“Captain Thorongil, you are under arrest—on the charge of treason.”

The words seemed to reverberate again and again in the minds of Thorongil and Morwen. This was all so unexpected, so unbelievable… All they could do was stare at Eothald as if he’d gone mad. This had to be some sort of elaborate prank. But in a moment, Eothald made it all too clear that he was anything but joking.

The guards still seemed a little hesitant to arrest Thorongil, who was renowned for his fighting skills. They feared Heolstor, and they’d never see their part of the reward if they didn’t do this—not to mention that they could never dare to disobey his orders and hope to get away with their lives—but Thorongil was to be feared as well. Even if they had no love for the captain, they had a certain amount of respect for him, or at least for his skill. Their eyes fell to the sword at his side, and then turned questioningly back to Eothald.

“I said arrest him,” Eothald said angrily.

The guards moved forward obediently. Morwen watched their proceedings with mounting anger, as one of the men brought forth a set of manacles. Thorongil frowned, but held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Please, there is no need for force; I have done nothing, but I will go without a fight.”

But the men paid no attention, locking the first manacle around his wrist, and wrenching his arm around behind his back to secure the second. He winced as his arms were forced into the awkward position, but didn’t offer any resistance.

Morwen, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly so calm.

“Eothald, you will stop this at once.” As Eothald didn’t seem too impressed, she turned to the guards, two of whom now gripped Thorongil’s arms. “Release Thorongil immediately.” The guards didn’t move, but kept their hold on the captain.

Eothald smiled indulgently. “You see, your Majesty, they know who’s in charge here. I suggest you go to your rooms.”

Morwen glowered. “And I suggest you go to Mordor, Lord Eothald.”

The indulgent smile left Eothald’s face in a flash. “You go too far, my Lady.”

“Oh no, it is not Iwho goes too far.” She gave a disgusted look at the guards who detained Thorongil. Apparently these men were either bribed, or stupid. Surely some of the palace guards would listen to herorders over Eothald’s. She called as loudly as she could, “Guards!”

Eothald shook his head as she continued to repeat the call. “As you can see, Lady Morwen, these,” he motioned towards the men behind him, “are the only guards present. And, they listen to mycommands. And my commands are to take this traitor to the dungeon.”

If Eothald had had any remaining sense, he might have been frightened at the way the tall woman before him flared in anger, standing up to her full, and rather imposing, height. As it was, he ignored her, turning nonchalantly to the guards and motioning languidly.

“Take him and lock him up securely.”

“No!” Morwen protested, although she knew by now how futile words were with Eothald.

Eothald took her firmly by the elbow, as two of the guards began to pull Thorongil in the other direction. “I think it is time you took some rest, Majesty. All this is straining on your emotions. Allow me accompany you to your rooms…”

Thorongil shot her a glance over his shoulder, and Morwen could see the conflicting helplessness and concern in his silver eyes. She made up her mind. Or perhaps she moved without thinking at all. In any case, it felt like the right thing to do, at the time. She jerked her arm away from Eothald’s grasp—and made a fist. The men dragging Thorongil away paused to watch. It wasn’t every day you got to see the queen of Rohan punch one of the lords.

Before Eothald saw what hit him, she’d struck him square in the face, knocking him backwards a step. He stood stunned for a moment, then his hand reached up to gingerly touch his nose, coming away bloody.

“It would seem the Queen is even more distraught than I believed.” He looked meaningfully at the two guards who’d remained close by him. “She needs a…reliable escort.”

Recognizing the fact that now was not the time to question or hesitate, the guards gritted their teeth, and grabbed the queen’s arms as firmly as they dared.

Morwen wasn’t sure what she was attempting to accomplish by struggling. If she’d stopped to think rationally she might have realized the futility of her actions. But struggle she did, and for a split second she even escaped from the guards’ bruising hold on her. However, they were quick to react, and lunged to grab her again. In her frenzy to escape, she all but forgot about her twisted ankle. Of course, as soon as she tried to run away, the ankle instantly reminded her. With a surprised cry of pain, she fell to one knee.

It was too much for Thorongil to stand. Every muscle in his body had tensed in anger when he’d seen the guards grabbing the queen to physically force her to come with them. Even if he hadn’t promised the king that he would take care of Morwen, his first instinct would have been to protect her. Now, as he heard her cry out in pain, he couldn’t bear it any longer. He hardly felt the guards’ grip on his arms, or the manacles that held his wrists, only the sudden unstoppable urge to run to her aid, drowning out all former vestiges of calmness.

“My Lady!”

He would have rushed to her side, but inevitably, the guards were able to catch him long before he reached her. One of them grabbed hold of his arms again, while the other punched him in the stomach twice in succession, robbing his lungs of air. Involuntarily, a grunt of pain escaped him as he doubled over against their hold.

“I wouldn’t have suggested that, Captain. The guards will get you to your cell eventually, no matter what you do. The odds are against you, and that was not a wise move.” Eathol grabbed the still-struggling Morwen by the arm, pulling her to her feet. “This way, my Lady.” When Morwen tried jerking her arm away a second time, he pulled her closer and whispered meaningfully, “If you wish it to go easy on your dear Captain Thorongil, I would strongly recommend you don’t show any more resistance.”

It was all too obvious what he meant. Even now, the guards didn’t seem to think Thorongil was nearly compliant enough, responding to even his smallest movements by showering him with blows. As Morwen was pulled unwillingly to her feet, he started again, following her with his eyes, giving her weak smile of regret. Then he was pulled roughly to his feet and shoved forward.

Morwen glared icily at Eothald, who, with two guards in tow, “escorted” her down the hall, but she offered no further resistance. She couldn’t risk doing anything if it meant Thorongil might pay the price. She didn’t even want to think about what that price might be. All her struggling was futile at the moment, but inwardly she was far from defeated. Gathering the threads of her dignity around her, she entered her room without protest. In the doorway, she paused to face Eothald.

“I don’t know what is wrong with you, Eothald, or what you are trying to accomplish, but let me tell now, you won’t get away with this. Thorongil is innocent. No one but you would even think to accuse him of treason. Anyone in their right mind will see this accusation for the lie it is. I will see Thorongil freed before the night is finished, and you on your knees begging for forgiveness.”

Eothald only laughed. “Brave words, your highness, but rather rash. You have nothing to support you.”

“No? I have the King and the rest of Rohan to support me. I believe the odds are rather in my favor.”

“The King does not return for some time yet, and in the meantime I am the one who makes decisions.”

“Ah, but you can not try him without the King’s knowledge.”

“Perhaps not. But I can keep him locked up securely until the King returns. In the meanwhile, I plan on dredging up every piece of evidence I can find. In the end, I will see Thorongil hung.”

The word seemed to choke Morwen, preventing her from saying another words. With triumph and determination, Eothald spoke briefly to the guards, and turned on his heel, storming down the hall before she’d recovered herself. After that, the guards gave her a look that clearly said, “don’t try anything” and closed the door in her face, leaving her to wait, and worry.

***

Although there was absolutely nothing he would have liked more than to defend Morwen with his life, Thorongil realized that he wasn’t left that option. Hopefully, Eothald hadn’t taken complete leave of his senses, and would understand the consequences he would face if he hurt Morwen in the slightest. Even if, by some intervention of the Valar, Eothald survived Thengel’s wrath, he wouldn’t survive Thorongil’s. If he survived this himself, he would make sure Eothald regretted ever having laid hands on her.

The thought of what he might doto Eothald should he ever be so fortunate as to get the chance, was extremely useful in distracting himself from his own rather undesirable position. After all, he was being led away—or more precisely pushed, shoved, and dragged—to the dungeons, by two men who obviously agreed with Eothald. Apparently, they were also quite enthusiastic about making life miserable for him.

As if reading his thoughts, and deciding to help confirm them, the guard to his left gave him a particularly hard shove forward. It wouldn’t have been so bad—after all, he’d just endured half-a-dozen such shoves over the last five minutes—if it hadn’t been for the fact that they were now in front of the stairs that led down to the dungeons below Meduseld. Thorongil stumbled, but managed to catch himself in time to keep from plummeting down the stairs head-first. This time, the guard to his right solved his problem.

Theoretically, he’d always known that it was harder to balance without the use of your arms, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being reminded of the fact on multiple occasions. He could have done without the firsthand knowledge; however, he was once again treated to that wonderful feeling of helplessness.

Being pushed onto the first step wasn’t exactly the ideal way to start, but he tried to keep his balance, and move onto the next step quickly enough to avoid meriting more attention from his escorts. Far be it from him to be so fortunate, on this day of recurring catastrophes. The next push would have been hard enough to bring him forward at least three stairs. As it was, despite his many talents, he never had been able to fly, and couldn’t do so now, so he found himself tumbling past the next three stairs—and falling painfully down the rest.

Rolling to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell, he was left alone to count his bruises while the two guards sauntered after him at a considerably more cautious rate. After examining his new aches and pains, he finally began to register the aching sensation radiating from his side. Wonderful. With his luck, the stitches, which had been well on their way to being ready to be removed, would be torn. His head throbbed mercilessly from having hit the wall and steps several times on his way down. This day continued just continued to improve with every passing minute.

Well, there was no more time for cheerful thoughts, his newest acquaintances were back. They were gentle as ever, as they guided him through the dark corridors, and deposited him with a friendly shove into his cell. They were so enthusiastic in this last gesture, that his head was once again treated to the dizzying sensation of striking against solid stone. Then, he was finally left to his own thoughts.

After a series of painful, awkward movements, he finally managed to sit up without the use of his arms. As soon as he’d reached an upright position, however, both his throbbing head and side agreed that it might have been wise simply to have lain there. While flopping down on a soft bed would have been one thing, he wasn’t about to flop back down on the hard stone—none of his injuries would thank him for that—but since falling over was about the only way he could see to lay back down, he decided against the whole idea.

He scooted backwards until his back rested against the cold wall. A trickle of water ran down his shirt, and he nearly yelped in surprise. Quickly moving further to the right, he tentatively tried out that part of the wall. When no more icy water ran down his back, he settled against it and tried to get comfortable. But, after an hour of fruitlessly shifting from one position to another, his optimism began to wear thin.

Stone floors and stone walls didn’t make for the most comfortable of sitting, and although he didn’t have water running down his back, he soon discovered that no matter where he sat, puddles magically seemed to gather under him. He soon gave up, as it little mattered once his pants were entirely soaked. The chill seemed to seep into his bones, and he realized with annoyance that he was shivering. The way his arms were tied prevented him from even curling up and huddling in misery.

Resting one of his throbbing temples against the cool stone, he closed his eyes and sighed. He only hoped Araedhelm would understand. After all, he wouldn’t be able to meet him this afternoon as he’d promised… Getting thrown in prison for treason could really wreak havoc with ones’ schedule.

*** 

Feorh willed her breathing to slow, as she pressed her back against the pillar.

Thorongil, arrested? For treason?

She was trying hard to digest the idea, and failing completely. Behind her, she could hear the guards man-handling the captain away to the dungeons. She was old, and not a woman of violent tendencies by nature; however, between what they were doing to Thorongil, and how they were treating Morwen, a spark of something that just might have been defined as aggressiveness stirred within her.

All she knew was that she had a sudden and overwhelming desire to walk up to Lord Eothald and punch him in the face, just as the queen had. The gall, the stupidity, and the nerve he had to touch the queen. Who did he think he was? The moment Thengel turned his back, he began by locking up one of Rohan’s most trusted and loved captains. She had a strong urge to give him a good piece of her mind.

Calm down, old woman, and think

She didn’t necessarily calm down, but she did begin to think rationally about her next step. She had to tell someone. No, she corrected herself, she had to get Stolad to tell someone. Her own days of running back and forth bearing messages were over, but her nephew would be more than willing to take on this task, especially if it were for Thorongil.

She started towards the kitchens at a brisk pace, calling for Stolad as soon as she neared them.

“Stolad! Stolad, answer me! Where are you?”

Stolad, who was accustomed to being called in such a manner, and so not unduly worried, poked his head out of the kitchen door.

“I’m here, Aunt. What is it?”

Feorh took him by the shoulders in a gesture of earnestness, speaking in a rapid but quiet voice, “I need you to take a message to Lieutenant Araedhelm as quickly as you can.”

“What message?”

“Stolad, something terrible has happened. Captain Thorongil has been…arrested.”

“Captain Thorongil has beenr13;”

“Arrested,” Feorh finished impatiently. She was beginning to recover from her own shock, and recapture her normal efficiency. “Yes. And I’m afraid it’s quite serious too. Lord Eothald has accused him of treason.”

“But he couldn’t have! Thorongil would never do anything against Rohan, I know he wouldn’t.”

Feorh smiled at his earnestness. “Of course not. I don’t think anyone but Lord Eothald seriously thinks so. But Eothald is in control, and now the Captain is in the dungeons. Araedhelm must know as soon as possible.”

Stolad swallowed hard, but nodded. “I will find him, and tell him.”

Feorh gave him a gentle push. “Then go—quickly.”

She watched him dash off, and then directed her own steps back the way she’d come. When she reached the queen’s rooms, she saw that the door was flanked by two guards—two of the guards that had been there when Thorongil was arrested. Without hesitating, or giving them so much as a glance, she marched right up to the door and knocked.

“My Lady, it’s Feorh. May I come in?”

The guards looked uncertainly at each other over her head, but only shrugged when the queen called out her permission. Their orders had been not to allow the queen to leave her rooms unattended, not to accost old women trying to get in.

Feorh shot them a glare, shutting the door firmly behind her. Her attitude softened instantly as her eyes lighted upon Morwen, who stood just a few steps away, face pale, and hands clenched in front of her. Right now, the queen looked to her like little more than a child, a young girl in need of support. Quickly closing the few feet between them, Feorh glided over to the queen and took her hands.

Yes, they were definitely trembling, if only slightly, and cold. She knew Morwen well enough to realize that her physical state couldn’t be attributed entirely to emotions. Morwen had been through a lot this morning, but she wouldn’t have collapsed so easily if it were just that.

Although what that monster has done would be enough to upset any woman… she thought sourly, once again having uncharacteristically violent thoughts towards Eothald. She would let Araedhelm deal with him. For now.

“Feorh, Lord Eolthald has…” Morwen began quietly.

Feorh interrupted, gently leading her over to the bed. “Come my dear, sit down. I know all about it.”

Morwen complied with the motherly gestures, and allowed Feorh to guide her to a sitting position on the bed. “How do you know? It only happened a few minutes ago…”

Feorh could see she was already beginning to calm, emotionally leastways. However, it appeared she had been right in her assumptions that Morwen’s state wasn’t entirely due to emotional strain. Her face was still far too pale for her liking.

“Are you hurt, my Lady?”

“A little…but I don’t think it’s at all serious.” Morwen shook her head, as if to brush it off. “What I’m worried about isr13;”

Feorh interrupted her a second time, in a firm, but respectful, voice, “What Iworry about first and foremost, my Lady, is your health. After I make sure thatis well, then we can begin to worry about other matters.”

Morwen let out a long breath. “Have you been taking lessons from Neylor?”

“Why would you think something like that?” Feorh returned, her face all innocence.

“Because you seem to have picked up his bedside manner,” Morwen said wryly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my Lady, I only want to see with my own two eyes that you are well, and then I promise I’ll quit fussing.”

“Well, I believe I can live with that.”

“Then tell me where it hurts, and I’ll get my fussing over with as quickly as I can.”

“It’s my ankle.”

“Which one?”

“Left. It’s not broken, just sprained, I think.”

Feorh dragged a chair over the side of the bed, gently propped the queen’s left foot up on it, carefully eased her shoe off, and began to inspect her ankle. She didn’t have any medical training to speak of, but she’d raised enough children to know how to treat a sprained ankle. It wasn’t too serious a sprain, but it was swollen.

Feorh shook her head. “You’re not going to be walking on this for a bit.”

Morwen leaned back on her elbows and sighed as Feorh released her foot and walked to the door. She was preparing to open the door and call loudly for Stolad, when she remembered that he was already employed in delivering her message to Araedhelm. Throwing open the door suddenly enough to startle the guards outside, she poked her head out of the room.

“One of you, go get some water. The coldest you can find. And cloth for bandages—clean cloth.”

The guards stood, rooted to the spot, staring at her. Choosing the guard to her left, Feorh unhesitatingly jabbed him in the chest with a finger.

“You—go get it now,” she demanded.

“Our orders were to…”

“Who cares about your orders? I certainly don’t.” She narrowed her eyes at the guard. “What’s the matter, don’t you think one man is enough to keep an eye on an old woman, and an injured queen? Gods alive, she has a sprained ankle, and she’ll need to rest it for a day at least.”

The guard averted his gaze, looking ridiculously sheepish, and not a little confused. Was he really taking orders from an old woman? Apparently he was, for the next thing he knew, he was nodding, and walking off, wondering where on earth one was supposed to find clean cloth.

“Hurry up, I don’t have all day!” Feorh barked after him.

She looked at the remaining guard, who stepped back, as if expecting her to jab him too. With a smile, that looked far more like a snarl, she closed the door in his face.

Feorh turned back to the queen, scowl still in place. She found Morwen, reclined on the bed, laughing softly.

“You certainly told them.”

“Well, they needed telling,” Feorh stated with righteous conviction. “Standing out there like two mute statues, with nothing better to do than ‘guard’ you. Well, I say, if Eothald has no better use to put them to, then I’ll find a few to put them to myself.”

Feorh was gratified to see that Morwen was beginning to relax, and regain a little of her color.

“I’m beginning to feel rather sorry for them,” Morwen said, smiling.

“Those guards?” Feorh asked incredulously. “Why on earth would you pity them? I’m only keeping them busy. They were probably bored to death before.”

“Well, you may be right. But I wouldn’t expect a thank you from them—or Eothald.”

“No, I won’t go so far as to hope for gratitude.”

Hearing the returning footsteps of the guard, Feorh went to the door. As the first timid knock sounded on the door, she jerked it open just as suddenly as she had the first time. The guard quickly dropped his hand, which had been raised to knock again, and stepped aside as his comrade came forth, bearing both water and cloth. Feorh allowed her death-glare to abate just a little as she snatched these from him and closed the door in their faces again.

She set the bowl of water on the stand next to the bed, and dipped a finger into it to test it. Satisfied with how cold it was, she took one of the cloths and submerged it in the bowl. Reflexively, Morwen started as she laid the cloth on her ankle.

“That’s freezing.”

Feorh smiled. “That is the idea, my Lady…”

Morwen willed her leg not to jerk away, as Feorh continued to repeat the process a number of times, wringing out the cloth into a separate bowl, and then rewetting it before applying it again.

“Feorh, how many times are you going to do that? I think my leg is beginning to go numb…”

“Is it? Well, that’s good.” Feorh said with satisfaction. “As for your question, I think it would be best to continue this for a couple more minutes, at least.”

Morwen sighed, but stoically endured five more minutes of the treatment, before Feorh finally left the cloth on the stand, turning back with a drycloth this time. It felt gloriously warm, as she wrapped it firmly around her ankle, and tied it off. She stepped back to examine her handiwork, pursing her lips in satisfaction.

“Now, my dear, you must lay back and try to relax,” she said, plumping up the pillows at the head of the bed.

Morwen gingerly pulled herself more fully onto the bed, with Feorh gently guiding her foot off the chair and propping it up on a cushion. With a contented sigh, Feorh sank onto the vacated chair.

Turning her head languidly on the supporting heap of pillows, Morwen smiled. “Are you happy now?”

“No, not entirely. But I’m content on this one score, my Lady.”

Closing her eyes briefly, Morwen nodded. Even though Feorh’s comfortingly every-day presence—along with her mothering and fussing—had been a welcome distraction, they hadn’t been enough to drive thought of Thorongil’s predicament from her mind. She didn’t doubt it was the same case with Feorh, who, at the moment, was busy looking worriedly down at her lap.

“Now that I’m all taken care of, we can both get down to worrying properly,” Morwen said quietly.

Feorh looked up slowly, and then looked back down at her lap. “What proof does he have?”

It was obvious who she was referring to.

“None that I know of,” Morwen replied. “Eothald is a fool if he thinks he can get away with this.”

“No, I think there are too many people against him for him ever to get away with whatever it is he means to accomplish by imprisoning the captain. I sent Stolad for Captain Araedhelm before I came here, so he should be here soon, if he’s not here already.” Feorh smirked. “Araedhelm will be a force to reckon with, in and of himself, even without an Eored behind him—and knowing the loyalty of Thorongil’s men, he will have all of their support.”

“Yes, and I believe we can count on Anborn and his men being behind us as well, even if Araedhelm’s wrath isn’t enough.” Morwen’s smile faded, and she said bluntly, “But this won’t be a battle of physical strength, Feorh. We have to convince Eothald to release him.” She paused, confusion written across her face. “Although…I don’t know why he’s doing all this in the first place.”

“Crazy. He’s lost what little brains he had to begin with, if you ask me,” Feorh said haughtily.

“Feorh…” Morwen said, failing to sound as reproving as she’d meant to. “You shouldn’t talk about him like that. After all, he is…”

Feorh raised an eyebrow. “He is what?”

“He is in charge, at the moment,” Morwen ended calmly. “And he’s Thengel’s brother by marriage, as well. Look, Feorh, I know you dislike him, and would as soon harm him at the moment as look at him. You’re not alone in that. But getting ourselves in trouble with him isn’t going to help Thorongil. I’m not saying that we need to become best friends with him, but we do need to at least attempt to feign tolerance of him. At least for now.”

Feorh’s only response was an indistinguishable murmur of discontent.

Morwen ignored it. “We will come up with a plan, and soon, if I have any say in the matter. I won’t let Thorongil rot in prison, or endure their treatment of him, for a second longer than I have to. Believe me, I would stop it this very moment if I could.”

“But you are the queen. Surely that must mean something. Can’t you just…tell him he’s incompetent and insane, and take over for him? Thengel-King would never agree with this.”

Morwen sighed heavily. She’d debated this very point a number of times already. Dismissing Eothald from his position was the very thing she would have liked to do, and the very thing she knew she couldn’t do.

“No,” she began quietly. “Thengel wouldn’t agree with what he’s doing. But I can’t do anything about it.” She continued on quickly as Feorh began to protest, “Thengel wouldn’t agree with what he’s doing—but he did leave Eothald as steward in his absence. You know that means that no one can take over, or release him of his responsibilities, unless he is clearly, and undoubtedly proven to be a traitor or utterly incompetent. The law is very clear one this point Feorh. You remember Haudhelm.”

Feorh nodded sullenly. Of course she remembered him: the man had made this law necessary when he’d attempted to steal Rohan from his brother—the King—the moment he turned his back, leaving one of his councilors in charge. The King had mistrusted his brother. And not without reason. As soon as he’d left, Haudhelm had proclaimed the councilor unfit, and attempted to seize the throne himself. If it hadn’t been for the sudden, and early, return of the King, along with the hesitancy of the people to accept Haudhelm’s demands, he might have done serious damage.

From that time on, the law had been made much more specific, and once the King of Rohan appointed a steward in his stead to rule, that man could not be disobeyed or discarded without serious evidence of insanity, or treason. A lengthy trial, at the least, was required.

“I know you would stop him, if you could, my Lady,” Feorh said, relenting a little. “It’s just infuriating, that man…”

“I know. I wouldn’t have punched him if I didn’t feel the same way.”

“Well, if I had permission to punch him…”

“Feorh,” Morwen spoke warningly. “Haven’t you been hearing a word I’ve said?”

“I have, but…”

“Feorh, if we react in anger—if we do anything to make Eothald angry—it will go all the worse for Thorongil. Ironic as it may seem, anything we do for him, will probably go against him.”

“But we can’t just do nothing.”

“Shh…” Morwen held her finger to her lips, raising her head slightly off the pillow to better face Feorh. “Don’t speak so loudly. No, of course I don’t intend to leave him there. I just said so. But we can’t go about rescuing him by pummeling Lord Eothald. Giving in to our anger will accomplish nothing, except to hurt Thorongil.”

“Are you saying that Eothald will hurt Thorongil in response to our actions?” Feorh exclaimed in an indignant whisper.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. That is why we must contain ourselves, and fight this battle with our wits, rather than our fists. Are you beginning to see, Feorh?”

Feorh was back to looking down at her lap, and grumbling in a low voice, “Oh, I see it alright, my Lady. I’ve seen it right from the start. That doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Nor do I, Feorh. I do not have the power to release him now, but this will end soon. If I must, I will prove to the courts that Eothald is insane, but I will have Thorongil freed.”