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 Thirteen:
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. Once again, please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. As for the location of the Warg stables, in The Atlas of Middle-earth, there are only 'Wolf Stables' labeled, and so I have taken this to mean that this was where Wargs were created/housed. If anyone has any suggestions concerning this assumption, I'd be grateful to hear them. Finally, this was originally supposed to be the second half of Chapter Twelve… aren't you glad I cut it up?
Chapter Thirteen
Within seconds, all she could see were teeth and fur. Gúthwyn screamed in terror as one of them dug his claws into her leg, letting white-hot streaks of pain shoot up her body. Another Warg tried to bite her face, but with a frightened yell she turned away. With a horrible noise she felt her skin tearing and breaking as her whole left cheek was ripped off. "Somebody help me!" she cried, but the words came out as no more than a whisper.
The beast that had ravaged her features used one of his paws to effortlessly flip her over. A different animal nipped at her legs, reducing the girl to hysterical tears. Please, just dispose of me now! she begged silently as she closed her eyes, unable to do anything to defend herself as her body was destroyed, soon to be reduced to a bleeding carcass.
Suddenly, when she was prepared to join her brother and sister, the air about her became less stifled, and more wholesome. Curious despite her horror, she chanced a look around her and saw that someone was driving off the Wargs. One by one they disappeared from sight, presumably slaughtered at the height of their excitement. A moment passed, and then, her sobs much reduced, she could no longer hear them bellowing.
"Gúthwyn!" Her rescuer, now identified as Lebryn, knelt by her side. "Your face—your legs—" Shaking his head in amazement, he tried to lift the trembling girl up. "I have killed two animals, and the others fled. Can you walk?"
"Lebryn," Gúthwyn interrupted, desperate to know something. "My cheek… how bad is it? What does it look like?" Lebryn stared at her, and then shrugged.
"I cannot tell," he responded. "There is too much blood."
With a quaking hand, Gúthwyn gently touched her face, brushing them over ripples of mutilated, soft, recently exposed flesh. When she brought it back, the area was drenched in the scarlet fluid. She gasped, suddenly feeling as if she was going to faint.
"Gúthwyn! Please, you need to get up! Abaudia can dress the wound later, but now we have to make sure there is a later!" Lebryn pleaded with her. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady herself, Gúthwyn nodded.
Just then, a Warg, sensing a quick meal, lunged at Lebryn, knocking the boy clean off his feet and sending him flying to the ground. Gúthwyn scrambled to a standing position and saw that Lebryn was utterly paralyzed, defenseless as she had been in that awful moment and thought herself dead. But how could she repay the debt he had placed on her shoulders? She had no weapon.
Find it, you fool! her mind berated her. Swiftly she scanned the immediate area, spotting with relief the blade. She dove for it, ignoring the wailing protests of her limbs. Knowing that she had little or no time, she picked up the dagger, and stood up to look at the beast. Taking aim, she flung the sword at the creature's shoulders, hoping that, at the least, it would distract him.
To her surprise, although it landed slightly higher than her intent, the blade still buried itself in a vital area. Soundlessly, the Warg's knees buckled and sent him crashing down on top of Lebryn. Gúthwyn winced as she heard something crack, but was relieved that the twelve-year-old did not seem to be critically harmed. Quickly she retrieved the blade, smiling reassuringly at Lebryn as she did so. Unfortunately, she knew that she could not lift the corpse on her own- she had learned that Wargs often weighed four times that of a grown man. She needed Chalibeth to assist her.
Where is she? Gúthwyn now asked herself as she searched for her friend. Then she smiled, observing with pride as Chalibeth, with deadly accuracy, stabbed her dagger through the eye of a Warg, yanking it out as the brute howled in agony. Gracefully she turned away, looking for another adversary. It was at that second that the start of an unbearable torment began.
Gúthwyn unexpectedly recalled the vision she had experienced three years ago. She realized now that the cavern she had been in was this one. The Wargs that had been attacking lay dead around her. But what of the person who had been mauled?
"CHALIBETH!" Gúthwyn screamed, understanding with a horrible surge of knowledge the identity of their prey. "BEHIND YOU!" The animal that Chalibeth had presumed dead was gathering his final strength, ready to make that leap that would take both of their lives. Gúthwyn could only watch, horror-struck, as Chalibeth swiveled around only to be struck full in the chest; with a terrified look in her eyes she tumbled on the ground. She lay there motionless, her golden hair spread out behind her, azure eyes closed as if the action would bring her peace in the midst of this battle. She knew her life was ending.
That was the last glimpse Gúthwyn had of her, and though it lasted but an instant, it was how she would always remember the girl who had been her closest friend for only three years. With gleeful shrieks and snarls, the Wargs jumped upon Chalibeth. Unlike those who had attacked Gúthwyn, these wasted no time nibbling at the skin. Unable to turn her head away from the gory sight, the daughter of Éomund stared as Chalibeth was mercilessly ripped apart. In less than a minute, bones were being spit out of the creatures' mouths, blood spewing in all directions as they carried out their execution.
In the middle of this, Sharkû returned to the caverns. But he was not alone. Saruman the White, resplendent in all his power, accompanied the veteran Warg-rider, his gaze passing over all that had happened. He saw a slave trapped under one of the beasts; what had been another serving as an ample meal for his creations. And then his eyes fell upon Gúthwyn, that insolent Rohirric worker, situated as if transfixed yards away from her fellow laborers, a sword clutched in her hand that dripped black blood.
Gúthwyn did not mark the entry of the most dangerous wizard in Middle-earth, nor did she see his features contort in an indescribable fury. She too was consumed in rage and grief, so that for a moment she did nothing, torn between the two emotions. Half of her did not think that she was living at the time, as if it was a nightmare and she would wake up soon, Chalibeth teasing her for sleeping so late, and everything would be back to normal.
However, it was not to be, as Gúthwyn so clearly saw when the Wargs pulled back from their kill. All that remained of Chalibeth was a pool of her fluids, scattered remnants of bones, and a few locks of her fair hair. The rest of her body was dangling from the mouths of various animals, a sight so gruesome that Gúthwyn's lunch twisted in her stomach, protesting the image. But she paid no attention to that ill feeling. She had to avenge her friend.
With a savage cry of ferocity that echoed throughout the cavern, Gúthwyn held her sword high and charged the beasts, her mind fixed on one thought and one thought alone: revenge. Everything but the Wargs seemed to blur, becoming non-existent in this new dimension of massacre. If any of these creatures lived to be fed another day, it would be utter failure on her part.
A Warg, clearly the highest in whatever hierarchy the brutes possessed, sauntered forward before lunging at Gúthwyn, hoping to take her down swiftly and without hindrance. The daughter of Éomund merely stepped out of the way and then thrust her blade into the animal's back. Not even pausing to savor her victory, she turned her attentions to the rest of the beasts. Four more left, she thought.
Saruman observed all this with wrathful eyes. Sharkû made to join the fray, but the Wizard held him back. "Not yet," Saruman spoke. "Eventually she will fall, and we can salvage something out of this wreck." The Warg-rider obviously disagreed, but knew better than to question his superior. His own body tensing in anger, Sharkû could not prevent the utter annihilation of his cavalry.
Indeed, utter annihilation it was, as Gúthwyn slit open the throats of two more Wargs and halfway decapitated a third. She left them to die in agony, their lives seeping out of their writhing carcasses. Stopping only to pick up Chalibeth's discarded dagger, she rushed the fourth beast, stabbing it in the neck and using her own blade to gut the victim. Luckier than her comrades, the Warg was dead almost immediately.
Abruptly, everything went quiet. Gúthwyn dropped her swords, sinking to her knees in despair. For, despite the slaying of the brutes, Chalibeth was not alive, and had since departed the circles of this world. Tears began sliding down her cheeks, a prelude to the racking sobs that came after. Burying her face in her hands, she crumpled to the ground and wept.
Gúthwyn had been in that position for a minute when, suddenly, a pair of strong hands grasped her arms, pressed them to her back, and unceremoniously yanked her upwards. From muttered curses, she guessed that the attacker was Sharkû. Gasping, she began kicking wildly behind her, hoping to loose the Warg-rider's grip. But there was no such luck, and instead, she was pushed down again and her head was slammed repeatedly into the ground.
"Enough," a cold voice spoke, and instantly Gúthwyn was lifted to her feet, a sense of dread coming over her, accompanied by an utter loss of direction that was a result of the abuse she had just endured. She swiftly forgot about all her previous troubles, though, when she was whirled around to face the White Wizard.
What astounded her, and made her more than a little wary, was his face. Instead of being livid like she had expected it to be, his expression was that of an adult who was about to lightly discipline their child over a trivial matter. His eyes were wise and benevolent, with a hint of regret and sadness. If anything, this made Gúthwyn uneasier, and she endeavored to look anywhere but at Saruman.
"Why, my slave, would you feel so inclined to destroy my creations?" he asked, taking on the tone of someone who has been wronged without justice. Instantly, Gúthwyn became calm, and she almost laughed at herself for her earlier fears. The Wizard's words were kind, enchanting to listen to, and held no promise of punishment. She felt an overwhelming urge to agree with all that Saruman said, obey all of his orders, as faithfully as the horse follows its rider's commands.
"They assaulted us," she replied, and marveled to hear her own voice sound hoarse and croaking.
"And so you decided to murder them senselessly?" the voice pressed, but still no fury stained the question. But Gúthwyn was puzzled. Now that she thought about it, why had she been so eager to dispose of the Wargs? What had they ever done to her?
"I do not—" she began, but then an image came to her mind. Once more, she relived Chalibeth's death, the horror in her friend's eyes as she faced her end. Shall I mock her memory? she questioned her conscience silently.
With some effort, she steeled herself to gaze at the White Wizard. "They are corpses now," Gúthwyn began thickly, "because otherwise my companions would have perished. One of them, as it were, is no longer alive." She then thought of Lebryn, and of how much danger the two of them were in. However, perhaps she could at least get the boy out of punishment.
Coming to a conclusion and sealing her fate, Gúthwyn allowed a defiant tone to enter her voice. "I have upheld my honor," she continued haughtily. "I slaughtered all fifteen of them!"
Behind her, Sharkû hissed in rage, and his hold on her arms significantly tightened. Saruman's gaze narrowed, and the next sentence that came out of his mouth was not even remotely pleasant. "You fool!" he all but screamed, a wild, red light entering his eyes. "Did you really think you would escape any castigation? That Gúthwyn, a mere slave, would be able to strike down her master's servants at will and go without reprimands?"
Gúthwyn stared, at a complete loss as to how the White Wizard knew her name. "Oh, yes," Saruman continued, his tone calmer, as though perceiving her thoughts, "I know who you are. Gríma told me about you; indeed, I know your lineage as well, having some knowledge of the crude House of Eorl. Tell me, Gúthwyn, how does it feel to be reduced from the King's niece to a slave without pride?"
To her chagrin, the daughter of Éomund felt tears beginning to fill her eyes. Not here, not now! her mind yelled at her. Desperate, she just managed to blink them back. "You know me not, if you think I have been beaten down," she retorted, aware of how much hot water she was currently submerged in.
"Perhaps you have," Saruman replied, a smile coming across his features. "For were you not unable to save your friend? Chalibeth, yes, I believe that was her name." Gúthwyn started, and against all logic would have thrown herself at the wizard if Sharkû had not held her back.
"How dare you!" she shrieked, momentarily forgetting her current situation and spitting on the ground at Saruman's feet. "How dare you even mention her name?"
If she had thought that the White Wizard was angry before, this was nothing compared to now. His face twisting in rage, his eyes shooting venom, Saruman did not hesitate with his next sentence. "Sharkû, take this insolent brat into the cage."
"Yes, my Lord," the Warg-rider replied, his mouth stretching into a grin as he clutched Gúthwyn's arms tighter and began steering her away from his master. Gúthwyn cast one mystified glance back at the wizard, and saw him chuckling with mirth. Her stomach clenched, twisting and turning within the confines of her body. This cannot be good, she thought.
The horrible echo of Saruman's laugh pounded at Gúthwyn's ears, barely louder than the frantic beating of her heart. For it had become all too clear that Sharkû was taking her to the mysterious cage bathed in shadows, and she understood now why no Wargs had been seen within its confines: there were none, as it was reserved for disobedient slaves. A sick feeling in her stomach made its presence known as the Warg-rider drew her closer to this punishment.
Gúthwyn could not have known that her guess about the enclosure's purpose was only half right, and that it was not, as she had supposed, empty. But the idea did not cross her mind as she was dragged along, still attempting to squirm her way out of Sharkû's grasp. As they came closer to the cage, she squinted into its depths, trying to make out even the vaguest shape, but it was futile. No light pierced the darkness; nothing could be seen.
Even so, a sudden dread seized her as Sharkû came to the door, an unexpected and consuming terror: she did not want to go into that pen. With a shriek, she began kicking at the Warg-rider's legs in a furious panic, startling him to the point where he almost let go of her. But then he tightened his hold on her, and in one surprisingly swift motion slammed her body into the wood of the cage.
Gúthwyn's head contacted painfully with the hard surface, and she moaned in pain as she was pulled back and then thrust forward again. This brutal chastisement was continued until she was barely able to move, so dizzy had she been rendered. Sharkû snarled triumphantly, and dimly Gúthwyn registered the sound of a knife being unsheathed. She shuddered as she felt the cool tip of the metal pressed against her cheek, and then twitched in agony as he dug it slightly into her wound.
"Next time, you're dead!" Sharkû threatened, pushing the knife in a little further before at last lowering it. Unable to scream, Gúthwyn felt as if she would explode from the pain. She still had not yet recovered from being smashed into the enclosure.
Taking advantage of his captive's weak state, Sharkû let go of her with one arm and set about undoing the lock to the cage. He had finished this task almost before she was aware of a loosened grip. I should have taken the opportunity to escape, Gúthwyn wearily lamented, but she knew that she would not have gotten far.
An unrelenting terror still clutched at her heart, escalating to extreme heights when the door into the cage swung open. She was greeted with a roaring blackness, and an even louder silence. The sounds of the growling Wargs seemed to be muffled as soon as Sharkû pushed her inside, and they grew fainter as he forced her further in.
Completely incapable of seeing anything, she was vividly reminded of her first time entering the Warg stables; the frightening memory turned wretched as she remembered how Chalibeth had tried to help her overcome her fear of the beasts. Tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them, and her body started to shake with the sobs and cries that were now being emitted through her mouth.
"Shut your mouth, human!" Sharkû's command was followed by a slap to her face, which she did not espy even when it was but inches away. Ashamed of herself for showing such weakness, Gúthwyn quieted, but it took a longer time for her tears to dry.
They were now so far into the cage that, when she turned her head, she could not even see the door. The shadows were surrounding her, suffocating her, and the silence was so deep that the hissing of Sharkû's breath seemed as loud as a galloping cavalry thundering across the plains.
She had just begun to hope that she would not be marched through this horrible place for much longer, when suddenly Sharkû halted. Uneasily, she felt an unidentifiable liquid seeping through her thin and tattered boots—she dearly hoped that it was nothing more than drinking water. But there was no light to shine upon what lay on the ground, and she guessed with a heavy heart that there would be none.
Her senses already adjusting, she felt Sharkû's presence as he reached past her. A creaking sound like an old door met her ears, and she wondered if there was another cage in front of her. She had no time to think of anything more before she was roughly turned around and picked up. Instantly, she began flailing her arms in the direction of the Warg-rider, but he was too swift for her, and he had the element of surprise on his side.
Gúthwyn then experienced the queerest sensation: she felt as though she were being stuffed into a box. Sharkû had arranged her limbs so that they were as close together as possible, and as he moved her forward she felt something hard brush past her on either side. Then he dropped her, and she fell only a couple of inches before landing on a wooden surface. She knitted her brows in shock, for most of the floors in Isengard were packed dirt, and those in Orthanc were of some jet material.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her swayed, and she flung her arms outwards. It was then that she realized where she was.
For Gúthwyn's arms had hit a series of wooden bars, and when she moved them upwards, they did not extend fully before touching the roof of her prison. A creak was heard before her, and when she reached towards it, she felt a door, and then the lock that circled around it. The weight of this knowledge struck at her with the force of an arrow: she was in her own little cage. She could move less than a foot in any directions.
She had never been frightened of enclosed spaces, but this was too much for her. As the receding footsteps of Sharkû echoed in the darkness, she screamed in horror, her voice hysterical and cracking. Frantically she beat at the walls of her prison, but it was useless. "NO!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs—then, she froze.
For in answer to her yells, a series of haunting howls rose up in the air above her, frighteningly close on all sides. They were the calls of Wargs, though ten times as menacing and ravenous. Never, in her worst nightmare, could Gúthwyn have dreamt of a more terrifying punishment. The very core of her soul was cowering in fear, and she felt as though she would retch. To block out the noises of the Wargs, she clamped her hands over her ears, but she could still feel them around her; how had she not noticed them before?
It was some time before she gathered the courage to lower her hands, but when she did, the Wargs were silent. In their place was a steady falling of footsteps, growing ever louder. Hope beyond hope was ignited within her: perhaps Sharkû was going to take her out, and whip her instead. Her fear of the Wargs was such that torture was preferable over being forced to endure their presence.
Hardly daring to wish it were so, Gúthwyn peered out into the darkness, and saw a small patch of flickering firelight suspended in mid-air. The black atmosphere of the caverns seemed to swallow its rays whole, and only the gleaming, malignant eyes of Sharkû were visible from it.
Her heart beating erratically, she watched apprehensively as the orange glow neared her. The eyes bored into hers, and she found herself backing as far away from them as was possible. Then suddenly they disappeared, and the fire plunged downwards. It fell below her line of vision, and she realized that her prison was above ground. She barely had time to be surprised before there was a thump, and the resulting blaze of light nearly blinded her.
However, as her eyes steadily became used to the glare, she wished that she truly had been blinded, rather than have seen her surroundings. For it became permanently etched into her memory, something that she would never forget in the years to come. Long ago, it was said, the Valar had forsaken Middle-earth, and now Gúthwyn wholly believed that the lands and their people had been abandoned to their fates.
Everywhere there were monstrous Wargs, nearly twice the size of those that lived in the light. These festered in the darkness, drinking up the shadows until their stomachs were full of it; then they would turn to the unfortunate slaves who, like Gúthwyn, had done wrong. The ground was littered with the bones of those lucky enough to have been killed almost instantly—however, here and there were corpses so mutilated, so unrecognizable, that she felt her stomach leaping into her throat. Some of the Wargs still had flesh dangling from their mouths, which they chewed languorously as they watched her convulse and choke on her terror.
Sharkû's cold, hard laugh drew her eyes near him, and she saw with revulsion the body that had been used as fuel for the sinisterly shimmering flames. Already its skin was beginning to blacken and shrivel, and the nauseating smell of burning flesh met her nostrils. A lifeless arm reached from the blazing torso, its withered hand pathetically grasping at another. Gúthwyn followed the connection, and what she saw would torment her sleep ever after.
The young girl was one of the few identifiable carcasses remaining; she was not much older than Onyveth was. One of her legs had been bitten off to the knee, and blood was still seeping out of the mangled flesh. The other leg was so grotesquely twisted and bent that Gúthwyn felt sure that more than one bone had been brutally snapped. Once more, her meager lunch rose upwards in protest, and she wrenched her eyes away to focus on the girl's upper body instead.
This was far worse than the legs—the stomach had been ripped open and delved into so thoroughly that there were few entrails left, and the rest of the blood-coated organs had popped out and were spilling over her skin. Sickened, Gúthwyn realized that she could see the ribs of this poor child: the white bone glistened in the firelight.
The rest of the corpse had fared no better. Half of her fingers were missing, no more now than fleshy stumps that had been stained red and black. The hand that was grasping the flaming corpse had a hole in it. The arms were worse: long strips of skin had been torn off of her limbs, exposing what lay beneath; part of her right shoulder had disappeared.
Gúthwyn felt a horrible surge of loathing and disgust towards Saruman. She could not believe that once she had thought him a benefactor of Rohan. How many of these people were Rohirric, having been snatched from their loving families to die alone at the jaws of the Wargs? How many of them were children? Was this to become her destiny? No, she vowed, I will not let that happen.
As the fire danced merrily, heedless of the revolting carnage that it was shedding light upon, Gúthwyn's eyes moved to the girl's face, and in two seconds the image had been permanently seared into her mind. The mouth was stretched wide, stopped mid-shriek in a scream of pain that no child should have been forced to endure. The nose was gone, but the blood streaming from the wound would have filled it three times over.
Yet, out of everything Gúthwyn had seen, the eyes were by far the most hideous to look upon. At first she thought that they had been eaten, for they were so black that they seemed like holes. But they were there: wide open in terror, moving endlessly around in their sockets—
Wait, Gúthwyn thought with a jolt. Moving?
Craning her neck to be able to see as well as possible, she soon realized that this was what Sharkû had intended her to observe. For the frenzied movement was not caused by the girl. A countless number of maggots were crawling over her eyes, greedily eating away at them, their black bodies the reason for the darkness of her pupils.
Suddenly, a multitude of high-pitched screams deluged in terror rose in swelling crescendos about her. As Gúthwyn howled in revulsion, the Wargs answered her, until the air was filled with a clamorous noise. "NO!" Gúthwyn found herself shrieking repeatedly, horror etched into every note. Uselessly, she began kicking and punching at the walls of her cage, but they held fast. A vibrant dread ran through her; she felt as if she were suffocating, and no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to look away from that girl, covered in maggots.
Sharkû was nearly beside himself with cruel amusement, but all that his twisted face showed was a leering grin. "We'll see if you fare better than they do," he said, baring yellow-stained teeth at her.
Gúthwyn quieted down, staring at him in shock. How long was she going to be forced to live like this? She had barely been in the cage for five minutes, and she already felt as though she would die.
"I'll be back in three days," the Warg-rider promised, licking his lips. "And then the Wargs will feast!"
As the Wargs bellowed with delight, Gúthwyn clutched her stomach in agony. The walls of her prison seemed to shrink, until there was but one inch of breathing room. She was swaying, helplessly, at the hands of a merciless punishment. "No…" she managed to gasp at Sharkû, "No, no…"
Sharkû just laughed, throwing his head back and releasing a series of harsh barks. "I daresay the boys will want revenge for your ill-doings!" he cackled. With a cry of mirth, he bent down and picked something up from the floor: a bucket. In one, swift motion, he doused the flames with water, extinguishing the fire and plunging the area into darkness.
Gúthwyn felt as if she was trapped in a never-ending nightmare, but this was ten times—no, a thousand times—worse. As Sharkû left the enclosure, she curled her knees in to her chest and tucked her head between them, struggling to fight off the uproarious nausea that seemed intent upon making her vomit. Wild terror seized her, changing the course of her heart so that it beat erratically. Her breathing was coming in short, uneven gasps, and her eyes were frantically darting in all directions.
Suddenly, a rumbling sound echoed above her, and with a shudder her cage began to gradually move upwards. Gúthwyn froze, looking all around her, though she knew it was useless. The wood creaked as she rose higher and higher, sending nervous tremors racing through her. She realized that there must have been a pulley system attached, much like the one good Tun had used when his mother sent him to draw water from the well.
What if the whole thing falls to the ground? The abrupt thought sent her into a panic. Were any part of her to touch the floor, the Wargs would surely tear it apart. With a jolt, the cage stopped rising, and she glanced down. She could not even begin to guess how high up she was—until she saw the gleaming pinpricks of two watching eyes below her. Gúthwyn managed to stifle her cry, but she leaned backwards as far as she was able. She guessed that she was about five feet above the Warg, but she did not know whether the beast was standing or kneeling. This knowledge brought her little comfort.
Please, someone, take me away from this horrible place and I will do anything you wish me to! she pleaded silently, tears beginning to slide down her face. Angrily, she raised her head and wiped them away. Her family was already disgraced on her account—she needed to learn how to control her emotions. I will survive, she vowed, and I will leave this cage alive.
The promise brought some strength to her, though it was not enough to stay her trembling body. Rather than feeling as if she would retch, she now thought she might faint from the shock of it all. But her mind wildly fought against it: If you should lose consciousness, and let a limb slip between the bars, it will not be there when you wake up. Then Gúthwyn realized that that meant she would have to battle against the lure of sleep—and succeed—for three days.
It was then that she noticed the steady stream of blood flowing down her face. She remembered, with a shudder, the hideous sound of her flesh being ripped from her. Almost instinctively, she raised her hand to her cheek, and then wished she had not. The wound was throbbing from the pain already, and the touch of her fingers sent flares of agony shooting through her. It was still bleeding.
That cannot be good, Gúthwyn thought worriedly. What if she survived this horror, only to succumb to an irreversible loss of blood? There seemed to be nothing that she could do to stop it. She had no bandages to at least wrap around the gash, nor was there any water to clean it. In addition, she did not know how bad the situation was, or how much of her fluids had already departed her body.
Think rationally, she tried to counsel herself, though it was next to impossible with the presence of near twenty Wargs surrounding her. Do not pay attention to them. Attempting to force her mind to concentrate, Gúthwyn soon made up her mind. Reaching for the bottom of her shirt, she ripped off a large piece that circled all the way around her body, hoping that it was somewhat even. She then tore the fabric in two and clumsily tied both strips around her face, above where she thought the deepest part of the wound to be.
When that was done, the panic that had retreated to the back of her mind reappeared in full force, and she began quaking. When she cautiously glanced about her, she saw no more eyes, but the blackness was a poor exchange. Gúthwyn had never feared the dark before, but now she began to wonder what the night concealed from her. Terrible thoughts rose and swirled throughout her mind, until the mixture was more than she could bear. Once more she tucked her head between her knees, and this time firmly shut her eyes. There was nothing to do but wait.