Chapter Twenty-Five

It was her first evening back in Edoras, and Haiweth was already counting down the days until she could leave again.

The city—if such a word could be applied to a smattering of thatched-roof homes upon a rocky, barren hill—seemed to have diminished in her absence, though she had been away for less than four years. The outer walls that she had once thought enormous now looked primitive; even King Éomer's hall was smaller and darker than she remembered. The only thing in Edoras that had not changed in the least were its people, still going about their insulated lives without the slightest desire for anything more.

She would never have said any of this aloud, of course. King Éomer was terribly frightening when he became angered, and unlike Hammel she had no desire to provoke him. She also did not want to offend Éowyn, who had been so kind to her, and moreover always had a swift rebuke for anyone who insulted the Riddermark. And then there was Gúthwyn, who would look at her as if she had killed a small child.

But she missed the tranquil civilization of Emyn Arnen, the bustling streets of Minas Tirith. The past few months had been so delightful! Helping Éowyn in her gardens, playing with Elboron on the porch, listening to Faramir talk at the dinner table about seemingly every subject under the sun; the occasional trip to the city, where Queen Arwen had invited her to tea, and there had been so much to see and do…

Sometimes she wanted to pinch herself, thinking of how lucky she was to be in Éowyn and Faramir's household. Éowyn was so beautiful, she could have been a queen in her own right, but unlike Queen Lothíriel she never looked down upon Haiweth. In fact, she went out of her way to be welcoming—Haiweth could still scarcely believe that she was allowed to wear Éowyn's old gowns, or that she would regularly find herself alone in the gardens with Éowyn, tending to the plants while conversing like equals.

And Faramir! Who was so handsome and noble, and so in love with Éowyn. Unlike King Éomer, he never raised his voice, not even when Elboron once pulled out all the books on the lowest shelf in his library and damaged several of the spines. Whenever he and Éowyn discussed Gondorian politics, he would always take the time to explain the finer details to Haiweth—but not in a condescending way, as if he thought the complexities beyond her reach.

It almost made her guilty to realize how much she was enjoying herself without Gúthwyn, but in truth it had been a relief not to have her breathing down her neck, forbidding her from doing anything that might result in a boy looking at her. She could not understand why Gúthwyn had to be so strict, when Éowyn and Queen Arwen thought it was perfectly permissible for her to attend balls and go for walks around the upper levels of the city.

If she had her way, I would die an old spinster, she thought crossly. Gúthwyn was so against marriage that she had refused to tell Haiweth anything about relations between a man and a woman, and Éowyn had had to explain to her what making love meant.

She blushed a little as she recalled some of the things Éowyn had said, especially the parts about what a husband might do to please his wife. She was not sure she really believed that it was so wonderful, especially since she could not imagine how a man would fit inside a woman that way—but it did not sound so terrible, and she was more inclined to trust Éowyn, who was married, rather than Gúthwyn, who knew nothing of such matters.

What Gúthwyn did not realize was that her situation, compared with Éowyn's, was the reason why Haiweth was so determined to marry. Éowyn had a loving husband, an adorable son, and a house all her own to manage as she pleased, whereas Gúthwyn was alone and unhappy and exposed to constant ridicule every time she ventured out of Rohan. Although she was kind enough not to say anything, it was obvious that Haiweth and Hammel were the reasons for all the stares she received in Minas Tirith, and that she was considered by almost everyone to be an unwed mother.

But the rumors did not affect just Gúthwyn. With the exception of Aeluin, all of Queen Arwen's maids sneered at Haiweth, and not one of them wanted to be her friend. Nindriel was the worst of the lot, and Haiweth would never forget the time she had leaned close, as if to share a secret, while everyone was walking together in the gardens. Haiweth's heart had leaped, thinking she would finally be included in the latest gossip, only for Nindriel to whisper, "It is just a matter of time before you follow in your whore mother's footsteps."

None of this would have happened if Gúthwyn had just married Prince Elphir like she was supposed to. A prince! No one would have dared to say anything about her, Hammel, or Haiweth ever again, and they could have all lived in Dol Amroth, which sounded like the most beautiful city. Gúthwyn still would not tell Haiweth why the engagement had ended, but Haiweth assumed it was because she could not bear the thought of leaving Rohan. For Elendil's sake! Sometimes Haiweth wanted to hate her for having had such an opportunity and throwing it away as if it meant nothing.

But even if it had not worked out with Prince Elphir, there was still Cobryn—after all, so many people already thought he and Gúthwyn were in a secret relationship. (Again, Haiweth was reminded of Nindriel, who had once taunted her, "Why do your father and your mother not marry? Does he not want her because she is a whore? Or does she not want him because he is a cripple?") Though they had no romantic affection for one another, that was no reason for them not to get married. Even if people said it was beneath a king's sister to marry a councilor, at least no one could accuse them of having an affair anymore.

Elphir, Cobryn, or someone. Anyone. As long as it was not…

Her eyes betrayed her, darting to the mass of dancing couples further down the hall. There they were, gazing at each other as if no one else existed, their touches lingering even when the music dictated a separation. Haiweth's stomach turned as he bent his head, drawing close to her at an opportune moment; whatever he said made her blush, her cheeks turning an unnatural shade of pink.

Gúthwyn and Legolas. Gúthwyn and Legolas. Who looked so much like that other Elf whom Haiweth did not name, even to herself, because she was afraid of what memories it might summon. She never thought of that place, not anymore, but what she still could not understand was how Legolas was him and yet was not him, and how no one ever seemed to question this.

Including Gúthwyn.

For years, Haiweth had tried to look the other way, but now she could no longer deny what she was seeing. Somehow, at some point she had never been able to define, Gúthwyn and Legolas had become friends—and then he had been allowed to visit her in her private chambers, and she had started smiling whenever he spoke to her. Worse, she began encouraging Haiweth to spend more time with him, because he was so kind and so considerate and all sorts of other words that she did not want to hear in connection with him.

Just when Haiweth had become truly alarmed, however, Legolas had gone to Dorwinion, and she had sighed in relief. Surely his departure meant that nothing further would happen between him and Gúthwyn, because a man would not leave behind the woman he loved. Perhaps Haiweth had even been mistaken, imagining sentiments that were not there.

Yet Gúthwyn's misery told another story, and although disaster had only just been averted, Haiweth could not help but pity her. For as long as she could remember, Gúthwyn had always had her odd moods—one minute she would be happy and carefree, the next she would tense and retreat into herself, going somewhere Haiweth could not reach. But she had never been so listless, so uninterested in anything, as she had become without Legolas, and Haiweth almost felt guilty for being glad that he had left.

But still, she had told herself, what is done is done, and it is better for everyone that way.

Or so she had thought. Earlier that spring, however, there had been an unusually warm evening, and she had opened her window to enjoy a soft breeze while she drew. It seemed that Éowyn and Faramir had had the same idea, for their voices soon drifted out into the air, bits and pieces making their way to Haiweth: …found him, thank the Valar… back from Dorwinion… finally settled…

Those horrifying fragments were all Haiweth could decipher, and she had passed a sleepless night imagining what Éowyn or Faramir might tell her in the morning. Yet all Éowyn had said was that Legolas appeared to have returned from Dorwinion, and weeks had crawled by without further tidings; Gúthwyn's letters, arriving faithfully and frequently, had not mentioned him. Just when Haiweth was starting to breathe again, however, they had made the journey to Edoras, and he had been there. As if he belonged. As if he would never leave…

"Haiweth?"

Someone was calling her, and Haiweth realized with a start that this was not the first time they had tried to get her attention. "Sorry, what?" she asked, blinking to reorient herself as the crushing noise of the feast returned.

"We were just discussing the flower arrangements Lothíriel made." To Haiweth's immense embarrassment, it was Queen Arwen smiling at her, though she did not look annoyed.

"Oh, yes—they are beautiful," Haiweth said, taking another glance at the blue and white flowers that Queen Lothíriel had interspersed with various hints of greenery. Now she remembered: Éowyn had been telling them about her gardens, and Haiweth had started thinking about Emyn Arnen, and then she had lost track of the conversation. Éowyn was no longer even at the table, and Haiweth wondered where she had gone before realizing that Faramir and Elboron's seats were also empty—they must have been putting Elboron to bed.

"Lothíriel, you have quite outdone yourself this time," Queen Arwen said. "Your father has always sung your praises as a host, but if possible I would say he has underestimated your eye for detail."

"Thank you—I shall have to ask him to attend more diligently to his eulogical duties as a parent."

Queen Lothíriel's remark made them laugh, but Haiweth knew it had been forced, just as she knew she had not been imagining the tension at the head of the table earlier that evening. Both she and King Éomer had acted strangely all dinner, and then he had wasted no time in suggesting to King Elessar that they visit the stills to sample the various meads on offering. Only when the men were gone had Queen Lothíriel seemed to relax ever so slightly, as though she were glad for her husband's absence.

Haiweth wished she had noticed Éowyn leaving, so she might have made her excuses as well; she did not really want to linger in close conversation with Queen Lothíriel, who had always made her feel like a nuisance. Glancing discreetly around to see if anyone else was near enough for a chat, she saw only some Elves towards the other end of the table, Tauriel among them.

Tauriel! Haiweth tried not to look at her too often, in case she was caught, but she could not believe it was possible for anyone to have that color hair. It was so beautiful—fiery reds and oranges that reminded her of a sunset—and it was so long! Longer than even Gúthwyn's, it fell down to at least her knees, and yet unlike Gúthwyn's it never seemed to be tangled or in need of a brush.

Haiweth had tried, on more than one occasion, to draw Tauriel's likeness, but she had never come close to succeeding, and she had always wound up throwing her attempts away in frustration. All she had was black ink, which was utterly useless for such a task. But even if she had red or orange ink, she could not imagine how it would do any justice to Tauriel's hair. If only she knew how to paint…

Queen Arwen and Queen Lothíriel had moved on to discussing plans for Rohan's upcoming winter fair, and Haiweth was half listening, half envisioning a painting of Tauriel when she noticed that Queen Lothíriel had gone silent, her eyes fixing curiously on something behind Haiweth. Before she could around, a set of fingers dug painfully into her shoulder, and she cried out in alarm.

"We need to talk." It was Hammel, hissing in her ear, and when she looked at him she found herself recoiling from his expression. There had always been shadows in his eyes that she did not want to examine, but this was a wildness that frightened her, a rage that seemed beyond his control. He was shaking with it; every muscle in his body was clenched, and his grip on her was tightening.

A thought came to her, not out of annoyance or embarrassment, but fear: Leave me alone. Go somewhere else.

"We can talk after the feast," she said, trying to shake him off.

"No. I need to talk to you right now." Hammel's voice rose, even though his face was mere inches from her own, and she tried not to wince as his fingers flexed into her collarbone.

Fire flickered at the corner of her eye. "Is there a problem?" Tauriel asked, looking suspiciously at Hammel.

He ignored the Elf. "Now," he told Haiweth, squeezing until she almost gasped.

"You are hurting me," she answered as quietly as she could in Rohirric. "Please let go of me."

"Hammel, you are not aware of your strength. There is no need for this," Arwen said, as calmly as if she were declining more sugar in her tea. Yet there was no mistaking the steel in her words. "It would be best for you to release her."

"Or you will have no choice in the matter." That was Tauriel, sounding closer than before, and Haiweth's cheeks burned with mortification. Why did Hammel always have to cause a scene? Why did he have such little regard for what others thought of him?

"Look at me," he ordered her, and reluctantly she obeyed, although his eyes were the last thing she wanted to see. "Am I talking to Elves, or am I talking to my sister?"

"You are talking to no one," Queen Lothíriel said sharply, and Haiweth heard her chair scrape against the floor as she stood. "You will leave this table at once."

No, no, no, Haiweth thought as everyone around them fell silent. They were all looking at her and Hammel, and she wanted to sink into the floor—any minute now King Éomer might return, and then he would start threatening Hammel, and she was afraid of what her brother's response might be. What if he tried to hit King Éomer? The guards would arrest him—they might even kill him—

She made these calculations in an instant, and she knew what had to be done to smooth things over. "All right," she told Hammel in as calm a voice as she could manage. "I will go with you."

She rose to her feet, stifling a cry as he transferred his grip to her arm. What on Middle-earth was wrong with him? No doubt he would have hauled her up if she had not stood quickly enough for his liking.

"Haiweth, you need not go with him if you are frightened," Arwen said before they could leave. Haiweth knew that she had only to say the word, and Hammel would not be allowed to drag her off—but this power was far more alarming than comforting.

"I am fine," she lied, just in time. Hammel yanked her away from the table, and she barely managed to regain her footing so she could pretend she was going with him of her own accord. "Everything is all right," she insisted when Arwen stood in astonishment. "I will be back soon—Hammel, stop it," she hissed in Rohirric as he continued to drag her forward. "I am perfectly capable of walking on my own! Slow down!"

But Hammel did not slow down, nor did he loosen his hold on her arm. He marched her like she was a prisoner towards the passage leading to her bedroom, and tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled to keep pace with him.

"Hammel, my arm! Please, you are hurting me!"

He did not listen; he did not even appear to have heard her. Like a creature possessed by some form of madness, all his will seemed bent on one thing: separating her from everyone else, making it impossible for her to escape or call for help.

He is my brother, she reminded herself, frightened by the direction her thoughts had taken. He would never harm me.

Or would he? Her brother might not, but this was no longer her brother, or at least not the one she recognized. What was the stranger who had taken his place capable of doing?

He brought her to her room and thrust her inside, shutting the door behind them. She stumbled and would have fallen had he not grabbed her again, righting her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded as he strode to her wardrobe and flung it open.

"We need to leave. Tonight," he answered, starting to take out her dresses.

"No—Hammel, stop it, you have to be careful with them!" Haiweth cried in alarm, rushing forward to prevent him from damaging the gowns. He pushed her away, not stopping until every last one of them was in a crumpled, colorful heap on the floor.

"Are you insane?" she shrieked. "What is wrong with you?"

Her wardrobe in ruins at his feet, Hammel turned this way and that, until his eyes fell upon something else—the bag she had brought with her from Emyn Arnen, which was lying on her desk. As she watched in horror, he went over and turned it upside down, emptying it of its contents.

"Hammel, no!" she cried as her belongings spilled everywhere. A bottle of ink went crashing to the ground and burst—the beautiful blue bottle Faramir had brought her from one of his trips to Minas Tirith. She had packed it so carefully, and now it lay in dripping shards on the floor. "Hammel, stop it, you are ruining everything!"

And then she froze, for another item, even more precious to her than Faramir's gift, had caught her eye: a folded square of parchment that had tumbled out of her bag at the last moment. She held her breath, but Hammel had not yet noticed; he was staring at the bag as if he could not remember what he was doing with it.

Haiweth had been carrying that square of parchment ever since Talathdil had slipped it into her hand at the end of their last dance in Minas Tirith. Most of that evening was a pleasant blur, but she still remembered how softly his lips had grazed her knuckles, and the promise in his eyes as he slipped away into the crowd.

If Hammel opened the note—if he read the words she now knew by heart… Talathdil had not left his signature, but it would be easy enough for Hammel to make the connection, and in his current state she feared how he might react.

Desperate to keep his attention occupied, Haiweth did something very foolish: she reached out and shoved him, sending him stumbling away from her desk, and then screamed at him, "Enough! I will not allow you to treat me like this!"

It occurred to her as soon as she uttered these words that she had no real means of stopping Hammel from ransacking her room, but it seemed she had momentarily jolted him back to his senses, for he looked almost surprised to see her there.

"What on Middle-earth is the matter with you?" she asked in the ensuing silence.

Hammel's rage was rekindled as swiftly as a strong wind taking up the embers of a fire, and she flinched from the heat in his gaze. "I saw her. And it," he spat, each word forced out through gnashing teeth.

"Her?" Haiweth tried not to shiver at how guttural his voice sounded. "Do you mean Gúthwyn?"

He actually hissed, and she sprang back in alarm. "Gúthwyn and what?" she pressed when she regained her nerves. "What is 'it'? Why are you acting like this?"

"Gúthwyn and that—that thing—" Hammel's mouth was spasming like a rabid dog's; she half expected it to start foaming, and she shrank even further away.

"What thing? What are you talking about?"

Hammel looked at her with such rage, she finally understood.

"Legolas?"

"Do not say that name to me!" he yelled, and in terror she closed her mouth and watched as he began pacing. "I will kill it," he vowed, his fists clenching as if he were imagining them around the Elf's throat. "And I will kill her, too, that disgusting whore."

She had heard Hammel rail against Legolas often enough, although even at his angriest he had never sounded this unhinged; but her blood ran cold when he spoke like that about Gúthwyn. "She is not a whore, and she has done nothing to deserve the way you talk about her!"

Hammel whirled upon her with an inarticulate cry of fury, and she had no time to brace herself before he grabbed her arms and yanked her close. "I will call her whatever I want,' he snarled, flecks of spit striking her cheeks. "And you complain about her often enough, do not think I have forgotten."

But his accusations had the opposite of their intended effect, delivered as they were by a madman inhabiting her brother's body, and the suggestion that her grumblings were at all similar to his ravings filled her with shame.

She did not hate Gúthwyn. And she had never believed those rumors.

Trying to ignore the pain in her arms, she glared at Hammel. "I have disagreed with her, but what you are saying is horrible and I do not want to hear it."

"You do not want to hear it?" he mocked her. She noticed that his neck was bleeding, and she wondered at the reason, but then he said something that made her forget everything else. "You no longer have that luxury. I saw them in Elfwine's bedroom. The whore has found a new master, or shall I say an old one."

Haiweth thought she would be sick, and not because of her brother's vile spewings. "In Elfwine's bedroom?" she repeated, looking at Hammel and wondering if he would lie about something like this. "Are you saying they were…"

She did not know how to finish the sentence. They called it making love, but she could not bring herself to use those words, which sounded so pleasant, to describe anything that transpired between Gúthwyn and Legolas.

"I only saw them kissing," Hammel reported, his lips curling, "but had I waited another ten minutes to follow them, I am sure I would have seen him rutting her like a pig."

Haiweth's relief was washed away in an instant by her revulsion. "Stop talking like that! Why do you have to be so crude? It does not become you."

"What does not become me is spending a moment longer under the same roof as them," Hammel retorted, and suddenly he let go of her arms. "So come on, pack your things."

Haiweth did not move.

"Come on," he repeated impatiently. "It is a three day's ride, but if we travel swiftly we can be there in two."

"A three day's ride where?" But Haiweth thought she already knew the answer, just as she already knew she would not be accompanying him.

"To Helm's Deep, of course." Hammel looked baffled that she had needed to ask. "We can find something for you to do there."

"Hammel…"

But he was already turning away from her and picking up her bag, which he had discarded in his last fit of anger. With no rhyme or reason, and certainly nothing in the way of care, he began shoving her belongings back inside, even throwing in Talathdil's note without so much as a curious glance. He took no notice of the ink bottle he had destroyed.

She watched him mishandle every precious thing she owned, and not once did she protest, because she was dreading the moment when she would have to tell him that she would rather die than live at Helm's Deep with him and a bunch of Dwarves.

"I do not know if you will be able to bring all your dresses," he warned, and that was when he at last realized she was making no effort to help him pack. "Haiweth," he ground out slowly, as if she were an infant. "They are going to get married. She will move to the colony. You will have nowhere to go."

They are going to get married. She had known, and yet it still felt like falling, stomach-first, into a cold, icy river. They are going to get married.

But Hammel was wrong about one thing, and it was time for her to act on the plans she had formed, years ago, when she first began to realize their danger. "I do have somewhere to go," she told him.

Hammel rolled his eyes. "Certainly you could join that foul household, but you do not want to live there, do you."

Just the thought made her skin crawl. "No, but—"

"Then start packing."

"I am not going to Helm's Deep!"

He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her clenched fists and the angry blotches she could feel forming on her cheeks. "What are you talking about? You have no other choice."

"Yes, I do," Haiweth insisted. "I will stay with Éowyn and Faramir."

Her announcement seemed to take him by surprise, and she saw to her irritation that he had never even considered them. As if Faramir had not given him free rein of his library! As if Éowyn had never shown him any kindness over the years! But of course, she thought sourly, such generosities could not be perceived when one's nose was always stuck in a book.

"Éowyn and Faramir," he repeated, as if he had never heard of them before.

"Yes, them," she said impatiently. "I have been living with them since January anyway, so nothing needs to change."

But Hammel was shaking his head. "She will not allow it."

"She does not have to allow it. They do."

"And they will not want to offend her—or have you forgotten that Éowyn is her sister?"

"Of course I have not forgotten," she snapped. Hammel never gave her any credit! "But I have thought about it before, and even if Gúthwyn tries to stop me I am sure Éowyn will…"

Too late, she realized her mistake.

Hammel bore down upon her, that awful expression returning to his eyes. "You have thought about it before?"

"I—"

"You knew this was going to happen? You knew—you knew they were—"

"No, that is not what I meant," she tried to assure him, but it was as if he were looking right through her, seeing each and every sign that she had kept from him: all those years of glances and touches, the whispers and smiles, the dinners and dances. The afternoon she had walked in on them together, Gúthwyn bedridden, Legolas saying something that made her laugh. The time Legolas had appeared unexpectedly in Emyn Arnen, and Gúthwyn had looked so happy to see him, and Haiweth had watched them with growing unease…

"You knew," he said flatly.

There was no point in denying it; she could only wonder that he had not spotted it sooner himself. "Hammel, it was obvious—"

A whip-like crack rent the air, but it was not until her head snapped to the side that she realized he had hit her. Stunned, she touched her cheek, which was warm to the touch and starting to sting.

In the awful silence that followed, she heard him draw an unsteady breath. "Haiweth—"

"You hit me." Tears welled up in her eyes as she said it; not because it hurt—it did—but because she had never, not even during the worst of his episodes, imagined that one day her brother's anger would be turned on her.

"I did not mean to," he swore. "Haiweth, I am so sorry—"

"You did not mean to?" Haiweth echoed in disbelief. She tried to look at him, but her vision was so blurred with tears that she could only see the faint outline of a person where he stood. "You hit me. Are you saying you could not control yourself?"

She was not certain, but she thought his voice hitched as he replied, "I never intended—it just happened—something inside of me, it was like it just took over…"

She did not understand a word of his ravings, nor did she want to. Wiping her eyes, she said, "I think you should leave."

"Haiweth—" His features were contorted with anguish, and she wondered if she would ever learn what was tormenting him. "Haiweth, please, I am so sorry—"

"You should go to Helm's Deep," she said in a voice that was far calmer than she felt. "You should go there and… and think about why you are like this. Because I barely know you anymore—why are you so angry all the time? And what about Aldeth? If she displeases you, will you hit her, too?"

"No!" Hammel cried, looking appalled. "I would never do anything to hurt her."

"But you would hurt me?"

He did not have an answer for that, and his shoulders sagged.

"Hammel, I do not understand you," she said, her tears falling once more. "You were not always like this—but now you are scaring me, and you are so cruel to Gúthwyn—"

"She deserves it!"

"No, she does not! And you enjoy it," she added with a grimace. "That is the worst part—you enjoy hurting her. Why? What is wrong with you?"

He recoiled at her words, as if she had been the one to strike him; he did not recover for several seconds. "So you will not go to Helm's Deep," he said stiffly. She shook her head, and something trembled in his expression before he mastered himself once more. "Then we have come to a parting of ways. I will go west. You will go east… to Emyn Arnen or the colony. We may not see each other for a long time."

Haiweth could not speak. Part of her, the girl who had clung to her older brother in the darkest, most terrifying period of their lives, could not bear to watch him leave—but it was a young woman, wiser and less afraid, who would not beg him to stay. For years now, she had known that their paths would one day separate; that the time had come sooner than she had anticipated would not break her resolve.

"Farewell," Hammel said, and then he was gone.

Response to RP911: Thank you so much for your thoughtful review! It is, as always, a pleasure to read your insights into each character and situation. It's amazing how quickly time passes - I had had the confrontation between Hammel and Gúthwyn in my mind for so long, it seemed to fly right off the pen into my notebook. It really does mark a turning point for Gúthwyn, that she was finally pushed past the point of forgiveness and it was like a switch just went off in her. She's made excuse after excuse for him, long after anyone would, and now she's completely cut him off - which, you're right, will be very surprising to her family! But not unwelcome, I don't think...

(Also, I really enjoyed your comments about Gúthwyn removing the "unconscious burden" of Hammel, and what that might mean for her in her marriage. Legolas will DEFINITELY want a translation.)

In light of your remarks on Haiweth, I'd be very curious to know what you think of this chapter. You hit the nail on the head in describing the conflicting sides she'll have to navigate in the fallout of the last chapter's events.

I'm glad you enjoyed the moment between Gúthwyn and Legolas, I had to give them something before I yanked their happiness away. ;)