legolas' calming tones followed. "We have pursued you almost as far East as Rhun, my friend."

The mention of Rhun sent Eomer's mind into a whirl of memory in which he had no way of determining truth. Riding through the desert at night - sandstorms - spiced wine - and a pair of dark eyes... His stomach writhed and he swallowed to clear the acrid taste from his throat.

"And you, Eowyn," he said quickly, "how came you so far - and who else is here with us?"

"Just Legolas and I, my brother," she said soothingly.

Again he thought he heard grief behind her words.

"But rest awhile, and we will speak more when you are more yourself."

He wished to know more, wanting to understand how he had come here and why Eowyn flinched away from his touch, but his head was heavy...

---

Eomer felt his way along the dark hallway. The cold air chill through his thin shirt - now damp with perspiration. He did not know how long he had slept. He felt ungainly and unsteady on his feet, and needed to bend his broad shoulders to make his way through the cramped hallway.

As the hall opened out into a small kitchen, he made out two blond figures bent over a map and a young lady lifting a kettle off a primitive stove. Darkness showed beyond the room’s small windows. At his step Legolas turned and Eowyn's face lit up. Eomer did not miss the twitch of the Elf’s fingers to his knife hilt, but he said nothing of it for now.

A noise to their left had Legolas reaching for his knife in earnest, and Eomer glancing groggily around him for any makeshift weapon to hand.

The front door swung silently open and a man entered, hesitating as the four occupants of the room were revealed to him. Legolas did not lower his knife.

The man’s sleek dark hair was pulled into a tie at the base of his neck. His shrewd expression drew forth a barrage of memories for Eomer. H he saw the brother and sister who had drawn him from Edoras clearly now. While they plied him with wine and food he remembered this man, Jhov, standing by with face masked as Eomer had gradually been drawn into their trap.

One lunge and Eomer seized the poker from the fire - another and the red tip hovered inches away from the man's throat.

"Do not harm my husband!"

Surprise crossed Eowyn and Legolas’ faces as Mitra cried out. Clearly the lady who had offered them shelter knew more of their language than she had yet revealed.

She stepped up to the man in the doorway, effectively shielding her husband’s body with her own as she looked up into his face. "Jhov we cannot hide this any longer, these are good people!"

The man placed weary hands on her shoulders, his face grey. "It has been a long trial, Mitri, but it is almost over. The guard has come."

Relief lightened the woman's face, and she seemed to grow taller and younger in their eyes. “You must forgive us," she said, still with a distinctive accent but now speaking their own language with ease. "We have been secret so long, I did not know whether to reveal our identities."

Eomer lowered the poker, but did not completely let down his guard. Looking into Jhov’s face brought forth dizzying recollections, and he closed his eyes against them, swaying. A touch at his side brought him softly back to reality, and he placed his own arm about Eowyn’s strong shoulders - listening.

"Mitri and I have been stationed here firstly to gain information, then to bring in forces if it was proved necessary," Jhov said. “After the death of her betrothed, the lady Kaleri fled the capitol and took up residence here with her brother - their family’s estate. There have since been rumours - disappearances - but no clear proof of wrongdoing or sedition -”

Legolas cut in, and Eomer detected anger beneath his usually lighthearted words. “It is piteous that the lady lost her betrothed and royal prospects, but her mind has turned. This madness cannot continue.”

“You are right to feel this way,” Mitra said. “She has caused you much suffering.” The Easterling lady, no longer brusk in her treatment of them, was watching the Elf with interest - as though she had not encountered his kind before.

Legolas replied with a meaningful glance at Eomer and anger still present in his tone, “Not I, but we would wish to know more of the poison with which the lady influences her retinue.”

Eomer looked away from the Elf, and felt Eowyn’s hold on him tighten. His chest felt like it was shrinking inwards in shame at the memories of the last days. Waring with recollections of soft caresses and passion was the sting of his cut knuckles where his own fist had struck his sister. He glanced down at her ever-determined face and saw the reminder of his violence in her split lip.

Sensing the tension in the room, Jhov drew gently away from his wife to close the shutters. “It is an insidious potion,” he said. “Half her guard remain under its influence. It causes great sickness to give it up once one has succumbed to its power.”

Eomer felt his stomach churn again at the mention of the substance. He closed his eyes once more, willing his body to remain under his own control.

“How can a substance have such influence?” Eowyn asked.

Jhov shook his head. “We know not - only that its consumption can subsume the will of another. But the militia have now come.” He looked to his wife. “We have done our part Mirri, it will end tonight.”

Eomer felt his sister shift, as though to speak.

"I do not know what strength we have for this task," Legolas said. "But count us among your number. We have as much reason to see these lands under steady rule as yourselves, and one of our own may well have been taken alive."

Eomer’s eyes flew open and he looked down to Eowyn. "Eowyn, why did you not speak..?" Fear washed over his limbs in a cold sweat. That she should lose her new found happiness because of him!

"Peace, brother," Eowyn said quietly. He could see that she was at the end of her strength, and worry for one loved one after another was wearing her down.

More memories assaulted Eomer’s senses: in his fingers a long, curved, knife - the press of Faramir’s body against his own as he pinned the other to the wall - words spat in rage and fear at the man who had brought light back to his sister’s world. He groaned quietly, squeezing his eyes shut in self-reproach.

"Your husband is alive," Jhov said somberly, and Eomer felt Eowyn turn away to hide her face. "But I do not know how any kind of rescue is to be achieved.”

Eomer took a deep steadying breath, drawing himself painfully out of past recollections. "I will kill them." Stepping forward to add his support, he tipped over a wine goblet as he stumbled.

Mitra quickly scooped up the goblet from between Eomer’s scrabbling fingers. “Do not worry yourself. The goblet held no wine, only water.”

Eowyn narrowed her eyes at the empty goblet and looked to Jhov. “I have an idea.”

---

They approached the palace from the south, inching along beside the two foot-high walls that spiraled from the entrance. Guards lounged at the palace boundary, confident in their numbers.

Peering over their limited shelter, Eomer could make out movement on the outcropping balcony. It was only by Eowyn's soft gasp that Eomer made sense of the distant sight. With a jolt that shook his resolve, he made out the silhouette of a gibbet.

They must hurry! He reached for Legolas in the darkness, and sensed Eowyn, Jhov and his men fall back into the shadows behind them. They had the advantage of numbers, but far more to lose. With hesitant fingers he took the bow and knife Legolas held out and strapped them to his own back and belt. Legolas then took the slenderest of daggers and slid it into his right boot. They could only hope that the first disclosure of weapons would disguise this last.

Eomer sighed before taking the Elf's arms and binding them before him, using a knot that looked sturdy but could be slipped.

He gritted his teeth at the foolishness of the plan, doubt making his fingers fumble on the rope.

"She has no power over you now, my friend." Legolas said quietly, and Eomer met his gaze reluctantly, feeling the ghost of sickness in his empty stomach.

He glanced up at the balcony. "She has power over us all until Faramir is returned safely."

"True enough," Legolas returned grimly, “but do not yet lose hope. We have the strength in numbers."

"Where is Eowyn? I cannot make her out in this accursed darkness."

The Elf gestured to their right but his own sight could not pierce the starless night.

"I hurt her," Eomer breathed as they waited for Jhov's signal. He rested his head in his hands, letting his hair fall forwards to briefly hide his face. "How shall she ever trust me?"

"You were not of your own mind. Do not forget that we too drank the poison. One dose was enough to feel her taint of madness and understand its potency."

Eomer could not make out the Elf's expression, but he heard the distaste beneath the words, and somehow they eased his mind a little.

"Besides," the Elf continued, "if we return from this mess I'd wager all will be forgot. If you return her husband safely she'll grant you half her prized mares before laying a finger of blame.”

"I hope you speak truly," he sighed, pushing his hair back and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Legolas cocked his head towards the faintest gleam of light to their right and he knew the militia were in position. "Are you sure about this?"

"Lead on."

---

Eomer schooled his features as he took the first steps up to the balcony. The night air was chill against his bare arms, but fear and anticipation kept his blood warm. The guards had let them pass - some blank faced as though bewitched and others sneering as he dragged Legolas towards the stairs by his wrists. He could feel the muscles in the Elf’s forearms tense in his hold as they passed this first hurdle.

His fingers shook as he held tightly to the stair rail. This was not warfare as he knew it! He despised deception, hated even the carefully crafted words bandied about in his own court. Even in this desperate quest he balked at hiding behind a lie.

Reaching the top of the stairs, his disgust gave way to anger. As he took in the scene, familiar grey eyes had already found his own and were seeking desperately for recognition. He tried to look away, the sight of his friend and brother roped to what he had first thought to be a hanging post threatening to undo his resolve.

As Faramir's gaze took in Legolas' bound hands and searched behind them for any sign of his sister, Eomer steeled himself against any reaction. He could see the Steward’s usually calm and controlled demeanor splintering as the other man's hands flexed suddenly in their bindings as though to reach out to him.

"Eomer..." Faramir’s voice cracked with disuse.

With growing apprehension Eomer took in the blood seeping through his brother-in-law's thin shirt at his side, and how his arms strained above him to be free, and knew not how he would return the man in one piece to his sister.

"Be still, my friend," Eomer heard Legolas speak softly, and at the intensity of the Elf's words Faramir seemed to take pause, allowing his arms to take his weight once more, watching.

"You have brought me a gift -"

Eomer's eyes snapped up at the sound - the lady had been watching them all along.

"- yet I wonder how this can be so."

The haze of her influence over him had faded, but even now she took his breath. Her dark gown glittered with bright stars and her strange smile, which he could clearly remember first seeing in Edoras now, was just for him.

"Have you not been very ill, my love?"

She approached him, holding out a hand to cup his chin, and turned his head so that she might see his face in the torchlight shining from the house. Her dark curls fell over his shoulders as she pressed herself closer. He saw the gleam of madness in her eyes now where before he had only seen passion. The hand on his cheek was cold, and as he nodded he smelt the familiar scent of her, his empty stomach reacting to her nearness.

Her fingers suddenly dug into his jaw and she allowed her nails to cut slowly into his skin.

As she examined his face he willed himself to breath steadily and show only confusion at her treatment. Another moment, and the tight grip eased. He was able to focus on her face again and could detect pride in the twist of her lips. She drew him forwards and pressed her mouth to his. It was the sorer trial, for unlike the pain the touch of her lips dredged up feelings of nausea and revolution that were far more difficult to ignore.

She stepped back at last, and Eomer breathed deeply through his nose, feeling Legolas and Faramir's eyes on his back. The scent of her still lingered, making his head swim.

Kaleri called out something into the house, and shortly after a servant girl emerged. The young girl's eyes took in Legolas kneeling behind Eomer, and then widened as she saw Faramir.

"Mistress?" Her voice trembled and Eomer pitied the girl, trapped here with her mad lord and lady.

"Bring ‘wine’ for our guests Darra, and fetch my brother. He must see what my King has brought me."

The girl fled back indoors.

"Now tell me the truth,” she said with a ring in her tone, turning her attention back to him. “Where is your sister? We must offer her the same hospitality as we have offered your other friends." He saw something creeping in her eyes, then, that he had not yet seen, even though he had known it was there. Madness lurking beneath a thin veil.

Eomer hesitated and pressed his hand to his stomach, feigning illness to delay the question.

"I know it hurts, my love,” she said, softening again. “We shall soon have you feeling yourself again. Darra!"

The girl appeared, trembling, her large eyes avoiding his. She handed the glass to Kaleri, and with a fearful glance at Eomer, fled quickly.

Ritan stepped out like a shadow behind her, briefly blocking the torchlight with his entrance. Eomer was relieved to see that the man was not dressed for combat, wearing only knee-length hunting boots, and a long loose fitting tunic.

As Ritan took in the party on the balcony with a half smile, Eomer was drawn quickly back into memories of their first meeting. The sounds and smells of Meduseld came back to him - drinks poured and offered by this dark-haired guest with smiling eyes - the sickness that came upon him that night - and the stirring doubt that he himself lacked the stomach for mead.

He breathed in the cold night air to clear his head, gritting his teeth to reign in a desire to strike this man where he stood. He cursed his own temper, and that of all of them he must be the one to play this role in their deception.

"I underestimated you, sister," Ritan said as he lifted a torch from its bracket on the wall and brought it towards Eomer’s face. “Your birds are flying back to the nest.” Eomer avoided looking at the bright flame, staring straight ahead as the man looked him over.

Kaleri took the wine from the girl and pressed it into Eomer's hands. Eomer stared down at the cursed liquid, bewildered as to how to react. Jhov and his friends had not expected this, or at least not so soon! A long moment passed.

"Do not drink it," Legolas said under his breath and Eomer steeled himself as Ritan stepped past him and took up the rope binding Legolas' arms. The sound of a scuffle followed as the man lifted the Elf by his arms and drove his knee into the other's chest. Shaken, Eomer heard the Elf spit.

Kaleri did not react, and watched Eomer closely as he raised the glass to his lips. Expecting the spicy tang of wine, he hesitated as simple water met his lips. He wondered if the servant girl had indeed understood the depth of her mistress’ insanity and had tried to help them. He swallowed visibly.

Kaleri raised her hands to his face once more, this time turning him towards the others and the dark grounds below. “Now, my love. It is time to tell us where your sister is hiding.”

Eomer swallowed again, fearful of her reactions. “I know not,” he began falteringly, unsure how he had sounded while bewitched. “I -”

The lady’s hand cracked across his face with such force that his vision dimmed. Staggering in shock, he reined in his impulse to grasp her wrists and force her into stillness. Her face had changed so quickly! Serene control to wild anger with so little prompting - like a frightened animal lashing out.

Faramir's voice, quiet but compelling, broke into his thoughts and allowed him a moment to recover his composure. "You may hold no love for the West, Ritan, but you must see now that your sister has fallen into madness."

Kaleri's eyes blazed at the words, and it was as much as Eomer could do to stop himself from catching her in his arms as she passed. Only a muffled gasp passed Faramir’s lips as the lady’s full body weight drove him back. Eomer flinched, seeing her elbow driven into the man’s injured side. “Lies!” she spat in his face.

Eomer heard his own breath roar in his ears, anger now pumping through him. He could not keep at this game any longer!

Despite Ritan's hold, Legolas continued his companion’s case with the same calm logic that Eomer could not muster within himself. "This must end here, Ritan. Do you think it is kindness to your sister to encourage her?"

"You speak to me of kindness? Who are we to show mercy?” He let go his grasp roughly, looking up at Kaleri in anger. “Did you not think to secure the Elf, sister? And how do you know this one remains under your influence?" He now eyed the weapons slung across Eomer's back. "We should string them up with the other, or just slay them where they stand. The woman will not return."

"I have come." The clear voice rang out from the grounds below. A sudden flame flared revealing Eowyn, sword in one hand, torch in the other, standing alone looking up at them.

Eomer took a breath of desperate relief. Eowyn’s appearance heralded the success of Jhov’s ambush. While lord and lady remained distracted on the balcony, perhaps even now Jhov’s men had breached the palace entrance and were making their way up the stairs within.

"Fetch her, brother, and our future shall once more be assured." Kaleri smiled with renewed confidence, and placed a hand upon Eomer’s bare arm.

Eomer silently gritted his teeth. Jhov’s former position as captain of the guard and their lady’s obvious disturbance of mind should give them the obvious advantage, but events could go either way from here.

The slight frown on Ritan’s forehead deepened as Kaleri made the request, and Eomer noted a shift of his eyes to Faramir and Legolas. Perhaps the seed of doubt had been planted well enough to give them another small advantage?

Eomer saw a gleam of lust in the man's eyes before Ritan spoke. "I shall bring her, but you must let me keep her." Eomer knew then that any hope of redemption or help from him was gone.

Eomer could not help his hand giving an involuntary twitch as Ritan waved for the two guards to accompany him down the stairs. The lady did not see it, and watched Eomer’s face, an eerie calm having returned to her bearing. "Shall I have you kill her for me?"

Eomer shuddered - what might have happened here had he not regained his senses?

He needed only wait until the man had gone far enough away, but the moments lasted hours. He unconsciously glanced to the side to ensure Legolas was ready, and at the shifting of his eyes knew that he had made a deadly mistake.

The lady's dagger, drawn with unnatural speed, sliced across his chest. He felt it cut through his skin only like the sting of a gnat, and it was the lady's weight upon him - dark hair falling into his eyes and her free hand tearing at his face - that had him reeling back in fear. He grappled for her wrists; her mad fury at his betrayal overwhelming his strength and determination to restrain the hand that held the knife.

Then after long moments the weight was suddenly lifted away and he could see again. Swallowing the words rising in his throat, he made out Faramir kneeling across the lady's back. Kaleri’s white knuckles still grasped the knife in the hand pinioned behind her...

"Eomer -" Faramir's strained voice broke him out of his stupor and Eomer rushed to twist the blade out of the lady’s clutching fingers. He placed his hands alongside Faramir's and the other man gasped and fell back.

As he secured the lady’s arms, Eomer could see out of the corner of his eyes that the Steward’s face had drained of colour and that he pressed both hands to the red stain at his side.

Faramir shook his head mockingly, wiping more blood from his cheek. "I do not know who engineered this rescue - but remind me to take them aside and teach them some common sense."

"The plan was Eowyn’s, and what you choose to teach my sister behind closed doors is none of my concern," Eomer grunted, and heard the other exhale an amused breath.

The sound of feet on the stairs drew their eyes, and for a moment Eomer feared that something had gone amiss below. Two blond heads ascended the stairs, standing out from their Easterling companions in the torchlight. Legolas carried an unconscious figure, and Eowyn followed. Her long blade gleamed with dark blood.

Kaleri shrieked as she saw it, and despite all he had endured Eomer momentarily pitied the lady for the fall of her sibling.

"He is not dead," Legolas said quickly, “however waste but a few moments and he may well be."

She stilled at once and allowed them to tie her, defeated for the moment.

Johv appeared, his cheek bleeding. “I may have another scar to match the first,” he said wryly, but looked satisfied with the night’s work.

As Ritan’s body and Kaleri were brought into the upper level of the house by Jhov’s guards, Legolas grasped Jhov’s shoulder. “There was a servant child,” he said, “by the name of Darra. We owe her a great debt of thanks. Please ensure she is safe.”

After setting her sword to rest, Eowyn also moved towards them. Eomer thought she moved awkwardly, wearily. Her eyes taking in the rope ends strewn across the balcony from where Legolas had freed himself and Faramir. She sank to her knees beside them, reaching forward to touch her husband’s face and press her forehead against his. No words were exchanged, but Eomer felt her palpable relief at finding them safe.

Her met her gaze, and with a great swell of affection received his sister’s now unflinching embrace. The knife slash on his chest burned with the contact, but he ignored it, so happy was he to be redeemed in her eyes.