The Rohan Pride Trilogy
Part One: Alone
Book One
By:WhiteLadyOfTroy
Summary:
When Gúthwyn, the youngest child of Théodwyn and Éomund, becomes a slave of Sauron, she makes a deadly bargain with the Dark Lord. If she fails at the task he sets before her, then the lives of those she loves will be compromised.
About the Trilogy:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. This will be divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started.
About Chapter Seven:
As always, names come from The Lord of the Rings UK name translator (such as the tiny character Gyllyn, which I got by typing in '1234'), with the exception of a small few that I have formed with the help of The Fourteen Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth. All of my knowledge of what goes on in Isengard's forges comes strictly from the book called The Lord of the Rings Weapons and Warfare. While I realize that some of the information is inaccurate (for example, calling Arwen the only child of Elrond), I really have no other access to any source of information as to how weapons are made, and I believe those segments to be truthful. I am really sorry about the over-abundance of the words 'material', 'iron', 'ore', and 'semi-refined ore'- there weren't many synonyms for that word! Keep in mind that I have no knowledge of anything medical-related, other then some common sense things and what I've picked up from MASH. If anyone knows how to properly dress a wound (such as the one Gúthwyn just received), please include instructions within your review. As for what will be happening to Gúthwyn later on, it did happen to me (to a lesser and higher degree in some ways), so I can assure you that the results are not made up. Once again, please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon.
Chapter Seven
Less than an hour later, the door leading into the dwelling of the Mûlnothrim swung open, and three people dragged their weary bodies in. Immediately collapsing on their cots, Cobryn, Chalibeth, and Gúthwyn spent the next few minutes resting in an exhausted silence. Noises from the outside drifted in lazily, swimming over their heads while heralding the instantaneous stench that followed.
Rolling over uncomfortably in her cot, Gúthwyn wondered why she felt her back pulsing in pain as she lay over her blanket. It was not until a few seconds later, when she rubbed her hand over the affected area and drew it back, that she saw the dry blood dotting her fingertips and remembered her punishment.
"When will Abaudia be back?" she questioned as she managed, not without small difficulty, to sit up.
"It all depends when they have finished with the Wargs," Chalibeth answered with a small sigh.
"How does Saruman get all of these creatures?" Gúthwyn wanted to know.
"He breeds them," Cobryn explained. "From what, I have never heard, but I do not think that Saruman was their original creator."
"What are they like?" Gúthwyn pressed. A visible shudder shook Chalibeth's body, as if recalling an unpleasant memory.
"Words cannot describe…" she began helplessly. "You shall have to see for yourself."
Just then, the door to the room opened, and the three occupants watched as Lebryn, Feride, and Onyveth ambled in. The younger girl had water down her front, and when Chalibeth inquired about it, Feride replied tiredly that she had dropped the bucket of cleaning water.
"She was lucky that she did not get in trouble for that incident," Cobryn commented. "As it were, Gúthwyn was flogged for coming to the aid of a man who had iron poured on his arm." Lebryn chuckled at the news, smirking in her direction before Feride slapped him on the shoulder.
"Ignore him," she told Gúthwyn. "He is always like this. Let me look at the wounds before Abaudia comes back." As her fellow workers sat down on their beds, she strode over to Gúthwyn's. "Turn around," she commanded. Obediently, Gúthwyn complied, waiting for further instructions as she faced the wall.
Gently, Feride lifted the back of Gúthwyn's shirt and carefully traced her fingers around the welts, examining them for depth and blood loss.
"They do not appear to be that bad," the woman informed Gúthwyn, "but you have not gotten used to these whippings yet." Lowering Gúthwyn's tunic, she sighed. "I can understand lashings for adults, but doing this to naught but children is an unforgivable cruelty."
As Gúthwyn turned around and faced the rest of the clan, the door swung open into the dwelling yet again, and the remaining members of the Mûlnothrim walked in. Gwollyn and Regwyn were in the midst of a conversation, but Abaudia's face was somber.
"Abaudia," Chalibeth began.
"Yes, Chalibeth?"
"Gúthwyn needs you to tend to her back—it was the target of an overseer's whip," Chalibeth answered. To her surprise, Gúthwyn found herself blushing as Abaudia looked at her inquisitively. She had not intended to make that big of a deal out of the situation, and yet everyone's eyes were on her.
"And how did that come to be?" Abaudia queried, her kind face showing concern for the new slave.
"There was a man—" Chalibeth began, but Abaudia held up her hand.
"I would have Gúthwyn tell me," she interrupted softly. Nodding, Chalibeth fell silent, and the question fell on Gúthwyn.
"As Chalibeth said," Gúthwyn started, unsure of her words and how she would put this, "there was a man that we worked next to in Saruman's forge, and suddenly he began screaming: as if he was being tortured, it sounded like. The vat of ore that he had been working with had somehow emptied its contents onto his arm, and he had fallen onto the floor in pain.
"No one was helping him, and I wondered why, but I ran to him so I could try and scrape the burning material off of his skin. I guess that such an action is not allowed, for the Orkish overseer came over and warned me to leave him. I did not, and because of this he whipped me ten times," Gúthwyn finished.
"Well, another lesson learned the difficult way," Abaudia sighed. "Lebryn, could you please hand me the water bucket and the rags next to it?" Grumbling as he did so, the eight-year-old retrieved the requested items, roughly handing them to the elderly woman.
"Here they are," he said gruffly.
"Thank you," Abaudia replied as she kneeled beside Gúthwyn's cot. Lebryn did not answer as he returned to his cot and laid on it, watching Gúthwyn and Abaudia intently as the woman began her work. "Please turn around," Abaudia requested. Once again, Gúthwyn was looking at the wall.
Swiftly, Abaudia dipped a rag into the water bucket, which yielded its contents for drink and medicinal purposes. This was one of these occasions, and taking care not to hurt the young girl, she gingerly cleansed the wound. Although Gúthwyn did not wince, her back muscles tensed with each touch of the fabric, betraying her senses and feelings.
"It does hurt, but it must be done," Abaudia spoke as she worked on one of the lacerations. As she moved the cloth up to follow the cuts, she noticed that the girl's right shoulder had been tightly bound with a similar material as that which Abaudia carried now. "Where did you get that?" she questioned.
"Get what?" Gúthwyn wondered, looking back at her healer questioningly. It was then that she saw what the older woman was speaking of. Her gaze became bewildered, as if she herself could not recall how she had been hurt. Her brow furrowed as she attempted to remember the events of recent days past.
At last Gúthwyn came to a conclusion. "The memory is foggy… but I was shot with an arrow… the hunter must have healed me. I think it may have been poisoned, for I was out of it for days."
"Perhaps I should take a look at it," Abaudia offered.
"It is fine," was the answer. The older woman detected a bit of pride in Gúthwyn's voice, despite the beating she had previously received.
"Where are you from, child?"
"I was taken from Rohan," Gúthwyn replied.
"Ah." That was it, then. Abaudia herself had lived in Gondor before she had been captured in an unexpected raid during her younger days, but she had read about the mighty Rohirrim, the Horse Lords, the Eorlingas. They were indeed a proud group of people, formidable in war and unbeatable in horse breeding, and somehow always managed to arrive at battle just when things were at their worst. Indeed, their coming was often the turning point of any skirmish.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Abaudia finished cleaning Gúthwyn's back, placing the rag on the cot while reaching for another. Selecting one of the longer pieces, she held it up to check for dirt. Seeing none, she said to Gúthwyn:
"Can you cross the ends of this material over your stomach and pass them back to me?" She was relieved that Gúthwyn, judging from her nod, understood, and without any more conversation she wrapped the makeshift bandage around her patient's back and placed the strips in open hands.
Quickly, Gúthwyn did as she was told, and a second later Abaudia held the ends again. Working meticulously, she knotted them together, making sure that they stayed together when she released her grip. Now one bandage protected part of Gúthwyn's back from further harm. Luckily, the rags were wide, and it took less of them than normal to finish the job.
Holding up another piece of cloth, Abaudia repeated her instructions to Gúthwyn, and they finished the binding process. Normally, Abaudia was used to doing the procedure by herself, which was a lot easier. However, since to do it without aid required the removal of the patient's shirt, she thought that Gúthwyn should have the opportunity to become more comfortable with the other members of the clan.
"Thank you," Gúthwyn remarked as Abaudia stood up.
"Your welcome," Abaudia replied, groaning slightly as she felt a pain in her joints. She was getting old, and her body was not what it used to be.
"When do we have to go back?" Onyveth asked, looking out the window towards Orthanc as she did so. Feride also looked, but her gaze was directed upwards, struggling to pierce through the haze.
"I believe we have a little over an hour left," she answered. A long pause followed, in which silence was an amicable friend while the other senses, particularly smelling, were not.
Onyveth impatiently broke it. "How did you get here?" she inquired. Everyone's head turned up to meet her, but it was Gúthwyn she was looking at.
"Me?" The young child had not specified who the question was directed to, and Gúthwyn was not sure that her answer was required.
"Yes." Hesitant and not quite knowing what to do, Gúthwyn looked over at Chalibeth, who nodded as if to encourage her. And so, taking a deep breath, Gúthwyn told her story.
Leaving out her relation to the king of Rohan, she briefly outlined where and how she had grown up, only beginning to add in details when she reached her twelfth birthday. She spoke of how she had been extremely excited to learn how to swordfight at last, how horrified she was when her siblings had died of a poisoned arrow, and how she managed to survive to become a slave.
When Gúthwyn had finished, she looked at her audience, all of whom were listening attentively to her story. Making an effort to produce a weak grin, she sought to take the focus off of her. "All right, I have told my tale, now someone speak of their experience."
"Fine, I will," Cobryn offered. "My own version of events will perhaps be shorter than yours, Gúthwyn, but maybe as interesting."
He informed them all that he had grown up in Minas Tirith, the White City of Gondor, and recounted the summer lodgings in a small village within Lossarnach, not too far from his home. The events of the sudden Orc attack during one of these stays unfolded in their minds as he skillfully wove his words, captivating them all as they listened to how he had been knocked unconscious by the blunt end of a scimitar and taken prisoner along with some of the other warriors.
An argument between their captors was spoken of, and how the larger side had won and carted the hostages to Isengard. None of his companions, he said, had survived the journey, and when they arrived at Orthanc, he had been the only slave to offer. "So that is how I came to be here," Cobryn concluded with a sigh. "What I would give to see the White Tower of Ecthelion again…" his eyes glazed over, and he looked as if he was mentally traversing the roads of his city, like he had done three years ago before he had been captured.
Muttered sympathy was heard throughout the room, and continuing the conversation, Feride began her tale. She hailed from Bree, a large town that was much further east than any one of them had ever gone. Serving ale in a little tavern since she was sixteen, she had fallen in love with a foreign, dark-haired man who came at random points of the year, never once removing his black cloak. He always ordered the same thing, she told them, and soon she was able to bring him his drink without any request being made.
One day, the man had offered to take a walk with her, and she had eagerly accepted. The joyous outing, however, was short-lived: only five minutes away from the bar, he had roughly pulled her on a night-colored horse and rode away, ignoring her frightened protests and pleading sobs. He had deposited her before Saruman the White in exchange for a large bag of money.
"That man sounds like my captor," Gúthwyn spoke as Feride wrapped up her account.
"He probably was," Feride spat out bitterly, her eyes flashing with anger. "Ever and anon I have seen him bringing new slaves here, and at all times he receives another parcel containing more gold. It is an easy business for him, I suppose." Her eyes glanced out the small window, and she gasped as she realized the time. "We need to be heading back to our duties!" she exclaimed.
"What of dinner?" Lebryn questioned, his stomach rumbling in agreement.
"Oh, no, we forgot!" Onyveth whined, her eyes becoming glassy with tears.
"We will have it later than usual," Cobryn responded hastily. "Normally we would have it at this time," he informed Gúthwyn.
"Today our chores will be the same," Abaudia reminded them all before they got up, "As we now have an equal amount of people for each job."
Instantly the clan was up and moving, as all of them rose from their seats and filed out the door. Gúthwyn found that she was no longer staring around Isengard in morbid curiosity—it was as if she could not bear to look at the place any more than she had to. Instead, she kept her eyes gazing straight ahead, following her fellow slaves as Orthanc drew closer.
Chalibeth drew up beside her, and with her mind on the conversation the workers had been engaged in a minute ago, Gúthwyn asked,
"How did you get here?" A second later, the daughter of Éomund realized that this might not be the best subject to speak about with Chalibeth, for her friend's eyes became downcast, and she replied quietly,
"I would rather not speak about it."
"As you wish," Gúthwyn answered. An awkward silence fell between the two of them as, without another encounter from any Orcs, they turned towards the stairs leading into Saruman's fortress and continued their hurried strides. Like they had done earlier that day, Abaudia, Gwollyn, and Regwyn headed towards the Warg stables. Gúthwyn watched their receding backs as she walked behind the remaining slaves, with Chalibeth still by her side.
Soon, they stood in front of the stairs, and ever aware of the watchful eye of the sentinel stationed on the landing, the group climbed the steps.
"We are here for our evening chores," Cobryn spoke shortly. Grunting in response, the man let them pass, and as they entered the tower he turned again to scanning the grounds for any suspicious activity.
The entrance room was empty, with no signs of the arguing men they had espied in the afternoon. Once more the group split up, as Feride, Onyveth, and Lebryn began hiking up the circular staircase. The brooding, depressing atmosphere created by the dark walls, flooring, and general emptiness settled over the last three workers, causing them to whisper as if in fear of Saruman himself listening to their every word.
Quietly, Gúthwyn, Cobryn, and Chalibeth descended the last flight of steps into the room below, where the tunnel loomed at them menacingly from the opposite wall. A collective sigh was heard between them as they resigned themselves to another grueling work shift and entered the passage.
Now Gúthwyn questioned not the steady rise in temperature, nor the clanking sounds from the forge ahead. Perspiration started to form on her brow, slowly making its way down her face and onto her neck. Beside her, she could see that Chalibeth and Cobryn were in the same situation, although it was to a lesser degree and they did not seem to be bothered by it at all.
The channel took a little twist in direction, and the balcony appeared in front of the slaves and they could see what was going on in the forge.
"Well, here we are," Chalibeth said, sounding as if they had already finished the labor and were ready for nothing else but a long sleep. Her shoulders visibly slumping, she stepped on to the platform and began lowering herself down the wooden ladder. Soon, her feet had found purchase on solid ground, and she got off of the structure and waited for the next person.
Following Chalibeth, Gúthwyn started the climb downward. She had no fear of heights, but she distrusted the strength of the wood she gripped with her fingers, and to add to her uneasiness, Chalibeth's hands had made the material more slippery than it had been before.
She had only fifteen feet left to go when she suddenly misplaced her hands, losing her footing and her hold. Fear shot through her stomach as she plummeted towards the ground. Instinctively, she curled in on herself, screaming not—it felt as if her vocal cords had leapt out of her throat to save themselves. The last thing she heard before she hit the floor was Chalibeth calling her name.
The impact of her back hitting the dirt-packed ground from that height and at that velocity was enough to knock the wind out of her. For a minute, she could do nothing but lie there, gasping for breath and looking up at Cobryn hurriedly making his way down the ladder.
Oddly enough, she felt no pain in her body, but right now she was focused on the recapturing air.
"Gúthwyn!" Chalibeth cried. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"No… I do not think so…" Gúthwyn spoke, her voice warily coming back and allowing faint, weak speech. Slowly, she raised herself from the ground, aided by Chalibeth's welcome hand. She rose to her full height before she realized that there was, indeed, pain. Swiftly it consumed her back, making her feel as if she might collapse again.
"Are you all right?" Chalibeth questioned worriedly as she witnessed her friend's discomfort.
"Yes, I will be fine…" Gúthwyn ground out, biting her lip to assuage the agony her body was going through right now.
A second later, Cobryn lightly dropped down next to them, his face full of concern. "Have any of your wounds been reopened?" he inquired urgently. The thought had never occurred to Gúthwyn before, and now she moved her hand under her shirt and ran her fingers over the bandages, wincing as her back protested the action.
"One of them, I believe," she confirmed as she withdrew her arm and looked at her hand. A small section of it had been lightly covered in blood, she saw, but it did not seem too harmful.
"We shall have to get that fixed when we are relieved of our work," Cobryn muttered. Amazingly, no one had noticed them yet, and he intended to keep it that way. "Let us go, we do not wish to be punished for tardiness." Gúthwyn and Chalibeth nodded their heads in agreement, and soon they were walking over to the man who stood on the platform, clutching his parchment in a tight fist.
Gúthwyn moved with her back hunched over, although the bend was not nearly enough to make a spectacle of. By merely placing her foot on the ground she was sharply reminded of her injury a moment before. However, not wanting to be weak again, as she had perceived herself to be when she was flogged, she made no comment about her discomfort and waited as Cobryn told the name of their clan to the servant. The man promptly scribbled something on his list and, yelling at another group to get out of the forge, fingered his whip absent-mindedly.
"I believe we are stuck with slag-duty again," Chalibeth whispered as they moved to get a thick pair of gloves. "How tedious." Gúthwyn was of the same mind, despite the recent events of the afternoon.
Although there was not a repeat of those incidents, the three-hour shift seemed to take forever and a day, especially since night was falling and most people would have been getting ready for bed at this point. As she worked, Gúthwyn found herself wondering how Théoden and Théodred were doing at this moment, and whether they missed her and her siblings at all.
Thoughts of home, though they were accompanied by a horrible sadness, were enough to get her through the endless minutes as they dragged by. Eventually, it was time for everyone in the forge to leave, and there was well nigh a stampede to the ladder. Gúthwyn was somewhat loath to climb it again, but she managed to grit her teeth and do it, much to her personal pride. She spoke naught of it, however, as the whole workforce streamed through the tunnel, up the following stairs, and into the entrance room of Orthanc, where Lebryn, Feride, and Onyveth joined them.
Despite the number of people in the crowd, words were rare and a fatigued silence hung over them all. The sentry on the steps had no trouble controlling their movements as he directed them down the stairs and into the night, a few at a time. When Gúthwyn had at last been released from the tower, she took a deep breath and promptly choked on it, due to the smoke that still floated about in the air.
Although it was summer, the evening atmosphere tended to be cooler in these parts; but since gases strewed the air within Isengard, the temperature was more comfortable. Gúthwyn found herself being reminded of nights like these in Rohan, where she and her family stayed up later than they usually did, and they would ride through the nearby fields until darkness was about to cover all.
"Gúthwyn!" A sharp voice dragged her out of her memories, and to her embarrassment, she realized that she had been about to go in an entirely different direction than she was supposed to.
"Sorry," Gúthwyn answered Cobryn as she rejoined the group. "My mind was elsewhere for a moment."
"Anywhere better than here?" he questioned.
"Excluding Angband and Barad-dûr, what is worse?" she wondered out loud. Her response earned a snicker from Cobryn, who had to agree with her.
"Angband?" Chalibeth inquired, feeling as if she had missed some part of her few history lessons.
"The Hells of Iron, or the fortress of Morgoth in days long past," Cobryn explained. "Morgoth was a Vala, greater than his servant Sauron can ever hope to be." Chalibeth nodded in understanding, but Gúthwyn got the impression that she had already known who Morgoth was. She herself had learned about him from her uncle, who, in addition to having a good knowledge of lore, had remembered much from the tales of a man by the name of Thorongil.
Thorongil had served in her grandfather's army a long time ago, when Théoden was a young boy. He was not from Rohan, but came from the west to serve the king Thengel. A skilled fighter he was, and there was an air of mystery about him, for he never told anyone where he had come from. After he had left for Gondor, much to Thengel's disappointment, no news of him reached their ears after that, and many forgot that he had been in Rohan at all.
Shaking her head, Gúthwyn discovered that her musings had sustained her throughout much of the walk, and they were almost at their dwelling. Most of the crowd had dispersed at various points, and Gúthwyn wondered how many rooms were concealed inside of the stone ring.
Soon, Feride had pushed open the door leading into their small space, and the six of them piled in, exhausted and sore from a long day's work. A few hours ago, Gúthwyn had heard some slaves complaining about morning schedules, and shuddered to think of how worn out she would be tomorrow night.
Collapsing on her cot, Gúthwyn lay there a few seconds before a grumbling sound provoked her to sit up. Glancing around, she became conscious of the fact that she was starving. Nor was she alone in this opinion.
"When are we having dinner?" Lebryn wondered aloud, stretching his arms and speaking through a yawn.
"As soon as the others return," Feride tiredly responded from where she lay, sprawled across her cot with her eyes half-closed. Lebryn sighed—clearly he thought that Abaudia, Gwollyn, and Regwyn would never be back. Gúthwyn herself had private misgivings about having to wait for her meal. In Meduseld, whenever she wanted food, she would receive it promptly after she voiced her desire. She realized now that many people did not lead the same lifestyle that she once had, and that she would need to adapt to the surrounding customs.
The room was silent for a moment until Cobryn stirred, looking first at Gúthwyn and then towards Feride. "Feride," he spoke.
"Yes?" Feride replied, propping her head on her arms in order to look at him.
"When we went down to the forge, some of Gúthwyn's wounds were opened again. Do you think you could have a look at them?" In answer, Feride nodded, and Gúthwyn felt her stomach twist uneasily. Although Abaudia's previous administrations had been gentle and with good intent, Gúthwyn had developed a dislike for the practice, as it made her feel vulnerable and dependent on others.
"No, really, I am fine," she feebly protested as Feride got up and began walking towards her cot.
"Nonsense," Feride answered. "Despite the fact that you are most likely as you say, I would never forgive myself if I had overlooked anything fatal. Turn around."
Sighing softly, Gúthwyn did as she was told, and closed her eyes while waiting for Feride to begin. She felt the back of her tunic being lifted up, and the lacerations being carefully poked and prodded as the woman searched for anything amiss. She had the distinct feeling that everyone was watching her, and she desperately wished that the cot would swallow her up, even though it was a ludicrous prospect.
"All is well," Feride announced, letting go of Gúthwyn's shirt. The younger girl wasted no time in swiveling around again. "However, Cobryn, I am glad that you told me. Gúthwyn, if anything happens to your wounds again, please do not hesitate to inform one of us." Gúthwyn nodded, thinking to herself that that would be the last thing she did.
At that moment, the door swung open, and the rest of the Mûlnothrim clan straggled in, each seeming wearier than the next. As the others had done, they too sank on their cots, grateful to enjoy a few moments of much-needed rest.
"Can we have dinner now?" Lebryn questioned, ever impatient for what he desired.
"Yes, I think that some food would benefit us all," Abaudia replied. "Chalibeth, will you take Gúthwyn to the stores so she will know where they are? You two can help each other share the load."
"Oh, so one can carry the water bucket and the other will hold the foot-long parcel? Yes, now I see why we need to people to perform the taxing labor," Lebryn spoke, generating a cynical laugh amongst the older slaves. It was true that Saruman's servants were not fed well, with the exception of the men who had willingly placed themselves under his rule. These, he gave excellent provisions. Bacon, salted pork, wine, beer, and bread with butter and honey to spread on it were not uncommon on the plates of his faithful men.
Chalibeth stood up, and Gúthwyn followed suit. "We will be back soon," Chalibeth announced, and then strode to the door and flung it open. Hesitantly, Gúthwyn picked up the water bucket, not sure whether it was the right thing to do. However, when no one spoke against it, she continued. Careful to let Chalibeth lead the way, she stayed a few paces behind her as she marched down the path.
"Why is it that we receive so little?" she questioned as they began walking around the side of Orthanc.
"Because we are worth nothing, other than what we were paid for," Chalibeth answered grimly. "If one of us dies, it matters not in the White Wizard's eyes, for he can easily hire a man to capture a few more people. He is not so eager to spend his provisions on labor workers."
"No one would do that!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, disbelieving that one person could watch lives be thrown away and wasted without mourning their loss.
"Then why are we here?" Chalibeth demanded, looking back at Gúthwyn as she turned their course towards the entrance tunnel. "Why were you flogged when you tried to help a poor man? Why do nine humans have a foot-long package containing their evening meal to split amongst themselves?" The bitter words pouring through Chalibeth's mouth stopped Gúthwyn in her tracks. Never before had she heard someone speak with such anger and hatred about something.
However, she still could not bring herself to accept the fact that the man who now seemingly controlled her life, Saruman, would be so cruel. He had always been eager to lend aid to Rohan, no matter the cost. "The wizard has ever helped the people, from where I came from," Gúthwyn added. At that, Chalibeth swiveled around, and arched an eyebrow. "Then you were taken out of Edoras, were you not?"
Surprised at the amazing inference her friend had just made, Gúthwyn nodded, starting to walk again. "My – the king," she stuttered, aware that it did not necessarily lead to something good when she revealed her connection to Théoden, "was going to receive a councilor from him, someone who would help in the decision-making. Up until then, he had to rely on the advice from Marshals, whose primary concern was that of warfare." She was unaware of the fearful look that crossed Chalibeth's face, swiftly giving way to disgust and fury.
"That man, that so-called 'councilor,'" she seethed, clenching her fists as her voice raised with every syllable, "is a monster and a foul—" Seeing Gúthwyn's shocked look, and apparently thinking better of what she had been about to say, Chalibeth abruptly ended her rant. "Come," she spoke. "We are almost there."
"How did you know that I was from Edoras?" Gúthwyn queried to Chalibeth's back.
"That is not for me to speak of at the present moment," Chalibeth replied. Gúthwyn got the feeling that her friend knew a lot more than she did about what awaited Rohan, and it disquieted her.
She was shaken out of her thoughts by Chalibeth, once more. "Be careful," the girl warned. For the first time since their debate had begun, Gúthwyn glanced around her, at first seeing the tunnel leading out of Isengard drawing near, and then nearly jumping five feet into the air in horror. Less than three yards away from her stood a Warg, snarling and stamping its paws as the two slaves passed. A large, bulky man sat straddled upon its back, keeping what seemed to be a very lenient control. The animal was staring at both of them, appearing as though it wanted nothing more than to run over and tear them to pieces with its deadly fangs.
"Chalibeth?" Gúthwyn whispered nervously, catching up with her and throwing furtive glances at both man and beast.
"Do not worry," her friend replied, not even looking at the Warg. "It will not eat us." As Chalibeth spoke, an image flashed through Gúthwyn's mind. She was in a humongous, underground room, clutching a blade in her shaking hand, which was covered in blood that she somehow knew to be from one of the beasts. Dead Wargs lay about her feet, but as she prepared to finish off the rest of the attacking group, a scream echoed throughout the area. Looking up, she saw a flash of golden hair disappear beneath a pile of the frenzied beasts.
Just as suddenly as the vision came, it had passed, leaving Gúthwyn to wonder about the identity of the unfortunate victim. It had seemed so real, and yet when she held her hand before her face, it was dirty, but not soiled with her scarlet fluids.
"I want to show you something," Chalibeth's voice entered Gúthwyn's head, and she started before coming back to her senses. "You will see how little respect we have." By now, the girls were passing through the tunnel that led outside of Isengard.
"Are we leaving?" Gúthwyn questioned incredulously.
"Do not be ridiculous," Chalibeth scoffed as she slowed down, although her tone was not condescending. "Do you see the door upon our left?" Gúthwyn saw that she was right. "That is the entrance into the guard-house, which leads to the store-rooms." Gúthwyn made to go towards it, but then stopped when Chalibeth did not move. "Go on," the slave encouraged her, and Gúthwyn got the feeling that she was about to see what Chalibeth had wanted to show her.
Tentatively, she walked up to the door. "You do not have to knock," Chalibeth informed her. Nodding, Gúthwyn swung it open, and stepped inside.
She had a brief view of a large, stone chamber, with a good-sized fireplace restraining merrily dancing flames inside, before a dark, bulky mass stepped before her. Before she could make any noise of surprise, she felt herself being lifted off of her feet by her throat.
"What are you doing here?" she heard someone roar. Her eyes had squeezed shut in fright, and opening them, she gazed into fierce, dark, hollow orbs. Unkempt, messy, black hair was strewn across the man's face, which was half-covered by a shaggy beard home to several pieces of stale food. Gúthwyn began shivering in terror, and looked back over her shoulder for some aid, but Chalibeth was nowhere to be seen.
"Answer me!" the man roared, slapping her face with a calloused hand. Her cheek began stinging, and she gasped from the shock as she turned her face back to him, her lungs drawing less air as his crushing grip tightened.
"W-we came here-here to get some f-food," Gúthwyn choked out. "Please, sir, you are hurting me!" Her only responses were peals of laughter from more humans, evidently sentries of Isengard, who sat at a wooden table two yards from where her tormentor was having his fun, their meal ignored for a bit of evening entertainment.
"Move it, you scum!" the man bellowed, throwing her towards a door that stood about twenty feet down the wall from the table. Landing hard and painfully next to a bench, Gúthwyn barely had time to stand up before another man grabbed her arm and thrust her forward, clapping his hands drunkenly as she hit the wall headfirst.
Swallowing back tears that threatened to spill out from her horror-filled eyes, Gúthwyn scrambled to the door, yanking it open and tripping into the room beyond. Another wave of mirth rose up amongst the guards, and peeking back into the guard-house, she saw her assaulter have his turn with Chalibeth. She was amazed to see the bravery in her friend's eyes, which met the man's evenly and showed no signs of pain as she was flung towards the chamber where Gúthwyn sought refuge. I wish I were more like her, Gúthwyn thought.
A second later, Chalibeth stumbled in, and Gúthwyn heaved the door shut, wanting to look upon the men no longer.
"Thank you," Chalibeth breathed, her face a flushed red color.
"Your welcome," Gúthwyn said automatically, now staring in wonder around the store-room, her pain temporarily forgotten. Never before had she seen so much food in one place, even though countless feasts had been held at Meduseld for the entire population of Edoras. In reality, there were fewer items in the area than she had supposed, but the compressed atmosphere lent to the effect. Barrels upon barrels lined the walls, stored underneath shelves that held a countless number of parcels wrapped in inexpensive-looking parchment.
"It is not much," Chalibeth spoke, rubbing her arm as if it pained her. "The water is stale, and often dirty, while the packages contain nothing more than a few slices of bread."
Her awe slightly deflated, Gúthwyn moved forward, and then realized that she did not know what to do. As if she could read her thoughts, Chalibeth announced that she would retrieve the water. "You look for the label 'Mûlnothrim'." Wordlessly, Gúthwyn handed her the water bucket, an item that she had managed to cling onto while at the mercy of the sentinel.
Striding towards the shelves, she searched through the parcels, her right leg throbbing from where it had hit the bench leg. There will be a bruise tomorrow, I am sure of it, she assessed. Just then, a clumsily scrawled 'M' caught her eye, and she was able to make out 'ûlnothrim' following it. Picking up the package, she was dismayed to find how light it was. This whole thing would not satisfy my hunger, she despaired as her stomach rumbled. How are we supposed to divide it amongst nine?
"Are you ready?" Chalibeth wanted to know, coming up behind her holding a half-full water bucket.
"Yes," Gúthwyn answered.
"Hopefully they will be drunk enough by now to not mark our passing," Chalibeth remarked in an undertone. Her words brought back the memories that Gúthwyn had of those guards; memories which had begun to retreat into a dark corner of her mind and which were now brought forth again. Gúthwyn's face noticeably paled, and she could feel beads of sweat forming on her hands. "Do not worry," Chalibeth continued. "You will get used to them. You are new, otherwise they would not have bothered us."
And with those somewhat reassuring words, she stalked to the door and flung it open, Gúthwyn trailing behind her. Raucous roaring met their ears as a coarse joke came to its punch line, and as they looked into the guard-house they saw one man rolling around on the floor, tears of laughter mixed with beer staining his ruddy face. Gúthwyn saw that it was the very sentinel who had hurled her against the wall.
"Hurry, let us move before they take notice of our presence," Chalibeth whispered, and swiftly they made their way to the door leading into the tunnel.
"Hey, you over there!" they heard behind them. Panicking, Gúthwyn rushed the exit and pushed it open, Chalibeth piling out after her before she slammed it shut. No sounds of pursuit entered their ears as Chalibeth checked to make sure the water bucket had not relinquished any of its contents.
"Good," she muttered. "It would not be wise to venture in there again for a while."
"Will they remember us?" Gúthwyn inquired fearfully.
"My guess is no," Chalibeth responded. Silence fell about them as they made their way back through the passageway, coughing slightly as it opened up to the ash-filled air encircling Orthanc. "Do you see how poorly we were treated?" she questioned, once they had cleared the tunnel. "And this is not that bad, in comparison to what else could have happened. Nothing is wrong in their minds; and Saruman does not forbid it, which encourages them."
Gúthwyn did not answer. Her mind was wrapped in dark thought, for the words of Chalibeth set her ill at ease, and the two of them continued on in silence. It did not take them long to return to their clan's dwelling, and Gúthwyn was much relieved when they walked into the room and saw the familiar face of Abaudia welcoming them back and wanting to know what had taken them so long.
"It will not benefit you if you take to strolling around Isengard at night," she reprimanded them.
"We did not go for a 'stroll,'" Chalibeth answered, setting down the bucket. "The guards saw Gúthwyn as a recently-established slave, and had their sport with us."
"Did they…?" Feride left her question unfinished, but Gúthwyn noticed that the older members of the group had tensed up at her words.
"No," Chalibeth was quick to confirm, although Gúthwyn could not figure out what the query had been, or why Feride heaved a great sigh and appeared to let loose a breath that she had been holding.
"What?" she inquired, looking between the two of them.
"It is nothing that you need concern yourself with at the moment, my dear," Abaudia spoke kindly. "Did you receive any injuries from the men?"
"No, I do not believe so," Gúthwyn stated. "I will probably have some bruises in the morning, however." At this, Abaudia said nothing, but clucked her tongue in distaste.
"They are monsters, the lot of them," she spoke, an angry tone weaving its way into her voice. "And yet there is nothing we can do about it."
"Can we eat now?" Lebryn whined, grabbing his stomach in mock agony. "I am starving!"
"Please?" Onyveth begged. It was clear to Gúthwyn that the two of them had understood no more than she had.
"Yes, we should have our dinner soon," Cobryn agreed. "We will need our rest for tomorrow."
With that said, Abaudia opened the package, and discovered three medium-sized pieces of bread. Completely unsurprised by the lack of food, she bade Chalibeth to get the ladle from under her bed and store it in the water container. Feride stood on her own cot to reach a knife that was secured to the wall by means of a long, thin rope. It was close to the ceiling, in hopes of keeping the younger ones away.
"You may all sit back down," Abaudia spoke after those tasks had been completed and Feride had given her the knife. "I will cut the bread." Instantly they obeyed her command, and watched as she meticulously divided each slice into three pieces. Gúthwyn's heart sank as she realized how little food she would be getting, compared to how hungry she was at the moment. Is this what we receive for every meal? she speculated, hoping that she was wrong in her assumption.
After Abaudia had finished her job, she went to all of the slaves, handing them their piece of bread. Many, in particular Lebryn, Gwollyn, and Regwyn, stuffed theirs into their mouths and devoured them greedily, glancing around the dwelling to see if anyone did not want theirs. However, Gúthwyn chewed slowly, wanting to savor every bite as long as possible, for she did not know when they would have breakfast. I wonder, she thought bitterly, do we even have a morning meal?
Despite her unhurried pace, her bread was finished long before she had even started to feel the hollow in her stomach being filled, and she leaned against the wall with a sigh, remembering the nights at Meduseld with soup, and three slices of bread if one would want, and water in a never-ending abundance. She heard a growling noise from within her, protesting the mental torment she was inflicting upon herself, and she forced herself to stop thinking about them.
"Chalibeth, will you distribute the water?" Abaudia asked. Curious, Gúthwyn looked around, seeing no cups for the liquid to be poured into.
Soundlessly, Chalibeth stood up and made for the water bucket, picking it up and absently-mindedly giving the contents a stir with the dipper she had put in there earlier. Walking over to Abaudia, she scooped some of the water onto the large spoon, and deposited it onto the elder woman's outstretched hands. Gúthwyn stared, aghast and at a loss for words, as Abaudia swiftly brought her hands to her mouth and gulped down the water.
Looking at her own natural eating utensils, she saw how unclean and unfit for holding water they were, and tried to wipe some of the dirt off onto her pants, but was unsuccessful. Chalibeth soon stood before her, and Gúthwyn was forced to hold out her soiled hands for the water. It was transferred onto her hands, and as fast as she could she raised them and tried to swallow the drink. Although she managed to get most of it in her mouth, a fair bit missed its target, and dribbled down her chin.
Hoping that no one, except for herself and Chalibeth, had witnessed her clumsiness, she wiped her face with her sleeve. Looking out the makeshift window, she wondered what time it was, and what would happen after they had all been fed and watered.
She did not have to wait long to find out. "All right, it is time for bed, everyone." Abaudia announced, eliciting several groans from the younger clan members. "You know what happens if we are not asleep by a certain time," she reprimanded them. "Do you wish to bring punishment upon yourselves?" The children went quiet, knowing that she was right, although Lebryn had a surly look about his face, and most likely would have protested further if Feride had not been watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Looking about her, Gúthwyn saw that she had only the thin, torn blanket upon her cot, and that, for a pillow, she would have to suffice with the bundle of rags at its head. Glancing around the dwelling, she saw that everyone else had the same limited bedding. They merely threw the sheet over themselves and rested their head upon the crude pillow.
Following their example, Gúthwyn did the same, and once Abaudia was sure that everyone was ready for a night of sleep she blew out the candle, their only source of light; the room was cast into darkness, but not silence. Sounds of clanking machinery and occasionally loud, raucous yells were punctuated from the hissing steam that, ever and anon, rose up into the sky from the forge by means of the large holes that Gúthwyn had seen earlier.
Unused to such an environment, Gúthwyn lay upon her cot, unable to go to sleep. One by one, she heard the breathing of the other slaves become steady and even, and she knew that they had drifted off into a land of dreams. However, she knew she would find no solace in rest, unless perhaps her mind wandered across the plains of Rohan. The longing to ride free in her uncle's lands consumed her swiftly, and she imagined herself upon Heorot, galloping through the plains.
Slowly merging into existence, the forms of Éomer and Éowyn rode alongside her, and the three of them spoke about everything and nothing, as they had before the man had come and taken Gúthwyn from her family. Théoden and Théodred materialized, also, and soon the five members of the royal house were traveling back to Edoras.
Shaking her head, Gúthwyn pulled out of her thoughts. It is naught but a wish, she sternly reminded herself. It will not come true. Éowyn and Éomer are…dead. Admitting it in her mind, although she had spoke of it to the other slaves, made it seem real. She realized that, all along, she had been lying to her heart, saying that her siblings would come back and rescue her.
What a fool I have been, she thought bitterly, her eyes watering with angry tears. They cannot come back from the Halls of Mandos. I will never see them again. The tears began sliding down her cheeks, and yet she found that she had no strength to wipe them away. Her body began shaking with quiet sobs, and she stuffed her face into her pillow, not wanting anyone, if indeed someone was awake, to hear her.
For how long she lay there she did not know. Her misery forced her to lose all sense of time, and at the moment, she was completely wrapped in grief and despair. Perhaps the worst part was that, from having seen a fair share of maps in Edoras, she knew that Isengard was not a terrific distance from Rohan. To know that she was so close to her homeland and yet unable to see it was maddening.
At length, Gúthwyn's tears came fewer and further between, and she wiped her eyes on her pillow. The noises of Saruman's contraptions had failed, and she supposed that all of the workers were done for the night. Her face was red and damp from crying, and her nose was running. Scanning the dwelling for something to clean it with, she saw that Chalibeth was looking at her, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"How long have you been awake?" she whispered quietly, not wishing to rouse the other slaves from their sleep.
"I have not even begun to dose off," was the answer. "You miss your home, do you not?" Gúthwyn was silent for a moment, and then admitted,
"Yes. I do miss Rohan. And my family."
"I am sorry for your loss," Chalibeth responded. "I remember feeling the same way when I came here, a little over a year ago."
"How were you taken?" Gúthwyn queried again, her curiosity overcoming her sadness for the moment.
"I will tell you later," Chalibeth answered, her eyes dark as if recalling an unpleasant memory. "We should be going to sleep."
"You are right," Gúthwyn replied. There was another pause, and then she looked back at Chalibeth. "Will you not speak a word of this to anyone?"
"I promise that you shall hear naught of this from my mouth," Chalibeth vowed, smiling at her friend.
"Thank you," Gúthwyn spoke. Once again, all was quiet, but this time it was not awkward, and eventually, the two of them fell asleep. Outside, the smoke that wrapped itself around Orthanc covered the last star that had pierced brightly through the mists, and the grounds were thrown into darkness. Thus ended Gúthwyn's first day at Isengard.
