Disclaimer: Nothing to do with The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, etc. is mine. But I believe you know that by now. And don't come after me with a hatchet for what I've done to Éowyn in this chapter – she, like all things canonical, shall be restored in the end. Oh yeah, and I don't own the Shakespeare quotes in this chapter either.
And as usual, thanks to WargishBoromirFan for being my beta and helping me to enhance the story as well.
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Upon arriving at the gates of icy Edoras, a lone figure could be seen sitting on the great roof of Meduseld – yes, on it out in the freezing cold winds. Her yellow hair blew all around her, tangling in the wind, and her white dress was in shards as though someone had taken a sword to it. Dull were her eyes. Frost covered her skin. In her hands were clutched the dead brown stalks of a bouquet of simbelmynë. But it was her song that frightened everyone in the city the most:
"He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true-love showers."
The woman kicked her heels and swung them gleefully at the edge of the roof like one gone mad. Below her stood one alone figure – the others had long given up hope of convincing her to come down and left her to the elements.
"ÉOWYN! Come down off the roof and get inside!"
"White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with sweet flowers –"
"Please!"
"Which bewept to the grave did go –"
"I'm not leaving until you come down! So come down so I can leave!"
Her eyes filling with tears, the woman stopped her song and looked down at her brother with a deranged look. Howling, she dramatically cried, "But why should I come down, brother? For my true love is dead! Dead and gone! No longer do I wish to live. My poor Gríma! He hath passed in the night."
Éomer would have strangled her had he not been so worried. "Why do you speak in such a fashion? I know not what evil has possessed you, but you've lost it this time!" he yelled up to Éowyn. "You despise Gríma and the wretched man is very much alive! Why do you tarry on the roof like this? That does it! I'm coming up to get you!" And he started scaling one of the great columns, slipping, sliding, and grumbling as he went.
Meanwhile the weary group of travelers reached the large gate guarding entrance to the city. Boromir turned to the others, saying, "I'll go speak to them. They should let us in if the alliance with Gondor holds true." To Athena Firestone and Figwit he said, "And the two of you be careful. Don't say anything foolish or – oh, why do I even bother? We all know you will."
"Well someone's a little angry today!" Figwit said as he rolled his eyes.
"Shut up, Figwit!" said Thrór sourly.
Boromir slowly made his way through the gigantic snowdrifts surrounding the long-closed gate and called up to the keepers. The guards, recognizing him as Gondor's Captain-General, allowed him entrance even though they looked begrudgingly upon his strange companions. That is, they begrudgingly looked upon his strange companions until Athena Firestone passed through the gate.
Seeing the beautiful girl, both guards threw down their weapons and fell into the snow. "Who is this?" they asked in awe.
Her auburn hair gleaming and jade eyes shining like the divine creature she was, Athena answered, "I am Athena Firestone, daughter of the great Zeus! At his bidding I am sent to save Middle Earth from the evil of Hades! Tell your king that I have arrived!" And indeed the guards went falling over themselves, charging up the icy path leading to the Golden Hall to inform Wormtongue of her coming.
Very much irritated, Boromir thought of ordering them to halt and return but decided against it and led the others up the path after the two. As they went, the citizens of Edoras peered out from under their miserable, frozen houses and whispered ecstatically, "Look at that! A red haired woman of legends past! Perhaps she is a lovable Wight sent by Zeus to rescue us from this terrible winter!" And there was much rejoicing all through the city.
"And since when does Rohan recognize the god Zeus?" muttered Gimli.
"You forget once again this isn't the real Middle Earth," Thrór replied, his nostrils flaring in distaste.
"Whatever it is I hate it," the dwarf said with a glare. "And I can only imagine what idiocy awaits us in the Golden Hall."
Figwit looked around at the old houses with wonder. "Wow, dude! This is totally cool! It's just like the Middle Ages or something! Maybe when we get to the castle we can scarf some totally grievous proportions 'cuz I'm starvin' my butt off, hehe!"
"Figwit?" Lúthien suddenly inquired.
"What'z up, bebeh?" he answered with a snap & pointed finger at the fairest of all elven maidens, bringing the image of an unwholesome lounge lizard to mind.
"Nothing is up, I don't think. The sky is perfectly clear." Luthien used a misunderstanding of his odd terminology to mask her rolling eyes. "But I have a question for you: how would you like to learn how to behave like a real elf?"
"WoW! That'd be killah! But wait up, man, I am a real elf!"
"You cannot be a real elf with a name like 'Figwit.'"
"Whaddaya mean?" asked Figwit suspiciously.
"I mean you need an elvish name." Such a direct, pointed stare from the great lady would have made even Galadriel turn her face away in shame, but the effect was rather lost upon the air-headed "Rivendellish" elf.
"I've gotta a' elfish name. It's in Rivendellish!" There was not even the slightest glimmer of awareness in his eyes.
"Figwit, Rivendellish does not exist. And whoever named you should have at least gone to an elven name generator on the Internet to find a suitable name. Being an elf named 'Figwit' is like being an elf with a name like 'Delayawen,' 'Kat,' or 'April,'" scowled Thrór, listening in on the conversation.
"Oh, whatevah!" The male that might have been an elf turned his flattened palm towards the former Sue companion.
"Let me handle this, Thrór," Lúthien whispered. To the empty-headed elf she inquired, "How about we think of a real elvish name for you later? I can't stand the name Figwit."
Figwit grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. "Cool, cool! I'm game!"
At this time, they reached the entrance to Meduseld and were greeted none too warmly by the guards. "It is said that Athena Firestone walks among you," they said, "and Théoden King refuses to allow her into the Hall. She is too great a threat to his rule in these dark days."
Eyes blazing, Athena gave the guard her coldest stare. "And I bet I know why," she muttered furiously. "Curse that Hades!"
"But will he allow the rest of us?" said Boromir impatiently, not caring to ask why the king didn't want the Sue – I mean, warrior nymph in his hall. There would be time for such explanations later.
"Yeah, we don't really care if she has to stay outside," Thrór wanted to say but remained silent. He knew that it would be best for him not to speak for a while – after all, seeing a magical talking horse would tend to disturb most people.
"Leave your weapons and the rest of you may enter," began Háma but before he could finish, Athena Firestone, brave nymph child of Zeus, took matters into her own hands. "Out of my way, fool!" she cried, pushing the guard down. "I shall take care of this myself!"
"ATHENA FIRESTONE!" Boromir couldn't believe his eyes. "You will not go charging into this hall uninvited! Return at once!" he ordered in his most commanding tone, trying to scare her into submission. It didn't work.
"Shut up! You just watch me!" And as quick as a flash, the girl had broken the other guard's nose, knocked the wind out of Boromir, and kicked Gimli off of terrace before they could restrain her, and dramatic music played as she ran into the hall, sword drawn. After regaining his breath, and checking to make sure the dwarf could get himself back up the steps, Boromir looked around for the orchestra with the intent of beating them over the heads with their instruments, but there were sadly, for the lord of Gondor, no errant musicians to be found.
Up on the roof, Éomer, who had been watching the scene below and attempting to crawl across to reach his insane sister at the same time, nearly crapped in his pants. "Stop her!" he cried down to the others. "Do not let that wench attack the king!" And with a burst of energy he lunged for Éowyn, sending the two of them rolling off of the icy roof. It took all of Éomer's strength to pull his sister as well as himself through the air until they were directly on top of a pile of hay he had arranged for such an event, but the two landed safely. Not that Éowyn was happy about it.
"Oh, no! Now I'll never find true love!" lamented the king's niece. "Curse you, brother! I'm going back up on the roof to cry my heart out to the heavens once more!"
"NO, YOU ARE NOT!"
Her eyes filled with tears. "If only you knew, my brother, what it is like to lose your true love! My poor Gríma." Sobbing, she filled her lungs with air.
"Don't you dare start singing again –"
"He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone."
Hearing those familiar lines, Thrór limped over. "Who the hell is reciting Hamlet over here?" he asked sourly, forgetting to stay silent. "More drama is exactly what we do not need right now."
"My damn sister; she has – WHAT!?!? You are a horse! And you speak!" Éomer's eyes were wide and he stared at Thrór, not sure what to make of this strange beast.
Annoyed, the magical horse shook his head and said, "Trust me, you don't want to know, but all will be explained soon. Just come with me – we have a crisis situation on our hands! One of our numbskull companions has just decided to storm the Golden Hall all by herself!"
Éomer rose, dragging Éowyn with him. "Who has? And why?"
"He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf –"
"GIVE IT A REST, ÉOWYN!" Then Éomer softened somewhat, knowing he had to distract his deranged sister for the time being. "Oh, Éowyn! Look! There is a nice batch of sewing over there just waiting to be done!"
Looking wildly around, Éowyn cried, "Sewing! I love sewing! WHERE?"
"Here!" Éomer thrust a stick and one of his undershirts into her hands. "Quickly now, get to work! This needs mending right away!"
"Of course, of course! I love to mend things!" And Éowyn slammed herself down on a nearby barrel and tried to force the stick through the material. To all who knew her, she had definitely lost her mind.
His sister out of the way, Éomer ran into the hall where he found Athena Firestone beating Théoden King to the ground while at least five men and a dwarf tried to stop her.
"HADES!" Athena shrieked. "GET OUT OF HIM!" Her sword slammed into the old man's side, causing him to reel in pain. "YOU CANNOT POSSESS THE KING OF ROHAN ANY LONGER!"
The king suddenly leaped to his feet, eyes bulging. "You cannot stop me, Athena Firestone!" he cackled in a booming, evil voice. "Rohan is mine now! And soon the rest of Middle Earth will be too, and I will come for you then. Zeus will fall, and the world will be mine! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" he cackled melodramatically, his long-nailed fingers stretched out like claws.
But Athena was not so easily stopped, and the valiant girl gave a mighty cry. "Out of him, vile demon!" she howled, and then with one last strike with her sword Zeus' only daughter forced her cruel uncle out of Théoden King's body. A large black mist shaped like a human rose from the king's body, its red eyes flashing. No doubt it was "teh evole Hades." But soon the mist was gone and the Golden Hall was back to normal. Or so most everyone thought.
The peasants and all others rejoiced. "Athena! Zeus's daughter restored Rohan! All sing her praise!" they sang outside of Meduseld.
Gríma Wormtongue was understandably confused about the whole Hades thing as well. "I thought it was Saruman in there! That was too weird for my liking," was all he said, and he went back to Isenguard, a lost and extremely disturbed man - well, more disturbed than usual anyway – to report the strange incident to Saruman. The king's niece tried in vain to follow him but was restrained by her brother.
"Let me follow him, Éomer! He is my true love! Do not deny me that!" yelled a hysterical Éowyn as Éomer held her back. The sight of Gríma leaving almost broke her fragile little heart, and she wept incessantly.
"He is not your true love, sister! YOU DESPISE HIM!"
"No! I love him! Do you not hear me? I LOVE HIM!!"
Athena saw her and approached, saying, "Fear no longer, gentle Éowyn! He was not a good man – I bet he worked for Hades. At least now you can work on your womanly duties in peace."
"Oh, all right then," conceded Éowyn, and she happily skipped away to her quarters, singing in a strange way, "Sing willow, willow, willow, let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve..." As she left, Éowyn called back over her shoulder, "I do desire that we be better strangers! For more of your conversation shall infect my brain!"
"What is up with your sister and the Shakespeare?" Thrór asked Éomer who shook his head sadly.
"I know not. For months now she has acted strangely, singing outlandish songs and delighting in little but sewing. And as we all know, this is not like her. Never before would she have done such things. I cannot even persuade her to horseback ride with me anymore, for she claims that 'riding horses is a man's duty.' I wish I could cure her! Maybe a good slap would do it," mused Éomer.
While this had been going on, Boromir had been beseeching Théoden's forgiveness. "My lord, I take full responsibility for what that crazy girl did to you. She is not right in the head, you see, and we are traveling with her by mere chance alone," he explained in a very low voice. "I did not know she would dare act the way she did upon reaching the entrance of your hall and would have never even considered bringing her in if I had."
Théoden was unconcerned. "Forgive you?! Why quite the contrary! I thank you for bringing her here so she could release me from the vile hold of Hades! All shall sing praises for Athena!" And the king went over and bowed before the Sue – I mean, warrior nymph. "Thank you, my lady. I am forever in your debt. Whatever you want, you shall have!"
Her perfectly manicured hand sweeping over Théoden's head, Athena smiled. "No need to thank me, gentle king! I have sworn to protect everyone from Hades, and the king of Rohan is no exception. Now rise!"
"Wow! This is cool! You go girl!" Figwit, who had finally allowed into the hall along with Huan, Lúthien, and Thrór, cried. "You rock so hard, Athena!" He was pumping his fists into the air, jumping up and down as if he had gotten hold of way too much sugar.
"This is getting stranger and stupider all the time," muttered Thrór to himself. "A wimpy Éowyn, and a Sue-loving Théoden King in Edoras? I hate to think what might happen next."
"So do we," all of the Tolkien fans said, grimaces spreading on their faces. "This is not Middle-earth; this is Sueland!"