Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the weeks after Gúthwyn and Lothíriel's public argument, life in the Golden Hall was strained for its occupants. Anyone entering Meduseld could feel the tension in the air, the brooding hatred that seethed and crackled throughout the building. Once word got out that the king had discovered what all of his subjects had known for years, visitors to Éomer visibly slouched with guilt. Their eyes would dart around the throne room as if searching for a raging queen, and when inevitably they did not see her—for Lothíriel was all but refusing to leave her chambers—only then would their posture relax.
If guests felt ill at ease, their discomfort was nothing compared to the storm clouds hanging over the heads of the royal family. It was well known amongst the servants that the king and queen had ceased to sleep in the same bed. Since the incident, Éomer had only been in his chambers long enough to collect his things and inform his wife that he could not bear to be around her in private. He had then moved into Théodred's room and now showed no signs of returning to his own in the near future.
Lothíriel accepted this punishment without a word of protest. Nor did she complain when her husband's efforts at polite conversation evanesced the minute her son was out of earshot, though Gúthwyn often saw her eyes filling with tears whenever a dark glare from Éomer effectively silenced any of her attempts to speak with him. She seemed to be trying to make her presence in the Golden Hall as inoffensive as possible, and rarely ventured from her chambers unless for meals or council sessions.
Éomund's daughter could not help but feel sorry for Lothíriel. Once a powerful rival and now utterly broken, the queen currently residing in Meduseld was a mere ghost of her former self. Yet Gúthwyn's regret, such as it was, could not begin to mend the unbridgeable gap between the two women. For as long as she remained in Rohan, there was no chance of reconciliation.
Lothíriel's reputation had not only suffered at home, but in public as well. After those bearing witness to her outburst had spread the tale throughout the entire city—which they apparently did quite enthusiastically, given that everyone had heard about it by the next morning—it was officially agreed that the queen's accusations against the king's sister were completely unfounded and unreasonable. Whenever Éomund's daughter left her home in the first few days following the incident, swarms of civilians rushed over to assure her that they had not believed Lothíriel's claims for an instant.
As far as Gúthwyn could tell, however, few people in Edoras were aware that the departure of the king's sister was imminent. Éomer, of course, sought daily opportunities to attempt to sway her otherwise; Cobryn, obviously, she could never keep a secret from, though she faced just as much disapproval from him as she did from her brother; and then there was Lothíriel, to whom Éomer had directed several snappish remarks about the matter. Everyone else, however, was kept in the dark, per Gúthwyn's instruction not to be told until she heard from Éowyn.
The little time Éomund's daughter had left in Rohan was now bittersweet, tainted by the realization that soon the training grounds and the stables and her people would be but memories. She could scarcely believe that the Valar would play such a cruel joke on her, that they would spend years tormenting her with longing for her home and then yank her life out from under her barely a decade later. Deep down, she knew that she had brought this upon herself: she could easily have lingered in Edoras, forever a thorn in Lothíriel's side. Yet such stubbornness was fair to neither the queen nor Elfwine, and therefore Gúthwyn had to go.
Nevertheless, when a messenger from Ithilien at last came bearing a letter addressed to her, she could not help but tremble as she took it. Fully conscious that she was holding nothing short of utter misery in the palm of her hand, she retreated to her chambers—all the while avoiding Éomer's concerned gaze—and slowly unsealed the parchment.
Éowyn's response was short, and had clearly been hastily written.
Gúthwyn,
Of course you, Hammel, and Haiweth may dwell in Emyn Arnen. (So may Cobryn, for I suspect that he might wish to accompany you.) Our house is open to you for as long as you wish. You need never ask; I have only been waiting for you to name the date.
That aside, the nature of your request was most alarming, and I pray that no harm has befallen you. Please write back as soon as possible and, at the very least, confirm this.
Éowyn
Before her courage waned, Gúthwyn withdrew a piece of parchment from her desk and composed a brief reply.
Éowyn,
A thousand thanks for your kindness. I shall be leaving Rohan as soon as possible—within two weeks, if the necessary arrangements can be made in time. You need not worry about sending an escort, for Éomer has assured me that he will see to the matter himself. I shall send word ahead when I depart from Edoras, so that my arrival will not catch you off-guard.
Take comfort in knowing that I have suffered no physical ailments, and that I have numbed myself to any emotional pain that I might feel upon my departure from home. I will explain when I next see you.
Sincerely, Gúthwyn
Sighing, Éomund's daughter reread what she had written. It would suffice until she reached Ithilien, at which point Éowyn would surely grill her. It was a story she was not looking forward to telling, especially if she were forced to do so when Faramir—Lothíriel's cousin—was in the same room. Her sister would be furious; she would undoubtedly send a letter to Éomer, demanding restitution on Gúthwyn's behalf.
A knock on the door yanked her from her thoughts. Hoping it was not Éomer, Gúthwyn swallowed and called, "Come in."
Much to her relief, the person intruding upon her solitude turned out to be Cobryn. He greeted her and then sat down in the nearest chair, having long ago done away with waiting for an invitation.
Gúthwyn smiled to see him fix her with a questioning gaze. "I should have expected you would be quick to visit after the messenger delivered this letter in your presence."
Cobryn shrugged unabashedly, his brown eyes utterly unapologetic. "I figured you would not mind my inquisitiveness."
"I rarely do," Gúthwyn replied, though she frequently pretended otherwise. In reality she did not know what she had done to deserve a friend such as Cobryn, and she probably did not thank the Valar for him often enough. "What have you to inquire about today?"
Cobryn gestured towards the letters on her desk. "I take it Éowyn is already preparing for your arrival," he said, leaning back in the chair.
Gúthwyn nodded. "She worries for me, but I have sworn to explain everything once I see her."
Exhaling, Cobryn laced his fingers together and gave Éomund's daughter a sharp look. "Do you still believe you are doing the right thing in leaving your home?"
"Cobryn, you do not trust me because you are concerned with only my welfare," Gúthwyn replied patiently. "If I indeed considered no other but myself, my actions would be entirely in the wrong. Yet I must have a care for my brother and my nephew, as well."
"I do not want to see you suffer," Cobryn told her earnestly, sighing. This was becoming an all too familiar discussion for the two of them. "Long have you put your family's interests ahead of your own—and see what has happened because of it. You deserve to be selfish. For the Valar's sake, it is practically your right after everything you have been through. Éomer and Elfwine can take care of themselves; and besides, both of them have begged you to remain in Rohan."
"Elfwine is still unaware of my intentions," Gúthwyn quickly corrected her friend.
"For now," Cobryn pointed out. "Once he finds out, I would be shocked if he did not plead with you to stay. I confess I wish him success."
Gúthwyn shook her head. "I will not allow that," she answered firmly. "My mind is set, if not my heart; I have made my decision, and despite your attempts to convince me otherwise I shall not look back. A month from today, I will be living in Ithilien."
"Do you truly desire that?" Cobryn asked, abruptly changing tack. "To reside under the same roof as Faramir?"
Wincing, Éomund's daughter remarked, "I can assure you I have devoted much thought to this. In fact, I believe my closeness to Éowyn's husband will take a greater toll on me than my distance from home—but it is a hardship I shall have to endure. Please," she begged, for Cobryn had opened his mouth to capitalize on this weakness, "do not try to change my mind. You cannot sway me. I will tell Hammel, Haiweth, and…"—she swallowed—"Elfwine tonight."
"You have nothing to gain from this," Cobryn warned her sternly, looking distinctly disgruntled that he had not even come close to winning their argument.
"Not I," Gúthwyn retorted, with all the assurance of someone utterly in the right, "but my nephew does."
With that, she folded her letter to Éowyn and reached for the wax to seal its contents.
For all her bravado when questioned by Cobryn, dinner soon came and went without Gúthwyn informing Hammel, Haiweth, or Elfwine of her plans. She had discussed them at length, of course, with Éomer; her brother's attempts at convincing her to stay were just as futile as Cobryn's. Yet to her children and her nephew she had said not a word, and she was forced to attribute this reticence to cowardice on her part.
Dinner had been early, so the sky was still light when Éomund's daughter ventured outside to clear her thoughts. Once on the landing she nodded at Gamling, who was finishing the last half-hour of his post alone. Although during the day two guards were required to man the entrance to the Golden Hall, in the evening this number was reduced to one. Gamling was now filling in for Ceorl, who had apparently caught the same illness as Eanwulf. In a few minutes the captain would retire for the evening, leaving the doors to Meduseld unattended. This was of no concern to the royal family: the gates to the city were ceaselessly observed, and the sentinels on duty had a clear view of the main road from the watchtower to ensure that there was no suspicious activity afoot.
Gúthwyn was close friends with these sentinels, which was perhaps why Éomer had never been told about her numerous nocturnal wanderings. She had sat out on the landing so frequently, shivering from her terrible dreams, that the guards probably assumed it was a quirky habit and thought it harmless. It appeared that not one of them had brought the issue up with Éomer, not even after those nights when she was joined by Legolas. Éomund's daughter wondered what she would do in Ithilien, for she doubted Éowyn would be as blind to her comings and goings as Éomer.
Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Éomund's daughter gazed out across the city to the plains beyond. Her heart stirred with a longing so painful that she almost wept: this was her home, and yet in a couple of weeks she would be living in self-imposed exile. She remembered those endless years of slavery, how every night she had prayed that the Valar would have pity on her and let her return to Rohan. At last they had granted her wish, yet now they were cruelly stripping her of her happiness.
I can always come back, she reassured herself, wiping her eyes. Not soon, but someday.
"My lady?"
Starting, Gúthwyn turned around and saw Gamling watching her, an uncomfortable expression on his face. "Yes?" she asked, confused. Had he noticed that she was upset? She flushed at the thought.
Gamling seemed reluctant to speak. Éomund's daughter received the impression that it had taken him several minutes to work up the courage to address her in the first place, though she knew not why.
"Queen Lothíriel said something about you," Gamling began, looking nothing short of mortified, "when the two of you were arguing…"
Gúthwyn frowned, still not understanding. "There was much that she accused me of," she pointed out, albeit not unkindly.
The captain of the guard shifted awkwardly on his feet. "She claimed that you had… that you had admitted you were not a virgin."
A cold, sinking feeling settled into Gúthwyn's gut; simultaneously her cheeks drained of color, and her entire body stiffened. Now she knew what was bothering Gamling. How many times had the captain risen to her defense at these rumors, had he countered indignantly whenever her innocence was called into question? Lothíriel's declaration had been a stunning blow, calling his trust of Éomund's daughter into question and making him wonder if all along he had been deceived.
"Is this true?" Gamling asked, looking straight into Gúthwyn's eyes. "I-I swore Ceorl to silence about the matter until I knew for certain…"
There was one thing commonly said about the Rohirrim: never were they dishonest, and thus it was almost impossible to lie to them and escape detection. Gúthwyn swallowed, caught between a rock and a hard place. If she said nothing, which was her instinct, Gamling would assume the worst. If she tried to convince him that Lothíriel was simply attempting to sow another rumor, he would know that she was not telling the truth—and then would assume the worst. But if she explained what had actually happened…
Gamling was waiting for an answer, his brow furrowing as the seconds lengthened and Gúthwyn did not respond. "My lady?" he inquired slowly.
Éomund's daughter folded her arms across her stomach. "I was raped," she said dully, "when I was sixteen."
Gamling's eyes widened in horror and disgust, both of which barely registered in her numb mind. "He commanded Sauron's army," she continued; "I had no choice. I never wanted it. I never asked for it."
She could see her friend struggling to comprehend this terrible truth, this admission of her impurity and the reason behind it. "Is he—is that bastard still alive?" he finally choked out, his breathing shallow with hatred.
"I killed him," Gúthwyn replied heavily. "I killed him less than a week before I returned to Rohan. He cannot touch me anymore."
Gamling could not speak for loathing; he opened and closed his mouth several times, casting around for something to say that would acknowledge the severity of Haldor's crime.
"Please," she said quietly, "do not tell anyone. I just want to be able to forget about him. Can I trust you?"
"You have my word," Gamling swore vehemently, every syllable quivering in revulsion. "Gúthwyn, I am so—"
"Thank you," Éomund's daughter cut him off. "That is all I need." She walked back towards the doors leading into Meduseld, acknowledging the captain with a sad smile. "Goodnight, Gamling."
"Goodnight," she heard the warrior murmur as she entered the Golden Hall, and his voice was choked with tears.
A few minutes after her encounter with Gamling, Gúthwyn slowed her walk to a stop in front of Haiweth's door. Having just relived one of the most painful memories of her life in front of the captain of the guard, she had shamed herself into summoning the courage to break the news of their departure to her child.
Knock, knock. "Haiweth?"
"Come in," Haiweth called an instant later. The distracted tone of voice meant that the girl was working on a new picture. Gúthwyn smiled at this, and gently pushed open the door.
"Hello, little one," she greeted Haiweth, stepping inside and approaching the child's small desk. "What are you drawing?"
"A dress," Haiweth explained, showing Éomund's daughter. As usual, the design was exquisite—not gaudy, like many of the fashions that the women of Dol Amroth were inclined to wear, but elegant and gorgeous in a homage to something that Queen Arwen, perhaps, might don for an important ceremony.
"It is beautiful," Gúthwyn replied, truthfully. "If I am ever in need of a new outfit, I should ask you to sketch one for the dressmaker."
Haiweth smiled at the compliment, her golden curls catching the light from the candle as she bent her head to critically examine her work. Not for the first time, Gúthwyn was struck by how beautiful the girl had become. At the age of fourteen, Haiweth was tall, thin, and graceful; her prettiness far excelled anything Éomund's daughter could ever be. She even had the beginnings of a figure, which alarmed Gúthwyn and made her vow to be more protective in the future. Haiweth's most striking feature, however, was her eyes, colored a soft grey that captivated the beholder. In a few years, Gúthwyn knew, she would have admirers by the dozen.
But now was not that time. "Haiweth," Gúthwyn said seriously, lowering herself into a spare chair near the desk, "there is something I must tell you."
Haiweth, sensing urgency, lowered her quill. "What is it?" she asked.
"Two weeks from today, we are leaving Rohan," Gúthwyn announced, cringing as she spoke.
Haiweth did not appear distraught, as Gúthwyn had expected her to be, in the least; rather, she was merely contemplative. "Why?" she asked, glancing at Éomund's daughter in bewilderment.
Briefly, Gúthwyn explained her conflict with Lothíriel, saying only that the queen's relationship with her family was in danger and that Elfwine needed to spend more time with his mother.
"I never liked Lothíriel," Haiweth remarked simply when Gúthwyn had finished. "She is always angry at me, even though I have not done anything wrong."
"She thinks that you are an indiscretion of mine," Gúthwyn replied quietly. "It has nothing to do with your behavior."
"An indiscretion?" Haiweth echoed, confused.
Gúthwyn shook her head. "Never mind, little one," she responded. "What matters is that we cannot reside in Rohan for the time being."
"Then where will we go?" Haiweth wanted to know.
"I have written to Éowyn," Gúthwyn said, "and she has kindly agreed to take us in."
Haiweth's eyes lit up. "We are going to stay in Emyn Arnen?" she demanded eagerly.
Taken aback—and slightly stung—by this reaction, it was a moment before Gúthwyn collected herself enough to answer. "Yes, we are."
Looking as if her wildest dreams had come true, Haiweth straightened and asked, "Is Emyn Arnen part of Gondor?"
Gúthwyn nodded. "It is. Indeed, Ithilien is considered the loveliest of Gondor's provinces."
"Is it close to Minas Tirith?" Haiweth pressed her.
"I believe so," Gúthwyn said, hazarding a guess. Geography was not her strongest suit.
Haiweth gasped in delight. "Can we visit Minas Tirith? Please?"
"Should Éowyn and Faramir choose to do so," Gúthwyn replied, hurt. "Really, Haiweth, are you not at all upset about moving?"
Too late, Haiweth realized how her jubilance was affecting the woman beside her. "Of course I am," she hastened to say—but her eyes could not hide the fact that she was lying. Her betrayal in this regard cut Gúthwyn to the very core.
"What about my home is so abhorrent to you?" Éomund's daughter asked quietly, her heart aching.
Haiweth hesitated, picking up her quill and fiddling with it. She tipped the writing instrument from side to side, as if she were weighing the benefits of speaking versus remaining quiet. "Rohan is very… boring," she at last confessed, sighing.
"Boring?" Gúthwyn echoed, shocked. "How can it possibly be boring?"
"There is nothing to do here," Haiweth complained. "All anyone cares about is horses and fighting. I hate it! Lady Éowyn was lucky to escape when she could."
The girl's sudden outburst forced the air out of Gúthwyn's lungs, leaving her breathless with dismay. "Escape?" she repeated indignantly, gaping at Haiweth like she had never seen the child before. "Edoras is so terrible a city that you need to escape from it?"
"Gúthwyn, I do not belong here!" Haiweth cried. "I tolerate it because I have to, but there is nothing about this place that I like! I would much rather live in Gondor, where they are more…" She trailed off suddenly, reluctant to continue. It was obvious, however, what she could have said: civilized. Educated. Proper.
"By the Valar," Gúthwyn murmured, sickened. At last, she understood. "You actually admire those awful Dol Amroth women! You want to be like them!"
"What was so horrible about them?" Haiweth retorted. "I know they gossiped, but they also talked about fashion and plays—I have never even seen a play! Alphros says that there is always something happening in Dol Amroth, and that he never lacks anything to do. I bet it is the same way in Minas Tirith, where I could have gone to be Queen Arwen's attendant if only you had let me!"
"Haiweth, listen to yourself!" Gúthwyn cried, mortified. "Do you have any idea how shallow you sound?"
"Just because your idea of fun is not the same as mine, that does not make me shallow!" Haiweth exclaimed angrily. "You were so busy hating the Dol Amroth women that you never realized how talented most of them were! They all knew how to sing and dance and draw and play instruments!"
"If you desire to live amongst such vapid individuals as the members of the Dol Amroth court," Gúthwyn said tightly, "then I hope you come to your senses before it is too late."
"What would you want me to do, then?" Haiweth asked crossly. "Learn how to use a sword? What good is that going to do me? How is that ever going to help me find a husband?"
Gúthwyn's mouth dropped open: she could not believe what she was hearing. "You think of husbands now?" she interrogated the child, shocked. "Who has so poisoned your mind?"
"My mind is not poisoned," Haiweth snapped. "All of the girls I play with are going to have husbands in a few years, and children not long after. Excuse me for assuming that at some point in my life I will be married as well!"
"Why would you ever want to wed another?" Gúthwyn cried, trembling at the very idea. "I do not have a husband, and I am perfectly content without one!"
"You do not get it," Haiweth ground out through clenched teeth. "I am nothing like you, Gúthwyn, and the sooner you understand that the better it will be for both of us! I hate Rohan, and I could care less about horses and swords! I want to live in Gondor, and I want to be like Éowyn when I grow up—not you! You always assume that I cannot enjoy something because you do not, and you are always wrong. I am sick of it!"
Gúthwyn abruptly stood up. "I can see I was mistaken to believe you would even be remotely upset about leaving Edoras," she said coldly. "I pray that Ithilien meets your every expectation, and that Éowyn can help you become the person you want to be—for clearly I have only been a hindrance to your aspirations, whatever they may be. But for your information, Haiweth, my sister was once renowned for her abilities with a sword. She met her husband while she was in the Houses of Healing, recovering from her wounds after killing the Witch-king of Angmar. Surely you have not forgotten that."
Furiously, she made to storm out of the room. When she was at the door, however, she thought of something and turned around. "By the way," she spoke, her hands curling into fists, "should you choose to marry, your husband will have utter dominion over you. In other words, you shall have to service him in bed for the rest of your life. Do you know what that means?"
"No," Haiweth admitted after a pause.
"Good," Gúthwyn spat, her insides curling as she remembered the nights she had spent with Haldor. "I hope you never find out."
Without giving Haiweth a chance to respond, Éomund's daughter left the room.
Over my dead body will any child of mine enter into such slavery, she vowed.
