It had been a long hard ride to the border of Isengard and Dunland. Lothíriel had stayed with Finglor in this hidden away cottage when they were waiting for the Rohirric forces to do battle with the Dunlendings. Lothíriel had thought it was for Finglor’s exclusive use, so she was surprised to have seen another there, even more so to find it was Gallend.
‘Amrod, I assume,’ she said archly as she entered the cottage. ‘I thought you said you didn’t have another name…’ Finglor looked enquiringly at the pair. Gallend had the grace to blush slightly.
‘I am a spy, my Lady, and spies tend to lie most convincingly. If they don’t, they don’t tend to remain spies for long, nor indeed alive….’ he quipped, smiling at her apologetically.
‘So, your father is right, you are a spy, just not for the Dunlendings’, she persisted. Gallend merely answered her with an engaging smile.
Gallend handed her a bowlful of stew and told her to eat it, while he talked. They would need to make some decisions very quickly and he could explain the rest to them later. Lothíriel was, however, exhausted and although she tried hard to stay awake to understand the nature of the threat they faced, she soon fell sleep after eating. She was still asleep when they left before first light.
On finally waking, she felt suspiciously groggy, even more concerning was the lack of any noise other than birdsong and the light rustling of wind in the surrounding forest. As she speedily ascertained she was alone in the cottage, she sped outside to find the horses gone.
Furious that Gallend had taken Geldsheen, she surmised that Gallend must have put a sleeping potion in her stew which would explain why she had been unable to stay awake to listen to their plans. In a rage, she stormed back to the cottage and ran straight into Treebeard. He had been standing guard with two other Ents, both of whom she had met before. Under normal circumstances, Lothíriel would have taken time and respect the slower rhythms of these mysterious tree herders who had been created by the Vala, Yavanna, to protect her beloved forests from the depredations of other races. They were an ancient race and had come over millennia to resemble the trees under their care, but the Entwives were believed to have been lost during the War of the Last Alliance at the close of the Second Age as the once fertile gardens they had tended were devastated by Sauron and became the Brown Lands to the east of The Wold on the other side of the great river Anduin. With no wives, there were no children and the Ents of Fangorn Forest were the last of their kind.
But these were not normal circumstances; she was in a hurry. ‘Where are they heading?’ she demanded of the Ents, trying not to sound petulant.
‘Well, let me see if I can remember all of what I heard last night. They’ve gone into Dunland to prevent a raid on a Dunlending village by some of Lord Galbrand’s men, who hope to lure some of the men of that village to take their revenge on any village in Rohan, which Galbrand’s men will utterly destroy, killing all witnesses, both Dunlending and Rohirric, as proof that the Dunlendings have violated the treaty, leaving Lord Galbrand with an excuse to invade Dunland while King Éomer is in The Wold, from which he is not likely to return as Lord Galbrand has betrayed King Éomer to the Grand Master of the Astari in Sennebar and has given him details of his campaign in The Wold, expecting King Éomer to be killed in the battle or by one of his Astari assassins he sent to infiltrate the court, giving Lord Galbrand the opportunity to make his bid for the Kingship. I believe that was the general outline,’ Treebeard eventually finished, the speech of the Ents usually being very long-winded and slow. By Entish standards, Treebeard had been exceptionally concise.
Lothíriel went numb. Her legs gave way under her and she collapsed onto Treebeard’s extended foot.
‘What can I do, Treebeard? I must be able to do something?’ she whispered to him. ‘Did Finglor say when he would come back for me? Are there any other horses here? If Gallend has taken Geldsheen, where is his horse? Could you show me?’ she looked up at him ashen-faced.
Gallend must have a horse nearby. She knew she would never find them in Dunland, but she could find Galbrand and take him prisoner, or kill him if need be. Or if she found another Mearas that would take her, she could ride the distance to The Wold before Éomer arrived there and she could warn him. What was it Gallend had said? Lie convincingly or die. And she thought that she was the actress!
She went back into the cottage and rummaged around loudly. ‘Treebeard?’ she went outside meekly. ‘Do you know if it will just be the two of them expected back or should I look to prepare more food for any other men who may be with them?’ she asked him innocently.
‘Harumph, that is a difficult question. He didn’t tell me anything specifically other than I needed to stay with you here for the next two days unless they came back sooner but I do think they were meeting some others….’
‘Well in that case,’ she interrupted, ‘I should probably go to the nearest village and buy some bread and vegetables. Some eggs and ale would be nice, but that would be too much to carry by myself. I can hunt for rabbits and pigeons, although I would rather not kill anything of the forest,’ she quickly added when she saw Treebeard’s reaction. ‘I can walk there. I know where it is. I’ll be gone about six hours, so I’d better leave now.’
Treebeard was slowly becoming what seemed to be almost agitated. ‘Now, now, little Lothíriel, let’s not be hasty, I am sure Gallend left enough food for you….’
‘Not that I was able to find, Treebeard, unless he told you of another storage area outside of the cottage. I have had a very good look. He left me these sovereigns, so he most likely expected me to go to get food for us all. Finglor would never have expected me to sit here all day doing nothing. You can walk to the edge of the forest nearest the village with me if you like, or I could take the horse and just do one trip much faster, otherwise I’ll have to go back tomorrow as well. I can cook you know, but to cook, I will need some food…’
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He was a superb horse, one which rivalled Firefoot. Treebeard had called him Elfwine, which meant elf friend in Rohirric. Lothíriel loved the name. She had been careful to hide her sword and other travelling kit in the hampers she had told Treebeard she needed to carry back the produce. She had left a note giving Finglor an outline of her plans. He would probably find her before she was able to enact any of them, unless she found a willing Mearas to ride first, which without Finglor was highly unlikely. It would take her more than two full days to ride to Elbrond.
On the first day she focused on all the possible scenarios of her plans. On the morning of second day she looked deep into herself. Who was she? Alatariel. What else from the depths of her mind could she remember hearing when she was only weeks old. She had not understood the words at that time, but she could recall the sounds she had heard and now she could make sense of them. What did she hear when the Dúnedain came from the North?
‘She reflects him.’ That is what they said. ‘She has the power to reflect him.’ She was sure those were the words spoken. ‘You will not have her. I will not have that Elf here.’ That must have been her mother saying those words, but the sound of her voice was so blurred. Sensing her mother’s anger, Lothíriel had started to cry. When she focused her mind, she found she could remember; she had wanted to say something, but could not formulate the words; she had felt something. She had only been weeks old but something had stirred deep within her. She had felt another’s presence. A mind within her mind, in another time, another…. She was almost flung off the horse.
Elfwine had swerved violently as two riders had tried to stop her in mid-gallop. She turned to assess the threat and pulled Elfwine up to a halt as soon as she realised it was Genting and Trondig. Before she could react further, Genting ordered her off the road. They had come through Elbrond looking for Gallend and it had caused suspicion. They were sure they would be followed although few in Rohan had access to the speed of the horses of Rohan’s Master of Horse. Nevertheless, Genting insisted they tacked across country until they came upon a stream which Trondig said would take them back to Elbrond. Eventually they stopped to rest the horses and let them drink from the stream. Only then could Lothíriel demand an explanation.
Genting had much to tell her. He had known for a long time that Gallend had been working alone to combat the threat from Dunland which his father had been slyly encouraging. Gallend had turned up at Genting’s mother’s farmhouse almost as soon as Théodred took to staying over there. It was the only place Gallend could meet Théodred in secret, when he was alone with someone Gallend trusted, and Gallend trusted Genting fully. The last time Gallend saw his cousin was at the farmhouse, a few days before Théodred was killed, to warn him that it was not just his father who was fomenting trouble in Dunland, but he had uncovered proof of Saruman’s treachery, the extent of which was too shocking to fully comprehend. Théodred had been intent on joining Gallend at the tumbledown cottage in Fangorn Forest to see this for himself, only he never made it from the Fords of Isen.
When Gallend had spoken with Genting in the courtyard of Galbrand’s mansion in Elbrond, it was to inform him of the urgency of getting a message to Finglor to meet him ‘in the forest’. Genting suspected that Galbrand was determined to somehow break the truce with Dunland, but he had been horrified to learn from Gallend that he would go so far as to kill his own people to do so. Once Lothíriel had explained to them both what she had learned from Treebeard, the extent of Galbrand’s treachery was laid bare in full.
‘An Astari assassin? In Rohan? Are you sure? I cannot believe that Galbrand would go so far as to pay the Astari to assassinate his King!’ he exclaimed.
‘I do not believe that Galbrand had originally thought to order this, but I suspect the Grand Master made the proposition to Galbrand in return for details of Éomer’s battle plans. Galbrand’s hatred of the Dunlendings has unhinged him so far from common sense, he would risk losing The Wold to the Easterlings to destroy Dunland. What can we do? I can’t lose him, Genting. It will destroy me to lose him like this…’ she cried.
Genting took her by the shoulders. ‘Lothíriel, whatever you heard in Edoras or Aldburg about Frea and Éomer is false. There is no plan, there never had been, for them to marry.’
‘But… everyone… seemed so sure…’ she stuttered.
‘Are you in love with him, Lothíriel?’ he demanded.
‘Of course I am! I have been from the first moment I saw him in the main House of Healing, how he cared for Éowyn, how much love he had for her.’
‘Why did you not tell Éomer this?’ he asked despairingly.
‘I did,’ she answered simply.
‘Lothíriel,’ Genting almost shouting at her in frustration, ‘he’s wanted to marry you since he first met you and has been trying to ask you to marry him since Aldburg.’ She looked at him blankly, incomprehension etched on her face.
‘What?’ she said shaking her head, ‘Genting, he’s the King of Rohan, he cannot marry me. Galbrand is right…’
‘And Éomer vehemently disagrees. All of those of us who know you disagree. This is his decision and his alone,’ he reasoned. ‘He knows his duty, Lothíriel, and he will have no other in his life, if you would share it with him…’
‘But I must fulfil my duty, Genting, I must destroy the Astari and I cannot do that… with him. I cannot marry him until it is done…’
‘Lothi, he understands that. He just wants to know that you would think of him as your future once it is done. That’s all he wants.’
Lothíriel paled. ‘Why didn’t he…?’ she started to say but looked at Genting not sure how much he knew. Genting took her hand and looked at her in empathy.
‘Lothíriel, my Lady, he knows he has to let you go but I believe if he were to love you as he wants, he would never be able to let you leave him. He wants you as his wife and he will wait for you.’
She stepped back from Genting, deep in thought, her mind adjusting to this new possibility. She closed her eyes and held her head up to the skies and focused within herself. Where was that hint of another’s presence, where within her was it hiding? Why could she remember so much so easily as if the knowledge had already been in her mind? She had felt she had ridden horses all her life as soon as she had mounted her first horse, her fighting skills were so advanced because she felt she had already been trained, languages came so easily too her because the words were already in her head. What am I? Where are you? Who are you?
She pushed through the storms raging in her mind, hurtling towards a fixed point in her consciousness. Suddenly all was calm; a surreal light permeated her consciousness beyond which she could see far back into the lives of her ancestors, all those who had been the architects of her being. She saw their sufferings, their hopes, their loves and their failures. They had all failed. She saw how and she saw why, and she allowed all that knowledge, all that pain, to be absorbed into her soul. ‘I see you,’ she said in her mind to all those who had gone before. And then he was there, revealed to her in the glory of his original form: Alatar the Maia. She felt his power and his love flow through her. She understood now who she was, how she was connected to him. So much became clear, her path was set.
When she came out of her trance, it was Genting who stepped back. Before him stood not the Lady of Dol Amroth but a woman of Elven majesty and grace.
‘I must go to him. I must stop this,’ she said quietly.
Withdrawing her mithril sword, heirloom of Harondor, she waded into the stream facing east. Emptying her mind to allow the power she had felt growing within her to enter it, she took the sword and pushed it into the ground bed of the stream as she knelt in the water. The stream had stopped babbling, the water itself went quiet. The water told her many things; it let her see beyond her eyes. She could feel them, the Mearas. They were listening to her through the water, and they started to move. She chanted in an ancient Elvish tongue, and she heard the others answering her. Genting and Trondig watched in silence and awe as she stood up, removed the sword from the ground, it was shining brightly from within, as was Lothíriel, when she turned towards them, her eyes were no longer green blue but glowed with the same bright light, only dimming as she came to herself.
‘They are coming,’ she said and turned to the north. They waited.
The ground began to tremble as six majestic Mearas came galloping towards them. Elfwine and the other two horses neighed a joyous welcome and went to greet them. They heard more Mearas approaching at speed, but these came with two riders. It was Finglor and Gallend. Finglor jumped off Maela and strode purposefully over to Lothíriel, while Gallend still astride Geldsheen went to speak with Genting and Trondig. Finglor grabbed Lothíriel by both shoulders and examined her intently.
‘I called them,’ she told him calmly. ‘We must go. It is time.’
‘Are you sure? Are you ready?’ he asked her fervently.
‘I will not lose anyone else I love to this hate. I would rather die, and I will if I must,’ she answered with steel in her voice. ‘He is with me. They connect me to him. I understand now what I am, and I will break the walls of Sennebar. Let us go.’
She moved towards Geldsheen. ‘Gallend,’ she commanded. ‘Geldsheen will not be separated from Maela, I will need to take him. Did you succeed in gaining the proof you needed? Proof of your father’s treachery?’
‘We did, my Lady Alatariel,’ he said dismounting before bowing to her with his hand over his heart as a sign of respect. ‘I will go now with Trondig and Genting and arrest him. Erkenbrand hid several men in the town for me to call upon in need, after Finglor had a word with him in Dunland. Éomer is such a bad liar, we decided it was best he didn’t know. I would be grateful to you if at some stage you could tell him I am not, nor ever have been a spy for Dunland, and also that I have a message from Théodred for him.’
Lothíriel walked over to the six Mearas who had answered her call and knelt down before them, her head bowed. Three of them moved forward towards her and she reached out her hand in thanks to each as they filed past and went to stand by the three Rohirrim.
‘Ride into Elbrond on these horses and you will have even less trouble persuading any of his retainers of their lord’s folly, and then you can ride swiftly enough to tell Éomer this yourself, Gallend. The horses will guide you to us in The Wold. Éomer will want you all there, his kin, for you are all of the bloodline of Éorl and it is strong in all of you. You have the right to ride them as they have themselves recognised…’
Conscious though they both were of the honour bestowed upon them by the Mearas, neither Gallend nor Trondig, acknowledged scions of the House of Éorl, were perturbed by the expectation of riding those which now stood before each of the men waiting to be mounted. Yet Genting hesitated, deep in thought. Other than his exceptional ability with horses, nothing in Genting’s ancestry had suggested that he was himself was of the blood royal.
Lothíriel and Finglor were already far into the distance by the time Gallend roused Genting from his confused thoughts.
‘I don’t know which is worse, Genting,’ he said to his friend with some degree of irony. ‘I had always hoped that my father was not my father but that Geldsheen allowed me to ride him confirms that I most likely am. Unless it was another of the House of Éorl my mother loved…’
Genting remained unexpectedly pensive; usually it was considered such an honour that no Rohirrim took the stain of illegitimacy badly when it came to the House of Éorl.
‘Look, Genting, all this means is that somewhere in the last 500 years a male member of the House of Éorl got up to no good with one of your female ancestors, not that there were ever that many members of the House of Éorl, we do have a habit of dying before our time, not that I wish to dishearten either of you…’ he added looking to Trondig for support.
‘I for one am glad to call you more than friend, Genting. This cannot surprise you. You were always the only one Maela would allow near her, not even I, an acknowledged descendant felt comfortable being so close. It makes complete sense.’ Trondig told his best friend.
‘I don’t want anyone to know this. Gallend, Trondig. Please. I am sure you are right, it will have been a misdemeanour a very long time ago, but I would prefer it, if this wasn’t discussed any further,’ he requested as he leapt on the stunning chestnut Mearas which had been nibbling his ear affectionately, nudging him to mount her and get on with their appointed task.
So spectacular was their arrival in Elbrond that Gallend barely needed to call upon those retainers loyal to Erkenbrand to overcome any opposition. Galbrand soon found himself isolated as his supporters either fled or did nothing to aid him as his son announced his arrest on the orders of the King, the presence of the Mearas only confirming his words.