Chapter Ten: Rohan

By

LordHelen

I really wish I'd slept last night. Gandalf got us up really early to start again, and my arm aches because I let Gandalf heal it before we started. His power sped up the process and he promises it will be fixed by the time we reach Rohan, but there's some kind of ache in my bones. I've decided to call it a healing ache.

Also, I'm with Aragorn again because I just couldn't bear to hurt his feelings by blowing him off and going with Boromir. My eyelids droop because it's been almost twenty four hours since I last slept, but I can't fall asleep on Aragorn again. Funny how one dream can change my whole perspective…

When we reach Rohan finally, it's been three days of almost constant riding. Last night I slept particularly well and I have no problem staying awake. When we reach the gates of Rohan, some man stops us. Aragorn tells him about Eomer and he lets us through, but I wish he hadn't.

The people of Rohan are sad. Few are in the streets, and those that are hurry about in their haste to get inside. The younger ones stare at us with sad eyes, like they are dead inside. Or dying. Wormtongue has done his work well. The king is doing very poorly, and the people know it.

When we get to the king's hall, another man stops us and asks for our weapons. Aragorn makes a fuss about his precious sword.

"Aragorn, just put it down and move on. What are they going to do, break it?" I hiss. His eyes go wide as he thinks of that possibility and I roll my eyes. Then again, who am I to judge? I have trouble parting with my sword, and it isn't the Sword that was Broken or whatever.

I put down my daggers and sword and fight to keep straight face as Gandalf takes Legolas' arm and pretends to be old and crippled. Legolas has the funniest look on his face! I follow them in and wrinkle my nose at the smell. King Theoden is a sight, but not in the good way. His clothes are old and grayed, his face lined beyond his years.

Plus, the smell coming off him is…strong, to say the least. Wormtongue is by his side, already whispering lies in his ear. I can even hear a bit.

"…comes Gandalf the Grey and his band of misfits. We shouldn't take leniency with him this time-just look at his company! He brings a woman dressed as a man into your halls!"

Before, when Eomer mentioned it, I blushed and stammered, embarrassed to be singled out. Now it feels different, like I need to kill Wormtongue and take a really long shower. Only one is possible, so I'll have to see to his death. I look down at my clothes and realize with the start the white is covered with blood. This now seems stupid, because of course there'd be blood. I was stabbed with arrows!

"Theoden King," Gandalf begins, bowing his head slightly.

"Gandalf the Grey, come back in shame." Theoden chuckles mirthlessly. "Perhaps you have come to return my prized steed? Or to bow down and admit defeat?"

Sounds like he's looney-toons to me, but then again, who wouldn't be? Gandalf raises his head slowly, which sets Wormtongue off muttering again. He talks so fast there's no way Theoden can understand.

"Since when does the king of Rohan stoop so low to depend on lies and trickery? Or are you so far gone you believe the words of Wormtongue?"

"How dare you come to my king in his troubled state," Wormtongue hisses, standing up. "And accuse him of lies?"

"I accuse you, not Theoden King." Gandalf glares at Wormtongue. The slimy man sits back down and starts hissing into Theoden's ear again. "Keep your forked tongue between your teeth! Or can the king not speak for himself?" Gandalf snaps. His face turns softer as he looks at Theoden. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me? You have no power her, Gandalf the Grey." Theoden is surprisingly aggravating. I guess it's just Wormtongue, but that was especially nasty. Gandalf pulls back his grey robes to reveal his shining white ones.

"His staff! Take his staff!" Wormtongue shrieks. Then a bunch of guards fill the hall, ready to attack. And we have no weapons. "Stop them!"

The guards hesitate when they come to me, not sure what honor dictates about attacking a girl. I use that to punch them. Sometimes I kick them in the leg so I can punch them easier. About the time I knock a few to the side they stop hesitating, which means I have to be fast.

I see Wormtongue trying to get away in the chaos, so I jump in the air and kick on man in the chest, wincing as his head cracks against the stone. I springboard off his chest and land next to Wormtongue, punching him in the head. He falls down, knocked out, the little wimp. I turn and see Aragorn holding Eowyn.

It's a restraining hold, his arms wrapped around her torso as he leans toward her father. Still, the close contact, the intimacy of high emotions, does something to me. I think about strangling her as jealousy roars in my chest. Jealousy that he's holding her. Jealousy of her position, and jealousy that she doesn't have a crush on him yet. How easy it would be if I didn't have a crush on him.

Then he lets her go and she runs away from him, allowing the angry monster in my chest to lie down and purr. For now. I walk over to the man I kicked and test his head. He's bleeding, but looks okay. He's not unconscious, at least. I look up and she the real Theoden.

His face is younger, more alive. His eyes spark with inner fire as he gazes at the sword in his hand, turning this way and that. Then he spots Wormtongue, creeping towards the door.

You slithering snake!" Theoden yells, throwing Wormtongue out into the street. The people come out to watch, as do I. I really hope he slices the bastard up. "You will pay for what you have done to me!"

"Theoden!' Aragorn puts a hand on the king's shoulder, halting his angry tirade as he raises his sword. "He is not worth it. Let him return to his master. He will be punished enough there."

I roll my eyes. Yeah, let's let Hitler go while we're at it, I think sarcastically. It would be so much more fun to kill Wormtongue because he's as bad as an orc. He's been found guilty by pretty much the whole of Rohan, including us, so why not kill him? String him up by his neck; chop him into bite sized bits. Why let him go? Do we want Saruman to know Rohan is free?

That night, we're all held in places of honor at the feast. We're supposed to toast at the end of the king's speech, and I'm thinking water. What goes down my throat is definitely not water and I choke for a moment.

"Is this the first time you've tasted beer?" Aragorn asks from my right, smiling real big. I narrow my eyes and nod. He laughs, and I don't know why. I drink more, draining the mug. Then I drink more. And more. And more. And more.

I groan as I open my eyes, shutting them quickly again. My head is pounding and the bright light spikes the pain. I hear someone laugh quietly nearby.

"Who's there? Is it you, death?" I ask groggily.

"No, it is I," Legolas answers brightly. His sunshine mood hurts me and I pull a pillow over my head.

"Stop being happy," I order him. Then I realize what's happening and why Aragorn laughed last night. I have a very bad hangover. "What happened last night?"

"You drank quite a lot. I believe you got mad at a cat for calling you a loser, but Gimli might have exaggerated that part," Legolas offers. I groan again and sit up. I am in a really soft bed and Legolas is at my side, sitting in a chair.

"My head hurts," I complain. Suddenly I soaking wet, drawing pain from my head to my ice cold skin.

"Does that help?" Gimli asks cheerily. I glare at him. I inspect my room carefully, looking for any other annoying people. They leave me to get dressed and I find a copper tub of hot water. I peel off my grimy clothes and scrub my skin until it starts going red and the water turns cool. I dry myself with a fluffy white towel and, the towel wrapped firmly around my body, I go to see if I have any other clothes. The wardrobe has several of the royal Rohan guard uniforms, which means I'm going off to battle soon, and a few dresses. I try those on first.

The first is a pale baby pink, floor length with a little tail trailing behind me. I wrap my hair on top of my head with one hand and look at myself in the mirror. I look…wonderful. I look better than Sarah used to in her miniskirts. The dress fits my body perfectly, parted at the hip on the right side to expose my pale leg.

The next is a strapless deep sea blue dress that is straight down, a fancy dress that I'd never imagine wearing. It slips on and off easily, a suspicious convenience.

The final dress is yellow as the sun, too bright to look at. I put on a simple white tunic and dark black pants, putting the dresses back. It was a fun fashion show, and I could just imagine myself being the girl that wears outrageously lovely dresses because she can while I did it. But in the end I'd always put on the shirt and pants and go fight with the guys, because I couldn't really use dresses where I'm going.

I get down to the mess hall and get a bowl of mush and bread, a bit more flavorful then lembas, Then I get tons of fruit because it all has taste. The king and Aragorn and Gandalf are talking about moving the people of Rohan to Helm's Deep.

"If you were to go to Helm's Deep, you'd be trapped!' Aragorn pointed out.

"Helm's Deep has not once fallen," Theoden replied smugly.

"There's a first time for anything," I muttered.

"What?"

"Well, just because Helm's Deep hasn't fallen yet doesn't mean it never will. I mean, I wouldn't want to be the one stuck in Helm's Deep when it does fall."

"Helm's Deep won't be penetrated. The defenses are the best imaginable."

"Until the day it's penetrated," I pointed out. Theoden does not look very appreciative of my opinion, so I go for a walk after breakfast. Everyone in Rohan is outside, bright and happy. Children are running in the streets, some playing a medieval version of soccer. One little girl kicks the ball really hard and smiles, dimples popping out.

She has jet black hair-just like mine. I reach up to touch my hair. It has grown since I last cut it, just past my shoulders now. I know the blue streak is still in it, a streak I died so many years ago. I wanted to take a stand, pretend I was my own person when I was thirteen. I got hair dye at the store and made it blue. My father didn't even notice, though.

I watch the kids run around with their mothers watching on, eyes all lovey-dovey. I wonder briefly what it would be like to stand in their place, watch as my own child runs around with a ball. Then I realize how terrified I would be. How could I bring a child into a world where he-she could be harmed so easily? My life is proof of that.

I return to my room and sit on my bed, rubbing head. The hangover has mostly gone, but my head throbs continuously. The sun's position in the sky says it is almost noon by the time my headache lets up. I wonder when we're going to Helm's Deep. Then when I go out to eat lunch I see we're already getting ready.

"Lady Brianna," Eowyn says, coming up to me with the reins to a really big horse in her hands. "I have come to give you Gladsan, your steed."

"M…mine?" I squeak, looking at the monster. He must be at least a foot taller than Hasufel. Eowyn laughs and walks off, probably to get ready. I put one hand on Gladsan's back, one foot in the stirrup. I heft myself up and swing over, landing on his back.

I take the reins and sit still, looking around with wide eyes. I'm on a horse…now how do I move? I try doing that cool whipping thing with the reins they do on TV, the one where they 'tk-tk' and the horse starts going, but Gladsan just stands there. So I'm at a loss.

"Something wrong?" Boromir asks, moving his horse over through the crowd. I watch how he does it, but he's just sitting there as the horse moves.

"I don't know how to move…" I check to make sure I'm on right and try the TV thing one more time. He laughs at me, which burns, because Boromir is one of the worst horseman I've seen yet. He is awkward and clumsy on a horse.

"No, here. Like this," he shows me how he gently presses his legs against the horse's sides and hit his feet in fast. The horse starts walking. I try it, but it takes a few tries before I get enough force. Gladsan starts walking, picking his way through the crowd until we get outside. I use the reins to pull him anyway I want and then I get him to stop by pulling the reins back.

After I get past the whole sitting-on-another-bigger-animal thing, it's kind of…fun. I parade my horse around the open grass, earning laughs from my friends and are-you-insane?-stares from strangers. Then it's time for us to start going. I get irritated real quick when Eowyn starts to openly flirt with Aragorn.

And even more so when he flirts with her. Maybe he's just being a friend, or trying to be funny, but it looks a lot like flirting. Then, to my relief, two scouts come running up and break apart the two. Then again, seeing as how they're yelling about orcs, maybe it's not a relief.

I ride up with Aragorn, looking at the monstrous orcs. They're riding their close and personal minions-wargs. I draw my blade and charge down as a part of Theoden's army. I come to a really big and fat orc and chop his head off in one strike and stab down to kill the warg.

It is the rush of battle, the thrill of the kill. I cut and chop eagerly, ending lives that never should have begun. It might seem a little sociopathic to be thinking that, but it is true. Orcs should never have existed. Orcs are a mockery of elves, twisted and tortured beyond any real compassion or beauty. They're ugly with blackish blue skin and black eyes, and sharp pointy teeth like a vampire's fangs.

So I have no problem chopping off any orc head, since they aren't truly living. To really, truly live, you have to feel something besides hate and fear. Which they don't. Of course, if I were to meet a human in battle, I might feel different. Humans, however despicable and dirty and purely evil a person is, they're still a person.

I notice Gimli crushed under an orc and a really big warg. A smaller warg comes over on top, ready to kill. I ride over and stab once through the back, effectively stabbing it through the heart-or at least somewhere near-and it falls down on top of Gimli like the other two.

"Help me up?" Gimli asks, pushing futilely at his pile. I grab the last warg's foot and guide Gladsan to the side, pulling the warg off. Gimli manages to shove his pile higher and higher and, deeming he'll be just fine on his own, I ride back towards the battle that had raged on all around us. I look up over the swarm of battle towards the cliff where the ground suddenly stops. No decline like a hill; straight down.

I see Aragorn being dragged off the cliff. Some books say that the end is in slow motion where you can see every pain staking detail in perfect clarity as the bad thing happens inch by inch. To hell with that, one moment he's on the ground and the next he's over the cliff and the next he's not in sight.

I try to make my way over there but the orcs swarm up in front of me as if to specifically block me from reaching the cliff. I cut them down with a new aggression, a new edge. I need to get to the cliff, I need to save Aragorn.

Then it registers that there's no saving him now. He's down in the river, drowning as the frothy waters carry his body farther and farther away. The warg dragging him down towards the bottom of the icy stream. The thought of his death makes me sad and I'm distracted by the despair. An orc slashes open my thigh, but I can't feel the pain yet. I cut the orc up and remember to guard myself, but I can't really feel the pain.

Then some more of Theoden's warriors come up and help us kill the orcs. The battle is a blur as I strike down orc after orc. Men go around killing the wounded orcs and counting the dead. I see Legolas and Gimli wander towards the cliff and I follow them at a slow pace. Gladsan tries to support my now terribly aching leg in a way where it won't be unnecessarily jostled.

"You are lying!" Legolas hisses at the orc on the ground. I assume the orc just said Aragorn fell off the cliff.

"No, he's not," I say as I come up. Neither of them look back at me, because Legolas bends forward and takes the silver necklace from the orc's hand. "I saw Aragorn fall."

I pull my leg up towards me slowly and take a white shirt out of my pack shredding it with my dagger and tying it around my leg. It would have to do as a bandage for now. Legolas notices my jerky movements as I do so, probably because I'm trying not to cry so I do it aggressively.

"You are hurt," he says. It's not a question.

"Damn orc got my leg," I mutter, stopping for a moment before I continue, a little less emotionally. "What about you? I didn't see you much." At all, really.

"Not a scratch," Legolas says maybe a little too smugly. Stupid elf, perfect at fighting and every other damn thing on the planet earth. I knotted the shirt, already soaked red with blood, and turn to look at Theoden who moved very purposefully towards the center of the battlefield.

"There will be another orc host coming. Eowyn has taken the women and children to Helm's Deep. We will follow to protect them there, for we cannot engage in another battle with the orcs. Let us leave!" Theoden turns his horse and charges off towards (I assume) Helm's Deep.

Gladsan follows without any urging and Gimli and Legolas quickly get on Arod and follow. We ride for awhile. Long enough for me to get a real bandage from one of the men and start to wish Gandalf were here to replace this agonizing pain with the healing ache. Long enough for me to wallow in complete sorrow over Aragorn's death. Long enough for me to consider Legolas.

This, by the way, is not to say I don't still feel incredibly sad about Aragorn and I've completely moved past him. But for some reason Legolas pops up in my thoughts, bringing irrational joy to an otherwise bleak mind. I think of his long, muted gold hair and sparking blue eyes.

And as I think of this, The gate of Helm's Deep changes from horizon to closer to me riding through it.