~*~*A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger. Hehe. Again, this chapter contains some De-altered book dialogue. Enjoy! And I'll say some stuff to you guys first. I haven't done that in a while. (I'm just looking at the latest page of my reviews, so if I don't mention all of your names, don't kill me.)
-HATHOR: Yes! They are here! (Like I'd really write a fic without Aragorn.) And I apologize for the cliffhanger, again. Will there be more cliffhangers, you ask? Oh, count on it. ;)
-MORGAN: I know…sadly, bad guys don't win. They should sometimes though.
-DEPTH: Glad you like! Welcome to the realm of reviewers.
-RONDRAH: Yep, Náwien is pretty cool. And Éomer rocks my world as well.
-CALCIFERSGRL: Yeah, Wormtongue is awakening all of Enelya's inner desires. And it didn't seem as though she craved power before because she didn't know that she did until Wormtongue started his seduction.
-EBOLA: No, no 3-some. And, yes, Wormtongue is one of my favorite characters. (But no one beats my Elessar/Strider/Aragorn/Wingfoot/Elfstone, etc.) You get the picture.
-DWELLS IN SHADOW: I apologize for your physical discomfort. ;)
-SHINIGAMI NO BAKA: Oh, yes the plot has thickened, and has yet to thicken even more. Thank you for your compliments.
-TARA: Oh…you'll see.
-RACHEL: There will be some sort of Gríma/Náwien situation later on, but not in the way you might think. You'll see what I mean.
-ITHILWEN: Ents? Perhaps. And I've seen TTT ten times! Mwa-ha-ha.
-LUNATIC: I thought 20 has been my best as well. And I'm glad you liked my altered dialogue.
Okay! Here it is!
~*~
--CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: Of Brilliant Ideas and Tragic News
Éowyn regarded her brother closely, noting his pained expression and confused dark eyes. They stood together on the stone landing outside the Golden Hall, after all the others had disappeared within the wooden doors. The sun was high in the sky, and it beat down on them intensely, keeping the pressure high on Rohan, making it impossible to believe that life could revert back to its once peaceful state.
"Éomer," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm gently.
"How is it possible that we did not see this?" he murmured, and Éowyn wondered if he was speaking to her, or himself.
"We knew that Wormtongue was up to something," Éowyn said practically.
"But Enelya and Náwien-"
"There was something ill at work in Enelya's heart," Éowyn interrupted. "There had been for some time. I was unable to fit the pieces of the puzzle together until now."
"And Náwien?"
"She is young," Éowyn replied. "Her youth causes her to be easily swayed." She directed a pointed stare at Éomer, which he pretended not to notice.
"Where do you suppose he will take them?" Éomer wondered aloud, though he already knew the answer.
"Isengard, I would assume, though I cannot say for sure," Éowyn said, looking out over Edoras with a sigh. There was a long silence, and then Éowyn turned to stare at her brother, her gaze pensive, as if she were debating something with herself.
"What is it?" Éomer asked, sensing her hesitation.
Éowyn did not answer right away. She looked towards the mountains in the distance again before finally speaking.
"I saw you that day," she said quietly. "Náwien was with you - and it looked as if you had become romantic with her. Unless, of course, my eyes were deceived by some spell."
Éomer glanced downward, remembering the event all too well. He could easily recall the mixed feelings of doubt and desire - the way he'd longed for her touch just as much as he'd feared for the consequences of such an entanglement. It was his heated emotions thrown together in a contradictory jumble of certain tragedy that lead him to his current state. And it turned out that the disheartening side of his thoughts had been fully correct about almost everything. He had once thought to himself that nothing good could come from his sudden attraction to Náwien - that there would be no dawn for them. And he knew now that he had been absolutely right in doubting himself. For he knew that their fates were obviously of different paths; Náwien had chosen darkness, and such a decision was unforgivable.
"Éomer?"
He turned, fixing his stare upon Éowyn. She blinked up at him, her eyes questioning and full of curiosity.
"Your eyes did not trick you," he admitted, "but you may as well have been deceived, for what you saw held no truth."
Éowyn was surprised, to say the least, at her brother's sudden dark tone. He turned then, walking back into the Golden Hall, leaving her alone on the landing. While she was glad that Éomer was no longer dangerously involved with Náwien, she could not help but feel as though he was giving up his faith too quickly. If there was anything that Éowyn learned from Gandalf's arrival in Rohan, it was that there was always a chance for a miracle. Every so often, fate was kind. Hope was not something to lose so quickly, even if the days ahead seemed dark as night.
~*~
The sun was strong, and hung low, never very far, like a warning. The wind whipped through Náwien's blonde hair, blowing it straight out behind her. The breeze was cool on her face and neck, but the calmness of the wind was not equal to the growing fear in her heart. She knew that she was in over her head - there was nothing that could keep her from drowning now. If Éomer and all those loyal to Rohan would not look beyond what only *seemed* to be the truth, then there was no one who could save her from her own fate. She cursed herself now for not being honest with Éomer; she had been too far lost in the possibility of being a hero to see what could happen in her immediate future. And now it was too late. Not even the phenomenal wizardry of Gandalf could rescue her now. She was very much alone - as she's always been.
"How much farther to Isengard?" Enelya asked. The sound of her voice pulled Náwien back to reality, and she focused on the frightening situation around her.
"Some miles," Wormtongue answered. "We will ride through the night and reach Isengard before dawn."
An idea settled over Náwien slowly. The threads in her mind began to pull themselves together into a comforting blanket of a tightly woven plan.
"Why don't we make camp for the night?" Náwien suggested from her position behind both Wormtongue and Enelya on the horse.
"What good would that do?" questioned Enelya. "We want to be able to speak with Saruman as soon as possible."
"If we rest," Náwien argued, "we will be able to discuss our scheme. Saruman will be impressed if we come to him with a practical tactic. And we do want to please him, don't we?"
Náwien waited breathlessly for a response. She still was not clear on who Saruman was, or of the exact details of the grand plan, but she hoped that her voice was believable. Neither Enelya nor Wormtongue replied right away, and each second that went by without a sound increased Náwien's heartbeat significantly.
"Enelya, your younger sister might have struck upon something," Wormtongue finally said.
Náwien breathed a small sigh of relief. Enelya turned her head to stare at her sister. Their eyes met, and Enelya raised her eyebrows as if to say, "If you're plotting anything, I will find out."
Náwien broke the stare first, letting her gaze fall to the left. She cared not for her sister's threatening looks, for she'd gained a victory - a small one - but a victory nonetheless. By convincing Wormtongue to let them make camp, she'd bought herself the night to think of a way to fix her mistakes. The time was not long enough to escape immediately, but it was worth more than all the diamonds of the World. And at the same time, it was priceless.
~*~
Éomer and Éowyn walked together into the main hall, where Gandalf and Théoden sat, speaking to one another. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were also present. The three guests were eating and drinking eagerly, as if they'd not seen a well-cooked meal in some years. Éomer sat beside Aragorn, nodding politely to the heir to the throne of Gondor, and turned to listen to Gandalf. Éowyn took a seat across from Legolas, the fair Elf, and everyone in the room failed to notice the sideways glances that she threw to Aragorn every so often.
"Wormtongue played dangerously," Gandalf was saying from his position adjacent to the King's throne. "He was always seeking to delay you, to prevent your full strength from being gathered. He persuaded you to forbid Éomer to pursue the raiding Orcs. Luckily for Rohan, Éomer defied Wormtongue's voice speaking with your mouth."
Théoden turned to his nephew, unconditional gratitude shimmering in his clear blue eyes.
"I owe much to you, Éomer, sister-son," he said, his voice shaky at the thought of what could have come to pass.
"How far back Saruman's treachery goes, who can guess?" Gandalf said somberly.
"It appears as though Wormtongue was not the only traitor in Rohan," Aragorn said then, drawing all eyes to him. "There were two women who left with him, though one could not have been a day over fifteen."
"Where do they fit into this tale?" Théoden wondered aloud, looking at Éomer and Éowyn, each in turn.
"One was my companion," Éowyn said, and she could feel Aragorn's gaze turn to her. She blushed slightly, and worked to keep her focus on her uncle. "Enelya is her name. The other is indeed only a girl, and she is a sister to her. She is called Náwien." Éowyn flicked her glance to her brother quickly, noting the way his eyebrows drew together at the mention of Náwien's name. She turned back to Théoden and Gandalf to continue her explanation. "They are the Carnesir sisters, daughters of Hálas and Frieda, both of whom are no longer alive. Frieda died while giving birth to Náwien, and Hálas took his own life two years after. Enelya had to care for her younger sister, under the watchful eye of neighboring villagers." Éowyn paused, it was impossible to tell whether her azure eyes glittered with sadness for the memories, or anger at their deceit. "Enelya is skilled with the blade, and can be considered a Shield Maiden, like myself. Náwien was in the process of learning the ways of the sword. Éomer was teaching her the proper mastery."
"Aye, I was," Éomer agreed.
"Never had either of us seen their darkened ways," Éowyn continued. "I do believe that they were both, at one time or another, true to Rohan. Wormtongue must have gotten to them in order to alter their minds so greatly."
"Wormtongue does have a way with words," Éomer pointed out. "I am not surprised that he was able to pull them into his plan without difficulty."
"Can they be saved?" Théoden wondered.
Éomer shared a look with his sister before answering his uncle's question.
"It is impossible to tell whether they are beyond our reach or not," he said. "Either way, we do not have the time to worry about them. We must think of the safety of Rohan."
"Éomer is right," Gandalf added. "The Carnesir sisters are beyond our concern right now. Even if we could help them, we must look to our own borders."
"Very well, then," Théoden concluded. Suddenly, he paused, looking around the room as if he'd just realized something crucial. He stood from his throne, eyes searching.
"What is it?" Aragorn asked, glancing about as well, seeking whatever it was that had caught Théoden's attention so suddenly.
"Where has Theodred been during all this?" the King asked, bewildered. "Will someone call my son to me?"
There was a long silence, and Théoden glanced between his guests and kin, confused at their expressions.
"Why do you all stare at one another?" he asked in wonder.
Éomer sighed, and stood, willing to break the news that no one else could bring himself to speak aloud. He raised his gaze to his uncle's, anticipating the grief that was to follow.
"I am sorry," Éomer said, his voice trembling over the three small words. "He was slain."
Théoden's face fell blank, his eyes devoid of all expression. He sank to his throne weakly, for his legs would not hold his weight any longer. Slowly, he lowered his head to his hands in sorrow. Gandalf placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Éowyn's eyes filled with tears as she watched her uncle's despair. The silence in the hall was thick with woe, for there were no words to measure up to the heartbreaking loss that all of Rohan would suffer at word of Theodred's death. It was a tragedy for the King to lose his only son and heir, and the entire city of Edoras would mourn for days to come.
~*~*A/N: One thing I always disliked about the book was how it sort of glazed over Theodred's death. I didn't think that he got the mourning that he deserved, so I added some more lamenting. Hope you all liked this chapter. Let me know.*~*~
-HATHOR: Yes! They are here! (Like I'd really write a fic without Aragorn.) And I apologize for the cliffhanger, again. Will there be more cliffhangers, you ask? Oh, count on it. ;)
-MORGAN: I know…sadly, bad guys don't win. They should sometimes though.
-DEPTH: Glad you like! Welcome to the realm of reviewers.
-RONDRAH: Yep, Náwien is pretty cool. And Éomer rocks my world as well.
-CALCIFERSGRL: Yeah, Wormtongue is awakening all of Enelya's inner desires. And it didn't seem as though she craved power before because she didn't know that she did until Wormtongue started his seduction.
-EBOLA: No, no 3-some. And, yes, Wormtongue is one of my favorite characters. (But no one beats my Elessar/Strider/Aragorn/Wingfoot/Elfstone, etc.) You get the picture.
-DWELLS IN SHADOW: I apologize for your physical discomfort. ;)
-SHINIGAMI NO BAKA: Oh, yes the plot has thickened, and has yet to thicken even more. Thank you for your compliments.
-TARA: Oh…you'll see.
-RACHEL: There will be some sort of Gríma/Náwien situation later on, but not in the way you might think. You'll see what I mean.
-ITHILWEN: Ents? Perhaps. And I've seen TTT ten times! Mwa-ha-ha.
-LUNATIC: I thought 20 has been my best as well. And I'm glad you liked my altered dialogue.
Okay! Here it is!
~*~
--CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: Of Brilliant Ideas and Tragic News
Éowyn regarded her brother closely, noting his pained expression and confused dark eyes. They stood together on the stone landing outside the Golden Hall, after all the others had disappeared within the wooden doors. The sun was high in the sky, and it beat down on them intensely, keeping the pressure high on Rohan, making it impossible to believe that life could revert back to its once peaceful state.
"Éomer," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm gently.
"How is it possible that we did not see this?" he murmured, and Éowyn wondered if he was speaking to her, or himself.
"We knew that Wormtongue was up to something," Éowyn said practically.
"But Enelya and Náwien-"
"There was something ill at work in Enelya's heart," Éowyn interrupted. "There had been for some time. I was unable to fit the pieces of the puzzle together until now."
"And Náwien?"
"She is young," Éowyn replied. "Her youth causes her to be easily swayed." She directed a pointed stare at Éomer, which he pretended not to notice.
"Where do you suppose he will take them?" Éomer wondered aloud, though he already knew the answer.
"Isengard, I would assume, though I cannot say for sure," Éowyn said, looking out over Edoras with a sigh. There was a long silence, and then Éowyn turned to stare at her brother, her gaze pensive, as if she were debating something with herself.
"What is it?" Éomer asked, sensing her hesitation.
Éowyn did not answer right away. She looked towards the mountains in the distance again before finally speaking.
"I saw you that day," she said quietly. "Náwien was with you - and it looked as if you had become romantic with her. Unless, of course, my eyes were deceived by some spell."
Éomer glanced downward, remembering the event all too well. He could easily recall the mixed feelings of doubt and desire - the way he'd longed for her touch just as much as he'd feared for the consequences of such an entanglement. It was his heated emotions thrown together in a contradictory jumble of certain tragedy that lead him to his current state. And it turned out that the disheartening side of his thoughts had been fully correct about almost everything. He had once thought to himself that nothing good could come from his sudden attraction to Náwien - that there would be no dawn for them. And he knew now that he had been absolutely right in doubting himself. For he knew that their fates were obviously of different paths; Náwien had chosen darkness, and such a decision was unforgivable.
"Éomer?"
He turned, fixing his stare upon Éowyn. She blinked up at him, her eyes questioning and full of curiosity.
"Your eyes did not trick you," he admitted, "but you may as well have been deceived, for what you saw held no truth."
Éowyn was surprised, to say the least, at her brother's sudden dark tone. He turned then, walking back into the Golden Hall, leaving her alone on the landing. While she was glad that Éomer was no longer dangerously involved with Náwien, she could not help but feel as though he was giving up his faith too quickly. If there was anything that Éowyn learned from Gandalf's arrival in Rohan, it was that there was always a chance for a miracle. Every so often, fate was kind. Hope was not something to lose so quickly, even if the days ahead seemed dark as night.
~*~
The sun was strong, and hung low, never very far, like a warning. The wind whipped through Náwien's blonde hair, blowing it straight out behind her. The breeze was cool on her face and neck, but the calmness of the wind was not equal to the growing fear in her heart. She knew that she was in over her head - there was nothing that could keep her from drowning now. If Éomer and all those loyal to Rohan would not look beyond what only *seemed* to be the truth, then there was no one who could save her from her own fate. She cursed herself now for not being honest with Éomer; she had been too far lost in the possibility of being a hero to see what could happen in her immediate future. And now it was too late. Not even the phenomenal wizardry of Gandalf could rescue her now. She was very much alone - as she's always been.
"How much farther to Isengard?" Enelya asked. The sound of her voice pulled Náwien back to reality, and she focused on the frightening situation around her.
"Some miles," Wormtongue answered. "We will ride through the night and reach Isengard before dawn."
An idea settled over Náwien slowly. The threads in her mind began to pull themselves together into a comforting blanket of a tightly woven plan.
"Why don't we make camp for the night?" Náwien suggested from her position behind both Wormtongue and Enelya on the horse.
"What good would that do?" questioned Enelya. "We want to be able to speak with Saruman as soon as possible."
"If we rest," Náwien argued, "we will be able to discuss our scheme. Saruman will be impressed if we come to him with a practical tactic. And we do want to please him, don't we?"
Náwien waited breathlessly for a response. She still was not clear on who Saruman was, or of the exact details of the grand plan, but she hoped that her voice was believable. Neither Enelya nor Wormtongue replied right away, and each second that went by without a sound increased Náwien's heartbeat significantly.
"Enelya, your younger sister might have struck upon something," Wormtongue finally said.
Náwien breathed a small sigh of relief. Enelya turned her head to stare at her sister. Their eyes met, and Enelya raised her eyebrows as if to say, "If you're plotting anything, I will find out."
Náwien broke the stare first, letting her gaze fall to the left. She cared not for her sister's threatening looks, for she'd gained a victory - a small one - but a victory nonetheless. By convincing Wormtongue to let them make camp, she'd bought herself the night to think of a way to fix her mistakes. The time was not long enough to escape immediately, but it was worth more than all the diamonds of the World. And at the same time, it was priceless.
~*~
Éomer and Éowyn walked together into the main hall, where Gandalf and Théoden sat, speaking to one another. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were also present. The three guests were eating and drinking eagerly, as if they'd not seen a well-cooked meal in some years. Éomer sat beside Aragorn, nodding politely to the heir to the throne of Gondor, and turned to listen to Gandalf. Éowyn took a seat across from Legolas, the fair Elf, and everyone in the room failed to notice the sideways glances that she threw to Aragorn every so often.
"Wormtongue played dangerously," Gandalf was saying from his position adjacent to the King's throne. "He was always seeking to delay you, to prevent your full strength from being gathered. He persuaded you to forbid Éomer to pursue the raiding Orcs. Luckily for Rohan, Éomer defied Wormtongue's voice speaking with your mouth."
Théoden turned to his nephew, unconditional gratitude shimmering in his clear blue eyes.
"I owe much to you, Éomer, sister-son," he said, his voice shaky at the thought of what could have come to pass.
"How far back Saruman's treachery goes, who can guess?" Gandalf said somberly.
"It appears as though Wormtongue was not the only traitor in Rohan," Aragorn said then, drawing all eyes to him. "There were two women who left with him, though one could not have been a day over fifteen."
"Where do they fit into this tale?" Théoden wondered aloud, looking at Éomer and Éowyn, each in turn.
"One was my companion," Éowyn said, and she could feel Aragorn's gaze turn to her. She blushed slightly, and worked to keep her focus on her uncle. "Enelya is her name. The other is indeed only a girl, and she is a sister to her. She is called Náwien." Éowyn flicked her glance to her brother quickly, noting the way his eyebrows drew together at the mention of Náwien's name. She turned back to Théoden and Gandalf to continue her explanation. "They are the Carnesir sisters, daughters of Hálas and Frieda, both of whom are no longer alive. Frieda died while giving birth to Náwien, and Hálas took his own life two years after. Enelya had to care for her younger sister, under the watchful eye of neighboring villagers." Éowyn paused, it was impossible to tell whether her azure eyes glittered with sadness for the memories, or anger at their deceit. "Enelya is skilled with the blade, and can be considered a Shield Maiden, like myself. Náwien was in the process of learning the ways of the sword. Éomer was teaching her the proper mastery."
"Aye, I was," Éomer agreed.
"Never had either of us seen their darkened ways," Éowyn continued. "I do believe that they were both, at one time or another, true to Rohan. Wormtongue must have gotten to them in order to alter their minds so greatly."
"Wormtongue does have a way with words," Éomer pointed out. "I am not surprised that he was able to pull them into his plan without difficulty."
"Can they be saved?" Théoden wondered.
Éomer shared a look with his sister before answering his uncle's question.
"It is impossible to tell whether they are beyond our reach or not," he said. "Either way, we do not have the time to worry about them. We must think of the safety of Rohan."
"Éomer is right," Gandalf added. "The Carnesir sisters are beyond our concern right now. Even if we could help them, we must look to our own borders."
"Very well, then," Théoden concluded. Suddenly, he paused, looking around the room as if he'd just realized something crucial. He stood from his throne, eyes searching.
"What is it?" Aragorn asked, glancing about as well, seeking whatever it was that had caught Théoden's attention so suddenly.
"Where has Theodred been during all this?" the King asked, bewildered. "Will someone call my son to me?"
There was a long silence, and Théoden glanced between his guests and kin, confused at their expressions.
"Why do you all stare at one another?" he asked in wonder.
Éomer sighed, and stood, willing to break the news that no one else could bring himself to speak aloud. He raised his gaze to his uncle's, anticipating the grief that was to follow.
"I am sorry," Éomer said, his voice trembling over the three small words. "He was slain."
Théoden's face fell blank, his eyes devoid of all expression. He sank to his throne weakly, for his legs would not hold his weight any longer. Slowly, he lowered his head to his hands in sorrow. Gandalf placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Éowyn's eyes filled with tears as she watched her uncle's despair. The silence in the hall was thick with woe, for there were no words to measure up to the heartbreaking loss that all of Rohan would suffer at word of Theodred's death. It was a tragedy for the King to lose his only son and heir, and the entire city of Edoras would mourn for days to come.
~*~*A/N: One thing I always disliked about the book was how it sort of glazed over Theodred's death. I didn't think that he got the mourning that he deserved, so I added some more lamenting. Hope you all liked this chapter. Let me know.*~*~