Faramir Fiction Archive

East of the Moon (PG-13)

Written by IceAngel

14 July 2012 | 6000 words | Work in Progress

Title: East of the Moon
Author: IceAngel
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Faramir & Éowyn, Legolas, Éomer
Summary: Éowyn, Faramir and Legolas journey to Rhun to rescue Éomer from a mysterious threat. A four chapter post-rotk adventure tale written as a self-challenge.

This tale was written out of a challenge to myself. I wanted to write a four chapter post-rotk adventure story with one of my favourite characters featured in each chapter. The result of this method is perhaps a more sparse tale with less introspection and more action/adventure. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, would love to hear what you think and whether you plan to continue reading :)

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Chapter 1 – Éowyn

Éomer’s chest shuddered beneath her blood-stained hands and Éowyn held him closer. Over her brother’s laboured breathing she listened, but only the rustling of leaves and far off thunder reached her desperate ears.

“Éomer,” she whispered, her own voice unfamiliar to her in its grief and terror, “Éomer, do not leave me here alone.”

Fear for what might have become of Faramir and Legolas wracked what remained of her thoughts, and she nearly called out, wishing only for a sign they yet lived.

Weeks before

“It is not far now.” Éowyn rose in her saddle as she rode, hair streaming and eyes bright. The lofty citadel of Edoras rose proudly ahead as she topped the rise.

She turned in the saddle to where Faramir and Legolas rode some way behind alongside their guard. Beregond had remained in Ithilien due to his banishment from Minas Tirith, through which they had passed, but a small contingent of the white company had ridden forth.

She raised her hand, gesturing to Meduseld and the home of her ancestors, and saw Faramir raise an arm and a smile in response.

She saw Legolas looking ahead also, seeking the first glimpse of Edoras.

She wondered at the Elf accompanying them on this visit, but did not resent his presence. She was still new to her home and her marriage and had not yet come to know Legolas as her husband had. Legolas and Faramir had spent much time together in the establishment of the new colony while Éowyn had eagerly helped those making new homes in Ithilien, many having lost their previous homes in the war. In accompanying them to Edoras she hoped she might come to know him better.

She turned, smiling back at them again. “I would ride the harder for this last mile!” Her gallop outstripped the others in their party, and the thunder of hooves drummed great joy into her heart. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation.

Éowyn rode along the high stone and wood wall as she waited for the others to arrive, examining the repairs completed since the war, and the new spiked ramparts.

Returning to the gate, feeling flushed and exhilarated by the ride, she allowed Faramir to lift her down. He had removed his riding gloves and his hands were warm on her waist.

“I have never seen such speed,” he said into her ear.

She breathed deeply of the familiar Rohan air, regaining her breath, and enjoyed the lingering touch at her waist.

“Someone is coming to greet us,” Legolas said, squinting into the shadows cast by the warm sun.

Éowyn looked too, and recognised Heithin, keeper of the records since Éomer had taken up his Kingship.

The portly man was out of breath, his cheeks red and an expression of concern on his face. “We saw you from the city,” he said, still breathing hard.

“Good Heithin,” she grasped his hands within her own, “tell me, how fares Edoras since I departed? How fares my brother?”

Heithin seemed to take in in her exuberance and his words faltered.

“Do not say he is ill?” The happiness of a moment before fled quickly, slipping into concern.

Faramir took her arm as she glanced back to him.

“Not ill, my lady. I met you here at the gates as I would not have idle ears overhear what I have to tell you.

“Prey do not wait any longer then, give us your news.”

The King… he is gone…”

“Gone?” Faramir repeated. “He knew we were to arrive this day, did he not?”

“A party of Easterling diplomats came to the city some weeks since…”

Éowyn felt herself pale.

“Why came they not first to Gondor?” Faramir asked, brow furrowed.

“They claimed they wished to create new ties of friendship after long years of war. They came, so they said, out of the West, where they had traveled. They would visit Gondor too on their way back to their own country.”

“We have had no word of them,” Faramir said.

“I feared as much,” Heithin said, and sweat beaded on his brow. “They showed us no ill will while they stayed, and indeed spent many nights in the company of the cityfolk, entertaining with tales and songs.

The Lord King Éomer… he began to spend more and more time in the company of one of their ladies.”

Heithin did not meet Éowyn’s steady gaze.

There was talk of a diplomatic visit, a party from Rohan traveling to the East. That is why, when the King was found to be missing this very morning, I hesitated to call out the riders.

“Could it be that he simply went to farewell the envoy?” Legolas suggested, the worry on Heithin’s face showing that it wasn’t a very likely possibility.

“Perhaps we can gain some clue from his chambers,” Faramir suggested, “Have they been searched?”

“Not yet, his disappearance only just being discovered, I did not wish to alert the city until we were sure.”

“Let us go then, and not waste any more time, it may well be precious”.

“And he left no note or sign?” Éowyn asked as they climbed the stairs to the hall.

“None that I have discovered, lady, but I have not yet searched thoroughly.”

When Heithin turned the key and pushed open the door of Éomer’s room an undisturbed chamber met their eyes. There were bright green wall hangings and comfortable chairs; all seemed in order.

Éowyn stepped into the room after the other three, and the only thing that seemed to her out of the ordinary was the stuffiness of the chamber, as though it had not been aired for some time.

Faramir had gone straight to the writing desk, sifting quickly through papers.

She herself opened the cupboard, peering inside at the garments.

“This is strange,” she said, “There are many clothes missing.” She pointed out the gaps where garments would ordinarily have hung. “What kidnapper would take the time to prepare clothes for the ride?”

“This too seems odd.” Faramir showed them several documents where the ink trailed off into a long scrawl mid sentence, as though Éomer had lost his chain of thought. “I do not like this.” He looked to Éowyn, “We should check the stables to see what has been taken.”

“Could you see it it, Heithin?” Éowyn asked

Heithin left them, and Éowyn sank down onto the bed. “This is not the homecoming I looked for.”

“I wonder if they knew of our coming,” Legolas said, “to have departed the night before we arrived.”

Éowyn heard something rustle at her side, and rummaged beneath her, pulling out a crushed piece of parchment that had been hidden under the cushions.

“What is this?”

Unfolding the paper carefully…

“The stables at midnight. Let none follow.”

Faramir took it from her. “It is scented, do you think perhaps…”

“I do not doubt it,” Éowyn said, standing quickly and looking out the window. “What kind of witch is this foreign lady to entrance my brother so?”

“A lady does not need to be a witch to gain such power over a man,” Legolas said, then at Éowyn’s flashing eyes, continued, “There is something unnatural, however, in this, and I fear for your brother’s safety.”

“To leave no note or message…” Faramir continued, “he was clearly not of his own mind.”. She felt Faramir take her arm and turned from the window. “What should we do? What do we risk by alerting the city to his departure? What danger are we placing Éomer in if we take riders and guards and follow in their tracks?”

None of them spoke for some time.

“We can tell no-one,” Éowyn whispered, and Faramir and Legolas did not contradict her.

Heithin offered to accompany them, but it took little to convince him the dangers of the situation. If the trail led towards Rhûn, their journey could last weeks, even months.

As it was they must needs wait until nightfall to depart, for they could not risk even the White Company knowing of the departure.

In the darkness of the night, Éowyn pulled the hood of her cloak more tightly about her face and readied their horses, fretting at the delay.

As she did so she overheard Faramir’s words to Heithin. “If you have not received word in one month, send this to Gondor. Ensure it is handed to none other than the King.” He looked grim, and Éowyn did not need to wonder why. She had never traveled to the East, but memories of the conflict of the war of the ring convinced her that even should they be welcomed by some, many would not welcome people of Gondor or Rohan.

She had only finished making ready their steeds when Faramir spoke close by, his beard brushing her cheek. “Gather your own belongings and we’ll be ready to depart.”

She looked to him and saw at once his gray face and tired eyes. She had paid little heed to those around her as they prepared, intent on packing what they would require to survive should they be forced to follow the Easterlings into the heart of their own land. Now she allowed her gratitude that she was not alone in this volatile mission to show, and brushed her hand over his worried brow.

He relaxed under her touch, and grasped her tightly to him for the briefest moment. “We will find him”.

They steadied their sights and departed Edoras. It was hoped that their departure would not be remarked upon. As they rode she spared no thought for the company of Ithilien they had left behind and what they might think when they awoke to find their lords and lady gone. There had been no time to invent a story to explain their return, and she could only hope Heithin would think of something in their absence.

Despite her desire to see more of the world, riding into unknown lands brought Éowyn no joy. Any pause in their pursuit burned her like a slow fire, and she could barely take food while they yet began the long journey.

Sheltering under a light canopy of leaves as heavy rain drenched through to her undergarments, Éowyn barely recalled the hope with which she had set out from Emyn Arnen.

It had been over a week since leaving Edoras, and as they had feared the trail still led north-east. Crossing the Endwade and skirting the most ravaged areas of the Wold, their quarry was drawing them steadily towards Rhûn

During the long days, she wondered whether they had been foolish to set off alone and not alert a stronger force to Éomer’s disappearance,. It was only when she reminded herself of the letter they had found, of how Éomer must have been compelled in some way to follow the Easterlings back to their own land, she knew they had been wise to have caution.

The small fire flickered and sputtered in the rain, giving very little heat.

“You are kind to come with us, Legolas,” Éowyn said, not for the first time, watching the Elf carefully peeling a fruit with deft fingers.

“Rain is of no concern to me,” Legolas said, and indeed he seemed to barely feel the cold that had reached her very bones.

“Legolas is always perfectly turned out,” Faramir put in, his small smile only a little jealous. He wiped a streak of mud from his own cheek to demonstrate the point.

“You should have known me in younger days,” Legolas said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Éowyn tried to imagine the Elf as a child, but could not quite conjure the image.

“Do tell me, Legolas, how it was to live in Mirkwood as a child? We are on its borders now, after all, and I know so very little outside my own homeland.”

As she waited for him to reply, the rain eased a little, and the flames of the fire grew stronger. She tugged at the sleves of her cloak, curling her fingers further into its warmth.

Legolas’ eyes seemed misty, perhaps with recollection, perhaps reluctance.

“Look up to the night sky, to the stars,” he said at last, “then see how the sparks from the fire reach upwards, and the colour of the firelight on the trees.”

Éowyn followed the bright red sparks up into the sky, until her vision blurred and she saw a haze of distant stars and firelight. The trees around them were lit with a burnt light, and she saw Legolas and Faramir in the firelight too as though somehow changed; Legolas’ sharp jaw and keen eyes softened and Faramir’s usually gentle eyes reflecting the flames. She no longer felt the cold.

“That was Mirkwood,” Legolas said softly, his voice not disturbing her vision, “but always behind the dancing lights and laughter lay a distant menace. See the shadow cast by the flames, behind every tree, beneath every bow, shadows…”

Éowyn could not help but shift her eyes behind the Elf, opening them wider to see further into the deep darkness out of their small circle of light. The smallest noises drew her ears and she tensed, feeling foolish that so suddenly she should become aware of these things, and that fear should rise so stiflingly inside her until she almost spoke it aloud.

“Ah, the words of Elves, my friend…” Faramir’s steady voice broke into the world her mind had made for itself.

Éowyn shook herself and looked back to the fire.

Chapter 2 – Legolas

Legolas dropped from the tree in which he had been crouching with the silence of a cat.

Éowyn pressed her hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out in surprise. “Legolas,” she hissed after she had recovered herself, “how long have you been hidden?”

There were tears on her cheeks, and he could see from the tautness of her movements that she was on the very edge of panic.

“Only a moment,” he said quickly, putting his hands down over hers and feeling them tremble. He gently pried them away and bent to examine Éomer’s shaking body.

“He has no wound,” she said, seeing Legolas frown at the blood on her hands. “The blood is from my own small hurts. I fear Éomer’s ailment is the poison.”

Legolas frowned, noting the young man’s tightly shut eyes and clenched jaw. “Perhaps this fever is no bad thing, the poison may be working its way out…”

“I had thought so too,” she admitted, “but did not allow myself to believe it. Even so, what can we do?”

“I can support him.” Legolas spoke with conviction, but Éomer’s build was far heavier than his own, and he doubted his ability to move the man very far. “From the canopy I saw the edge of the forest, it is not so very far. Perhaps we can find help.”

He threaded his arm beneath Éomer’s left shoulder and Éowyn did the same on the right. With great exertion they were able to lift the half-unconscious man upright, and with Éowyn whispering urgent encouragement they set their steps towards the forest border.

A week before

They had come to the Brown Lands without sight or sign of anything but the horse-trail they followed. Legolas was wearied by the barren landscape and longed for trees and wildlife.

They had spoken little that morning, Éowyn visibly drained by concern for her brother, and Faramir anxious beneath a calm exterior.

Legolas rode last in line, the shimmering horizon and shifting white-fletched arrows in Faramir’s quiver ahead of him reminding him disconcertingly of gulls over a quiet sea.

There were no birds here, and no quarry for their bows. He had seen doubt beginning to creep into his friend’s eyes the further they travelled, and increasingly noticed the Steward’s eyes lingering on his wife as she rode ahead.

Legolas was not surprised by the concern, and only wondered that no words had been spoken previously about Éowyn’s fitness for the journey. With little or no experience of travel it had been a somewhat rash decision for them to set off alone, but he would not have been the one to face her quick temper in suggesting otherwise. There was much valour, too, in her care for her brother. He was ready to admit to himself that their eagerness to depart alone in this endeavour was born out of fear for their friend’s safety, but no more sensible plan had come to him since.

It was nearing mid-morning when the hazy red blur ahead formed into shifting sands. He frowned at the sight. It was already some time since they had come across water and their supplies were not what they would have wished.

Their horses’ hooves slipped as they left the marshy lands, accustoming themselves to the new terrain. Legolas and Faramir shared a look, the warmth of the sun suddenly unfriendly on their backs and necks.

They paused to rest mid afternoon, sitting in the shadow of their horses, for no other shade was to be found.

Legolas looked with concern to his companions. Éowyn had thrown a scarf over her head to keep off the worst of the sun, but her cheeks were flushed.

“I cannot abide heat,” she said for the fourth time that day, pulling at the skirts which clung to her legs.

“Let us make no plans of moving here then,” Faramir murmured, eyes closed, and hand questing for his waterskin instead of resting on his sword hilt.

“Oh for the cool rivers of Ithilien!” Éowyn sighed, smiling at some memory. “Have you ever swum bare under the moon, Legolas?”

Faramir choked on the water he had raised to his lips. “Éowyn!”

“Take care, my lady”, Legloas cautioned, amused, “we do not have water to waste on your husband’s incredulity.”

Éowyn had lain back on the hot sand, eyes closed too now, and a small smile at her lips.

“Come friends,” Legolas said suddenly, rousing them. He could see that his companions were slipping into a drowsy stupor.

“A little longer,” Éowyn pleaded, “we shall ride the harder for it.”

“Come, lady, before I resort to telling the tale of Estel and I finding two woodelves in the Entwash – that would make your husband start.”

Éowyn reached her hands up and Legolas pulled her to her feet, laughing.

Faramir glared at them both. “I will say nothing,” he said, “and keep my dignity.”

“It did not take long for you to forget your dignity that night,” Éowyn teased.

He sprang to his feet and made to catch hold of her but she sidestepped him easily, “or your clothes!”

“See what I must endure, Legolas?”

Legolas reached up and secured his belongings to his mare. “You chose your own path, my friend, with eyes open.”

“Hmm.” Faramir swung himself up into the saddle, patting the side of the horse’s head fondly. “Had I known earlier of the Rohirrim’s sense of humour I may have thought twice.” The words were in jest, but all three were reminded of Éomer and the thought was sobering.

Éowyn was truly suffering by the next afternoon, her fair skin quickly reddening in the harsh sun.

The night had been another endurance, the heat giving way to the extreme chill of the night. They had huddled together, horses whining

“We cannot go on much further,” Legolas heard Faramir say quietly as they rode side by side. “Even now I do not know that we can endure the return journey.”

A bright spark on the horizon caught Legolas’ eyes and he lifted a hand to shade his eyes.

“What see you Legolas?” Éowyn asked, desperation tinging her words.

“I am not sure yet. A bright glimmer, like sun on steel.”

Faramir’s hand went immediately to his sword hilt.

As the companions moved slowly on, Legolas also saw trees in the far distance, and make out the shapes to be those of men. They were on foot, but many times outnumbered their small party.

“As we agreed,” Faramir said under his breath.

Éowyn was on edge, Legolas did not need to look closely to see it. She made herself relax at the words, but her lips were still tightly pressed together.

Legolas had encountered the Easterling people before, but only on the battlefield. He quickly took them in now, dark skin, hair and eyes, their clothing wrapped and light fabric, loose enough to brave the desert heat. Every man carried a weapon.

A cry went up as they were sighed, and Legolas saw the party spread defensively as they approached.

“Hail and well met,” Legolas said when they drew close enough to converse, and the three of them bowed in greeting. They had dismounted and sheathed their weapons in a show of peace.

“Strangers are not welcome here.” The man at the head of the Easterling band stepped forwards, curved blade un-sheathed. He was broad-shouldered and dark of hair and eyes. A wheal crossed the side of his set jaw.

“We seek a lost lord, Éomer, King of Rohan. We have come from far to find him.” Legolas took care not to imply in word or look that these men knew anything of the disappearance.

“We do not see many Westerners in these lands. I would advise you to return to your country.” The man shifted and Legolas tensed, unsure whether the words threatened repercussions should they not heed the advice. The man’s clothes did not seem to be battle garb, merely loose-fitting wrapped garments, suitable for braving the desert heat.

“Come Jhov, let us welcome these travelers.” Another man emerged from the group and placed his arm upon the arm of the first, forcing him to lower his blade. This second man’s soft voice was accented, but less so, and there was something aristocratic in his bearing.

He moved to grip Legolas’ forearm in greeting, embroidered silk garments moving softly in the wind as he stepped forwards. The touch of the man’s hand was cold and firm upon his own.

“Forgive me,” the man continued, “You are an Elf are you not?”

Legolas felt the men’s eyes on him, but did not sense their stares were unfriendly, merely curious.

“I am Legolas of nearby Mirkwood,” he said, “and with me rides Féle and Terra, faithful attendants to Rohan’s royal family. Our concern for our King drew us here, but as you see we were not prepared.” He gestured to the near-empty water skins, hoping to convey in these terms that they posed no threat.

“I am Ritan,” the tall man said in reply, seemingly amused at their lack of supplies. He turned his head to say said something to the men in his own language, long dark hair gleaming in the sun. Legolas caught Jhov’s darkening look behind the man’s back.

“The safety of this estate is my charge, Ritan,” Jhov said as the Ritan turned back to them. “Would you trust these three of whom we know nothing? I say we make them a gift of sufficient supplies and send them back on their way.”

“Do not fear,” Ritan said quickly as he saw the three companions sharing looks. “Your lost King is found, and I shall not send you back into the friendless wilds. Follow and you will be fed, watered, and reunited.”

“Thank you,” Éowyn said, her voice showing her relief at finding kindness where they had expected hostility.

“It is nothing.”

Jhov’s eyes darkened further, but he said nothing, sheathing his weapon and turning to lead the way. Legolas determined to keep a sharp eye on the man.

Legolas sensed Faramir tense beside him as Éowyn allowed Ritan to take her arm, but without further question they followed the group of men towards the distant trees.

Legolas staggered again under Éomer’s weight as they came to the edge of the forest. Éowyn halted too, panting.

“There is a house ahead,” Legolas said quietly, still fearing pursuit.

“Where?” Éowyn could not yet see, but followed as he drew them over the small creek.

The house was small and rickety. Legolas wondered at anyone living there.

Sun-bleached walls and a small cobbled together garden of succulents.

Legolas paused with a hand on the stone well as they reached the front door, and took all Éomer’s weight as Éowyn pounded violently upon the door. It was flung open, and a young lady with dark eyes peered out at them. Suspicion flittered across her features, but changed quickly as she saw past Éowyn to where Legolas supported her brother.

“Come… come,” she said quickly, pulling the door wide for them and searching the landscape behind them.

“We thank you.” Éowyn thanked the lady many times as they maneuvered Éomer through the narrow hall into a small dark room with two beds. Éomer groaned loudly as Legolas set him down.

“Mitra,” the lady said, and her accent was far thicker than any they had yet encountered.

“I am Terra,” Éowyn returned, remembering, even in her fear, the name they had chosen for her, “and this is Legolas… and Éomer. We think he has been poisoned.”

Mitra frowned. “Poison…” she repeated and Legolas saw her grasp of their language was not strong.

She said something they did not understand and bustled out of the room.

Éowyn sank down on the bed, a cloud of dust stirring around her, just as Éomer seemed to stir. His eyes flew open and seemed not to see his sister, but some other horror.

“Demon,” he hissed, and Éowyn recoiled. “Give me my sword and I shall show the meaning of deception.”

Days before

Legolas looked into the glass and hesitated. He did not ordinarily wear anything other than his own practical attire, but it seemed ungracious to refuse the hospitality offered.

Sighing, he pulled the elaborately stitched waistcoat over the other strangely wrapped and tied garments, which had taken some time to puzzle out.

He would that they had been taken directly to see Éomer, but instead a servant girl had led them up a staircase to the very top of the house and into these chambers.

From a distance Legolas had believed it to be a house, but as they had drawn nearer, a small palace would have been a better description. The grandeur of it astounded him; carpeted hallways and elaborate stonework lined the rooms and corridors, and the main staircase banners curled upward until they twisted into the carved heads of wolves on the upper balcony.

Éowyn and Faramir had appeared as shocked as himself, none of them having anticipated so much luxury in this barren landscape. He himself had expected some den of rogue bandits, in which Éomer was being held against his will; the eager hospitality was disconcerting.

A soft knock on the door put him on edge, and he reached for his knife, slipping it into his boot before casting a last glance at his bow.

Faramir was outside his door when he opened it, the heavy hinges creaking.

His friend looked as uncomfortable as he himself felt, having matching garments to the Elf, but in blue instead of green.

“This is an odd rescue mission,” the Steward said, and Legolas caught the glint of steel as the other man concealed his own blade amid layers of cloth.

Éowyn appeared behind her husband, and the scarlet dress that had been laid out for her took even Legolas’ breath. Éowyn was tugging at a gold waist tie, frowning. She held her own long blade at her side.

“Éowyn,” Faramir said, after taking in her appearance, “my love, whatever your skill in disguise you shall not succeed in concealing that blade.”

Éowyn frowned further at their amused expressions. “I know it, but I did wish… never mind…”

She slipped the blade into the bedroom and carefully shut the door. “Come then. I will use my bare hands if I must – or perhaps I may purloin a knife from the dinner table!”

At the base of the stairs Jhov met them. He still wore his dusty clothes from their first meeting, and the derision in the man’s eyes made Legolas feel uncomfortably overdressed.

“It is time for me to return to my own home. Enjoy your meal, and I caution you, do not overindulge in drink. The wine is strong and the risk of foolish words stronger still.”

This last was said beneath his breath, and Legolas watched the man as he turned and left by the front door.

Legolas did not know whether it had been threat or warning, but he would stay all the more alert for it.

“Welcome guests from far lands.” A melodious voice, slightly accented echoed through from the further chamber.

Éowyn’s expression darkened, and she clenched her fist at her side.

Faramir placed a hand on her arm. “Let us first see what we are to face.”

Legolas led the way into the sparkling dining hall. Candles of all shapes and sizes spread across the tables and sideboard. A glittering chandelier drooped from the ceiling, shining as though made from mithril. Soft light filled the chamber and Legolas saw Éowyn search the room quickly for Éomer.

There were only two figures at the large table. Apart from their dark hair and eyes, there was a similarity about them that made Legolas suspect they were related.

Legolas quickly recognised Ritan from their meeting outside the palace.

“The lady Kaleri,” the young man said, indicating to his female companion. “My sister.”

“Welcome to our home.”

“Where is King Éomer?” Éowyn asked at the first opportunity. Despite her delicate dress Legolas wondered they did not quail under her gaze.

The lady Kaleri, who wore soft wrapped silken garments, more revealing than those that would be seemly in Gondor, approached the three and took Éowyn’s hands in her own. She was older than Éowyn by some years, and by comparison seemed graceful and languid where Éowyn was impulsive.

There was a reassuring calm about her person, and a strong perfume that reminded Legolas of something familiar.

“Worry not, your King is safe and well. He will join us shortly, and you will see with your own eyes.”

The lady took Faramir and Legolas’ hands in turn, Éowyn’s eyes darkening as she did so, and they told her their names.

“Legolas.” She ran the name over her tongue, her bright red lips seeming to enjoy the sound. Legolas shifted slightly, finding something personal in her look that made him uncomfortable.

Ritan made no move to greet them further, lounging in his chair at the table, and waved a hand for them to join him.

“Come sister, do not make these poor travelers wait longer for the nourishment they have so long missed.”

They took their seats at the table, Éowyn by the side of the lady and Legolas and Faramir opposite. The food was heavily spiced, as was the wine. After their long journey any food was welcome, but the feast was particularly delicious, and although because of the spices Legolas drank more wine than he ordinarily would have, he felt content.

Éowyn barely touched her food or drink, and seemed intent on waiting until Éomer appeared.

“You do not say,” the Lady Kaleri said after the first course was done, “why you have travelled all this way, into such dangerous conditions. I do hope it is not to carry any ill news.”

“Éomer is our lord and our friend,” Faramir said, continuing to choose his words carefully, “and when he left without word…”

“Without word?” The lady looked incredulity to her brother. “Ah I see there has been some mistake. The lord Éomer left word that he would be paying us a short visit. We never dreamed it would cause trouble.”

The long trailing diamonds at Kaleri’s ears shone in the candle light as she laughed.

Legolas felt himself reassured, perhaps this was no more than a mis-understanding. This lord and lady appeared amused by the trouble they had caused. Perhaps there was only vain thoughtlessness and not maliciousness in their actions.

Éowyn still appeared unsatisfied, and dropped her spoon to the table to break the tinkling laughter.

At the same moment a noise from the hall caught their ears and all five looked up.

Framed in the doorway lit by candles was Éomer. Éowyn was immediately on her feet, only Faramir’s quick hold on her skirt preventing her from running to her brother to see for herself he was well.

“My lord,” she managed.

Éomer stepped further into the chamber, his long hair outlined by the shifting candlelight.

“Ah, here is the one you have come far to seek!” Kaleri rose and drew Éomer further into the room.

“Well met,” Éomer said flatly. The lack of recognition in his tone Legolas wondered whether some danger was truly threatening them.

“Did you hear, Éomer? The message of your journey did not reach your subjects,” Ritan said, a twist to his mouth.

Éomer’s face was still in shadow, and his lack of reaction was unnerving. Out of the corner of his eye he could feel Éowyn yearning to be sure, but with the disguises they had assumed it would make more sense for Legolas to first greet their king.

“My King,” he bowed deeply, feeling his companions do likewise. “Forgive your loyal subjects for coming all this way on a futile errand.”

Legolas and his companions are indeed loyal to come all this way,” the lady said.

“Legolas, aye,” Éomer moved to clasp the Elf’s arm in greeting, and at last Legolas could see Éomer’s face. He was slightly reassured. The horselord looked as he ever did, broad-shouldered, hearty, even more so, Legolas thought, than usual. The vest worn by the rider over loose pants revealed muscled upper arms, which shone in the candlelight. Legolas thought the lady Kaleri too had her eyes on their friend.

“Are you well, my lord?” he asked, eager to be sure.

“I am, my friends, though hungry!” Éomer seated himself and quickly reached for what remained of the dish closest to him

Éowyn, for whom he had not spared a glance, glumly took her own seat, but did not touch the dessert they were shortly served.

“This lady,” Éomer said after he had consumed half a glass of the spiced wine and waving his spoon in Kaleri’s direction, “is the finest lady in all this land.”

Ritan was watching his sister with eyes lit up by the candles, smirking at Éomer’s declaration. “She is one of the only ladies.”

Legolas distinctly saw the lady’s hand reach to Éomer beneath the table as she glared at her brother.

“More wine, my lady?” Faramir said quickly, forcing the lady to reach and take the bottle he offered.

Éomer’s eyes seemed slightly glazed, and Legolas wished himself well out of the hall.

Éowyn rose to her feet, apparently feeling the same. “Forgive me my lords, my lady. I am much fatigued by our journey and must retire.”

Faramir and Legolas rose also, half hoping Éomer would accompany them to their rooms and explain himself, but the King of Rohan was contentedly gazing at the lady and did not even notice them leaving.

To be continued…

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