Yours to Command

Of Eels

He would have to talk to her at once. Looking back down at the letter, the signature caught his attention. Why did she call herself Little Flower? Slowly, he reread the message. Then his eyes lingered on the last sentence and he felt as if a bolt of lightning had just hit him. Eels! What had he told her that night at the banquet in the Merethrond when the cooks had substituted jellied eels for another dish – Just mention eels and Rohan will ride to the rescue.

Was Lothíriel in trouble? Involuntarily his fingers clenched, crumpling the letter. When he looked up, Baran had taken several steps back. "My Lord King?" the man asked, nervously moistening his lips.

Alarm swept through Éomer and his eyes narrowed. "Where is Lothíriel? What have you done to her? I'm warning you–"

The man took one look at his face and then suddenly turned and bolted.

"Stop!" Éomer shouted and started after him.

From behind, he heard alarmed shouts from his riders, but he ignored them. Quick as a rat running for cover, the man slipped between two carts. Éomer followed, but then hesitated. Where had he gone? There! He caught a glimpse of a brown tunic as Baran threaded his way through the crowd, pushing a woman over in his haste to get away. Curses followed him as he ducked between some tables standing outside a tavern. Éomer took off after him.

"Stop that man!" he yelled, but the patrons sitting over their drinks just looked at him in confusion.

Baran threw a hasty look over his shoulder and snatched a tankard of ale from a passing serving maid. What the...! Éomer only just managed to duck as the man hurled the heavy tankard at him. He tried to grab Baran, but the man shoved the screeching woman his way. Then he hooked the side of one of the tables and upended it, spilling ale all over Éomer.

"Hey! What are you doing!" one of the customers exclaimed angrily.

Éomer cursed and tried to duck around the shards and liquid on the floor. Why wouldn't the stupid woman let go of his arm and stop wailing! He shook her off roughly, but then one of the patrons grappled him from behind. He did not have the time for this!

"Let go," he snarled and punched the man in the gut. With a surprised look on his face, the fellow sank to the floor.

Éomer jumped across a bench lying on the floor, as just ahead of him, Baran sent another table flying. If only he could get hold of the scoundrel! Another patron tried to grab him, but he shoved him away. Where were his riders? That moment he saw that Baran had reached the road and started running towards the gate leading down to the lower levels.

"Out of my way!" he roared and drew his sword. The men nearest him backed away hastily. Then he had to duck as somebody threw a chair at him. Only a few more steps to the road.

"To the king!" Éothain shouted, throwing himself into the fray. Seeing the Rohirrim charging them, most of the patrons melted away.

Éomer pointed down the road. "Catch that messenger!" He sheathed his sword and started running, his men hard at his heels.

When they reached the main thoroughfare of Minas Tirith the road was thick with people. Where had the man gone? A couple of errand riders went by, throwing them surprised looks. Éomer hesitated for an instant, then plunged down the road towards the fifth level. Why did everybody have to wear brown today! And what if Baran had taken one of the little side roads or ducked into a tavern?

After some minutes of fruitless searching, Elfhelm took his elbow. "I think we've lost him."

Very much afraid that his Marshal was right, Éomer slowed down, then stopped. It was no use, the man had escaped. He swallowed a curse.