Not wanting the men of Bree to miss out on the celebrations, Lothíriel had suggested a Fair Day be inaugurated a week later in the tradition of Rohan, for which she had brought wares from across the North, even from as far as Dale and Dunland. Bree was already an important trading town, placed as it was at the centre of Arnor at the major crossroads of the North, and the tradition she initiated lived on for centuries enabling Bree over time to grow into the most vibrant market town of Arnor.
She had roamed freely around the region with her hobbit friends, as far east as Weathertop, as far south as Sarn Ford, and even daring to enter the Old Forest. The forest had exerted a strange pull on Lothíriel. She had sung to the trees and heard their whispers. The Old Forest was very different from Greenwood and even Fangorn. Neither Ent nor Elf had tended this most ancient of woodlands since the beginning of the First Age, but the trees remembered these four hobbits and they had special protection. The trees had allowed Lothíriel and the hobbits passage deeper into the forest but not Gimli, nor even Legolas, so deeply were the Elves resented for the destruction their presence on Middle-earth had wrought. Deep within the Old Forest, as it tumbled into a serene pond, the water of the river Withywindle spoke to Lothíriel, calling on her to return.
In the previous weeks, Frodo had honoured her with a reading of the account he was writing of his journey. Wishing to revisit the Old Forest, Lothíriel sent word to Eradan, who was waiting for her at the Prancing Pony, that before leaving with him on the Dunland road for Rohan, in honour of Frodo and Sam she would retrace the route the hobbits had so bravely taken through the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs to Bree with Merry and Pippin as her guides. The two hobbits were so excited by the chance to show her their misadventures with the Barrow-wights, the evil spirits of the dead, which had lost much of their potency with the fall of Sauron.
From Bree, Pippin and Merry would accompany her on the long journey south to Rohan with Legolas, Gimli and Eradan for her wedding to Éomer on the first day of Yule. But not Frodo and Sam. Frodo was still too weak from the deep wounds he suffered during his ordeal and Sam would not leave him. On her last night in Hobbiton, Lothíriel had looked deep into Frodo’s heart; her own breaking on seeing the extent of his suffering. A darkness lay over him that would not be healed. As they said their farewells, they both understood. She would not see him again.
She marvelled at the immense strength and courage these small unassuming creatures had displayed, their resilience, their kindness and honesty. She had felt humbled in their presence and yet strangely reassured. She had found strength in their quiet pragmatism, a trait she had also felt in the people of Rohan. She desperately wanted Éomer to be with her at this moment, but it was not the right time; she had to put her thoughts of him aside. She knew what she was going to have to face, and that she needed to do alone.
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Genting noticed the other horses becoming restless down in the paddock where he had been breaking in a particularly spirited mare. He ran towards the top steps of Meduseld and watched over the plain below. He could see what he was expecting galloping fast towards the town and he issued orders to the men around him before racing inside to find Éomer. He found him leafing through the great tome of the illustrated epic of the Last Ride of King Théoden which was kept in a special case in his study. Genting knew he had been reading it almost every day, not that he needed to read the words, he knew every word by heart, but it was his way of feeling close to Lothíriel and the closer it came to their wedding, the more worried for her he was becoming. Genting did not have good news for him.
‘Éomer, we must leave now. I have prepared your sword and travel bags.’ Éomer paled. He was barely able to say the word, ‘Lothíriel?’ as panic gripped him.
‘I cannot think it would be for anyone else that we have four Mearas turn up on the doorstep of Meduseld. Gallend must be close, and I would guess with Hadán. Sigrida is here, Moonsheen, Maela and Geldsheen.’ Éomer swore in agony. ‘I cannot wait for them to arrive. I will leave now. Call for Erkenbrand while I change. I will leave him in charge, but he is to send a full Éored to follow up the North-South Road.’
‘Let me come with you, Éomer. Maglor told me that Maela will only allow you, Lothíriel or myself to ride her, you cannot travel alone.’
Éomer nodded and soon they were both moving swiftly through the Great Hall. As they descended the steps of the Great Hall Gallend rode up with Assa astride behind him on Elfwine, soon followed by Hadán on his magnificent stead.
‘Bree. He’s in Bree, Éomer,’ Gallend shouted across to his King. Éomer groaned.
‘We must ride there now,’ Gallend continued. ‘Aragorn advises you send a force up the North-South Road and the Greenway and also to raid all those properties on the list I sent you, arrest everyone connected to them and hold them however innocent-seeming until we have this bastard.’
Maela proudly sought out Genting, who welcomed her greatly humbled by her trust in him. Sigrida, however, looked quizzically at her beloved Gallend, who had dismounted and approached her carefully. She was eyeing up Assa suspiciously, who was completely oblivious to the magnificence of the horses before her. Geldsheen went straight to Hadán, who understood his message and scooped up Assa to ride with him. Éomer issued his orders quickly before leaping on Moonsheen and the five of them rode off at a pace only the Mearas could reach.
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Lothíriel was enchanted by the Old Forest through which they had wandered over two days. It was later than they had anticipated on the morning of the second day when they eventually left the protection of the trees for the burial mounds of the former Kings and Princes of Cardolan, but it was only shortly before midday which gave them ample time to reach the road back to Bree. Eradan had promised he would be waiting with horses for them at the crossroads less than a league’s walk from where they were expected from the forest. Lothíriel had been singing to the trees and was still singing as she walked through the ancient mounds with Merry and Pippin darting ahead to see if they could remember in which of the mounds they had been held captive by one of the dreaded Barrow-wights, spirits of long-dead princes of Cardolan, forced to rise again in evil by Sauron’s sorcerers to keep the Dúnedain away. The spirits, weakened as they were following the vanquishing of their creator and fearing the light, would never venture out during the day, unless, or so it was claimed, you made the mistake of walking on the east side of the mounds into their shadow.
Merry and Pippin were arguing at the entrance to one such mound, which was lying open.
‘It’s definitely this one, Merry. Look, it’s still open,’ Pippin opined, sure of himself. Merry was equally sure they had not yet passed it and was dragging him away from the open entrance to show him where he thought it was, when it struck him; he could no longer hear Lothíriel singing.
‘My Lady?’ he called out quickly. Both hobbits ran back to where they thought they had left her, shouting out her name. Merry told Pippin to quieten down. Silence was their reward. Deathly silence. She had gone. Merry purposefully withdrew the Horn of Rohan from his belt and blew.
Éomer’s heart pounded, Moonsheen’s pace quickened; the Horn of Rohan was calling them.
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Lothíriel was perfectly calm as the knife came to her throat. She did not attempt to struggle or fight back. There were two of them. And then came the darkness. It had come too quickly for it to be anything but dark magic. She had been pushed into shadow and enveloped by it. Her eyes adjusted to a new soft blue light within the large chamber.
‘Hello Turallien, if that is indeed your name. I am genuinely impressed. These mounds are the safest hiding place for any treasure and eminently transportable to all parts of Middle-earth. Is this why Sauron created the Barrow-wights originally, to run his Followers from here? What else is hidden here?’ She was alone with him, the other two men were most likely posted outside. That is good, she thought to herself. Only as her vision adjusted better to the light did she realise that they were not alone. Malignant eyes stared at her from the shadows. Two Barrow-wights gradually showed their forms.
‘Little Lothi. You have remembered at last. At first, I wondered if you were just pretending not to remember until Amedlan told me of your night-wanderings and sudden violent episodes. Well, how you have grown. A full woman and yet strangely still so very desirable. I might make an exception in your case. You remember my nephew who was with us on the second boat. He so wanted to spend some more time with you now, as revenge for what your mother did to him, but once I had seen you, I feared he would spoil you for me and so I packed him off to the East to spread the word.’ His words dripped out malignantly, he was savouring the moment and intended to take his time.
‘Is your mother still alive? I remember Cirion explaining to my mother why you had taken us, but I was still too young to understand all of what he said.’
‘No,’ he said suddenly angry. ‘Mother died of a broken heart when she learned of Cirion’s murder at the hands of your cousin. I swore on her grave I would make your family pay for that, not just for our humiliation and mutilation. My beautiful brother, her baby…’ he spoke nostalgically, seemingly genuinely moved, but his mood shifted in a flash, ‘… but he was too greedy,’ he continued dismissively. ‘I had told him not to go back to Dol Amroth for the ransom. He ignored me, the stupid boy. All he loved doing was play-acting and manipulating.’
He sighed, savouring her captive attention. ‘He didn’t have the right understanding of risk. The payment from the Grand Master was more than sufficient for us, never mind all that Belegond was recouping for us from your own coffers. That had been most satisfying, almost as much as enjoying you and your pain. Your screams… they were so… enrapturing.’
Pausing to enjoy this precious memory, he smiled at the faint sound of the hobbits’ frustrated calls from outside. ‘I was going to take you from your wedding, but there you were, all alone wandering all over the Shire with just a few hobbits as protection! Your letters to Eradan through Butterbur at The Prancing Pony were all too easy to read. The man is an idiot. All these men here are idiots. Even the Dúnedain. Sauron understood their fears. I am not the first man he gave authority over the Barrow-wights, but don’t worry, I won’t leave you alone with them. Eventually, I will make you one of them, then you will always be mine…’
‘What makes you think I am alone, Turallien?’ she said softly before she began to sing.
Her song was soon answered. A burst of light blasted through the blocked entrance to the tomb as an arrow shot through Turallien’s forearm as it was raised to strike Lothíriel who had not moved to avoid it. The Barrow-wights twisted in the light, shrieking before changing into wisps of fog. Mithrandir strode through into the tomb, followed by Legolas, another arrow already fixed in his bow and Gimli, who stood over the writhing Turallien menacingly holding his axe. ‘I won’t kill you, laddie. Just take bits off you one at a time, so please do give me any excuse, any at all,’ he barked gruffly. Legolas grinned at his friend grimly.
‘I think you will find quite a welcome party outside, Lothíriel, if you would care to go leave this accursed place. Tom and I will exorcise all the mounds of these foul creatures and lay the dead finally to rest,’ Mithrandir said calmly.
Lothíriel smiled and went to reassure Eradan and the hobbits she knew would be outside with Tom Bombadil, guardian of the Old Forest and according to Mithrandir, the oldest creature living on Middle-earth. What he was was a mystery even to Mithrandir. He had been drawn to Lothíriel’s singing, as had the trees of the Old Forest, that first time the hobbits had taken her into it. Mithrandir had suspected he would be inclined to help protect her. When Círdan informed him she had remembered her past, he had immediately left Lothlórien for the Shire. He had been waiting for her at Bag End having brought his very best fireworks.
Cirion had talked to her of his mother and his childhood south of Bree in a rundown house close to the Barrow Downs after he had dragged her from the deck following her flogging, to gloat of how he would tell his mother of her suffering, the same his mother had endured, ordered by her grandfather, Prince Adrahil. He had told her how his mother’s brother was an important follower of Sauron and had been given dominion over the evil spirits of the dead princes of his enemy of Cardolan. They protected Sauron’s wealth with which he bought the allegiance of others. Knowing she would be dead within weeks, he had told her many things.
She had much to tell those she loved, but first she ran to embrace Merry and Pippin for whom she had feared the most during the execution of their plan. They were both too excited to speak as they drew themselves back from her. She was surprised, and yet not surprised to see what they revealed behind them. In her heart, she knew he would come to her. Éomer, looking exhausted and emotional, stepped forward to envelop her in his arms and crying out for him, she threw herself into his embrace.
As Gimli came out of the mound first, she turned sharply to Hadán, who had been watching with huge relief beside Genting. She said something in Quenya, something Eradan and Assa also understood. She had looked intensely at Hadán in particular. He understood and bowed his head.
‘Take me away from here, Éomer. I have no wish to see this man again,’ she said to her beloved as Legolas escorted the bleeding man out of the barrow behind Gimli who was striding toward her, visibly distressed. Lothíriel addressed Gimli in a Dwarvish dialect only he would understand.
‘The man is poison, Gimli. He will tell you things he knows will cause you and others you care for the most pain. Do not believe all of what he tells you, and I beg you, do not let Éomer near him. Please do this for me. Éomer is too honest to understand this man’s lies.’
Gimli looked at her with difficulty, understanding the import of her words. ‘You are wise, my Lady. I understand. I will let the others know.’ She knelt down to pick up his face in her hands and make him look at her directly in the eye.
‘I thank you,’ she said in Westron and kissed him on the forehead. Éomer came to kneel beside his great friend and he too gave his thanks for his protection of his future Queen.
Hadán went to assist Legolas to bind Turallien’s wound but bound his mouth first. There would be time enough to hear what the man had to confess to. He had no particular wish to hear his bile while he was fixing him up for his inevitable execution. Turallien, struggling as he was, had still witnessed Éomer and Lothíriel together and Éomer’s deep stare of abject hatred equalled his own as he was escorted away by Eradan and his kin. Lothíriel, however, never took her eyes off the man she loved and taking his head gently in her hands, gave him a long intense kiss as the darkness left her and a new radiance danced around her.
‘I am free, my love. I am truly free,’ she told him in amazement.
Gallend went to speak with Eradan to inform him of all their news.
‘Imrahil is likely to make it to Sarn Ford as early as tomorrow, depending on the winds and how many boats he stopped and searched on his way upstream. He is expecting to meet Lothíriel in Bree. We should not leave before he has the chance to see his daughter. I would like to interrogate the prisoner tomorrow with Assa before Imrahil arrives. Hadán has told me what Lothíriel instructed. I agree with her. I do not think it wise that either Lothíriel or Éomer are present when we speak to this bastard. Nor Imrahil and Amrothos when they get to Bree. Can you ensure this? Aragorn was most insistent that Éomer and Lothíriel were left at peace.’
‘Are you sure it is him, who...?’ Eradan demanded.
‘Very,’ answered Gallend.
‘Then yes, although I am not sure I will myself be able to keep my own hands from his throat…’ Eradan growled menacingly.
‘You have not properly met Assa yet. I think we may be wise to leave this to her and not ask any questions,’ Gallend told him with feeling.