Disclaimer: See Prologue. Gwen is mine.
The Light Within
Chapter Thirty-Four: Interrupted
by: Sherrywine
March 1st,
Year 3019 of the Third Age
"Arghhh," Gwen coughed as the bitter medicine the older woman had given her hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag terribly at the acid taste. With effort, she was able to choke down the disgusting liquid without throwing it back up. "God, that's vile!" Gwen moaned as the metal cup disappeared from view, wishing like hell she could slip back into that wonderful, painless dream-state she had been in before waking in this foreign place. The old servant attending her looked up from where she was turning back the sheets on the bed, her gaze sympathetic, even if her understanding of the girl was somewhat limited. Upon waking, Britta discovered the girl did not speak Rohirric, the only language she knew. Therefore, they had been nearly unable to communicate, save for gestures and expressions.
"I am sorry for the taste, young one," she clucked, noting the sour curl to the young girl's lips and the yellow tint to her bruised face, "but Lady Éowyn insists that you drink the concoction three times a day, to keep away further sickness." To punctuate her words, Britta motioned to the cup and held up three fingers, drawing a groan from the girl on the bed. Just great. I've got to drink this three frigging times!
Gwen nodded in response, feeling ill and more than a little sulky. She wanted Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, not the kindly, wrinkled face of this woman. She was sick of not being able to truly communicate. It was too bad these people weren't elves, because her Sindarin had gotten pretty darn good, if she did say so of herself. But no, these Saxonesque people spoke a rougher, less melodic language than the elves that was no less beautiful to the ears, or difficult to understand. Unfortunately it was not a language Gwen spoke, leaving them in a bad spot in regards to communication. So far, no one seemed overly bothered by her lack of language skills, but it was driving her crazy.
The woman motioned towards the door, a slight smile on her face. This servant, whose name Gwen had learned to be Britta following a rather difficult first few minutes with her, had been exceptionally patient with her. "Lady Éowyn will want to check your wounds herself, to ensure everything is healing properly. Rest while I fetch her." She motioned to herself, then back to the door, repeating the name Éowyn again. Her plain linen dress swished as she walked around the bed and across the room.
Gwen nodded. Not wanting to forget her manners even if they would not be understood, she stopped the old servant as she reached the door. "Thank you, for your help, Britta," she said softly. Britta nodded before sweeping from the room, leaving Gwen to observe her surroundings and search her memories in silence. She was still groggy from her sleep and growing a fair bit woozy from the concoction she had consumed. The last thing she recalled was Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli surrounded by giant horses and big men. We were traveling across the fields of Rohan...searching for Merry and Pippin, Gwen recalled.
Her memory was a bit scattered and blurry, but the pieces slowly filtered back into place. We encountered the dangerous horsemen, and Aragorn had them take me away. Try as she might, Gwen could not recall anything more than that, except for the curious smell of cedar and musk, and the feel of warm, firm flesh under her fingertips. Those memories melded with the hazy dream images of Dorothy Gale and the Yellow Brick Road, and of the Cowardly Lion. I must have dreamed of the Wizard of Oz. It had always been a favorite movie of hers as a child. The idea of ending up in a fantastical world far from home had seemed so exciting to her then. Gwen had grown up, it seemed, because she was realizing it wasn't nearly as fun as it looked. It was dangerous, and it could get you killed. She had almost died. The realization was sobering.
Gwen tested her wounded leg tentatively by moving it a scant inch, wincing as the stiff appendage shifted. It was still there, at least. She would not be walking around anytime soon, however. A tiny shift too much to the left sent a bolt of pain firing up through her nerves, and as she breathed through the wave of nausea it caused her, Gwen realized there was an interesting smell in the air of the room – something faint and flowery. You're imagining things again, just like with the cedar. A flash of memory entered her mind's eye, then, of a sweaty, hair-covered arm banded across her torso. A man's arm. Gwen couldn't remember more than that. Who brought me here? Gwen struggled to remember, but nothing became clear.
Attributing her memories to a mix of reality and feverish delusions, Gwen looked carefully around the chamber, growing interested in this new place she had awoken in. A low fire heated the room, dark blocks of peat crackling lowly every so often in the flames. Thick furs were strewn across the room, covering the stone floor and even one or two places on the wall. A large tapestry of a forest with animals covered an entire wall opposite the bed she lay in, and large, heavy curtains were drawn back from big windows to reveal a clear winter sky. The sight instantly cheered her. The room was inviting and warm, bringing to Gwen's mind stories of ancient Vikings and Celts.
Gwen's tongue was as dry as sandpaper and tasted of bitter herbs from the medicine Britta had given her. When she had awoken only minutes ago, it had felt as if she was wading up through thick, choking quicksand, until at last she reached the surface and could see clearly. She still was struggling to make sense of everything her body was telling her. The old woman had been at her side in those first moments, murmuring in that foreign language of hers and wiping her face with a damp, cool cloth. It had felt so good on her skin, which was flushed and a little sticky from sweat. When the servant saw she was fully awake, Britta had gently asked her questions. The only clue Gwen had been given they were questions was in the tone of the woman's voice – it had shifted with each one, the pitch itself indicating something was being asked.
Upon discovering their language barrier, they had begun to communicate with a mixture of gestures and charades. Britta handed her a smooth pewter cup filled with the utterly vile concoction and asked her to drink by motioning to her mouth and the cup. And Gwen, being at heart a good and obedient soul, had trustingly drank that first sip unawares. What. a. sucker. The utterly American phrase made her smile, even if it came from within her own head. Gwen was amazed when her face did not throb in response to the movement. She raised a hand and felt her face, shocked that all the puffiness that had been around her eye and cheek had disappeared as far as she could tell. Catching sight of a small, open bowl of a creamy substance on a table beside the bed, Gwen curiously reached over and dipped a finger inside, inspecting the oily mixture and determining that it was at most a cream for pain and minor wounds. It smelled faintly of chamomile and bayberry, which she remembered learning about in Elrond's study so long ago. They were two herbs used to treat wounds like hers. How long have I been here? She wondered. Gwen had so many questions.
Obviously, she had been here long enough that her face had healed a little, if not altogether. Gwen could not see herself to know for sure. Wondering what other changes had occurred in her wounds, Gwen straightened up in the bed, careful not to aggravate her leg. She grasped the thick plait of her hair, grimacing at the greasy, caked quality of the strands under her fingers, feeling for the place on her skull where she had hit it so terribly days before. She remembered Boromir tackling her and shaking her body senseless. Her hands felt the thin scab along the hard ridge of her occipital bone. It itched when she touched it, telling her it was almost healed completely.
Gwen nearly jumped out of her skin when the chamber door opened suddenly to reveal a beautiful woman with long blond hair cascading in ringlets down her back and around her shoulders. She was dressed simply in a linen dress and tied black tunic, but something in her carriage told Gwen that this woman was not a servant, but rather someone more privileged. "You are awake!" The woman cried, crossing to the bed and sitting upon its edge, smiling in a friendly manner. Gwen couldn't help but smile back, rather startled to hear a language she recognized coming from the woman's mouth, even if it was accented differently than what she was used to with Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. "I am so glad to see you up and about!" The woman seemed to genuinely mean what she said, and to be interested in Gwen. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
For a moment Gwen didn't respond, her brain working sluggishly to process what was going on and being said. That concoction is some pretty strong stuff. She shifted restlessly, trying to wake up a little more, to focus, only to wince slightly when she shifted her wounded leg and caused herself more pain. "I do not feel terrible, actually," Gwen started, clearly her throat when the first words came out a hoarse croak of sound. She smiled sleepily up into the older woman's face, noting absently the dark circles under her eyes, and their watery quality.
"That is excellent!" The woman replied huskily, laying a hand on Gwen's where it laid on the bed, squeezing slightly before releasing and moving away. "My name is Éowyn," she introduced herself without a title, leaving Gwen curious about who she was. Still, she smiled politely. "I'm Gwen," she replied, and Éowyn looked startled and confused. "You are not called Elin, then?" Gwen's brows furrowed in her own confusion a moment before she realized what the other woman was getting at. "You mean elen?" She pronounced it in Sindarin questioningly. At the other woman's confirming nod, Gwen explained, "My friends call me that, but it is not my true name. My name is Gwendolyn, or Gwen." Éowyn's glowing smile returned as understanding dawned, and she nodded. "I see!" Éowyn said. "Shall I call you Gwen, then?" Gwen nodded sleepily, earning a half smile from the woman.
"Alright, well," she started briskly, "Now that I know who you are for sure, why don't we check out this nasty cut of yours, hmm? I want to ensure it's healing nicely." Her manner was all business, firm, leaving no room for argument. Now it was Gwen's turn to be unsure. It was one thing to have her friends touching her out of medical need, but a relative stranger? Her indecision must have shown on her face clearly, because Éowyn rose and patted her arm in reassurance, assuming that the woman valued her modesty greatly and did not want to be seen unclothed.
"Don't worry, I won't need you to strip your clothing," she offered gently. "Just turn over for me and I'll lift your gown just a bit." Gwen flushed a little, embarrassed by her overly anxious behavior. Clearing her throat, she smiled nervously. She had no reason to be embarrassed, and yet she was. Damn 21st century thinking. Better get used to this aspect of Middle Earth, Gwen, or better yet, stay healthy and able to take care of yourself.
"Sorry, I'm just not really used to being half clothed around strangers." Éowyn nodded in understanding, speaking even as Gwen was easing herself over onto her stomach and automatically aiding the younger woman. "It is completely understandable that you would be nervous, Gwen. Do not be embarrassed." Éowyn paused, lifting up the edge of the thin shift that served as Gwen's gown. She could feel the woman's hands working to undo the knot of her bandages. When she spoke again, Gwen could hear the crisp professionalism in her voice.
"My brother, Éomer, was the one who brought you here from the Westfold," she began, gently unbinding the bandage around Gwen's thigh. "He said that you were traveling in the company of men." Head in a pillow, Gwen nodded, voice muffled when she answered, "We were traveling after two of our friends, who were taken by uruk-hai into Rohan." Gwen felt Éowyn pause, then heard her respond. "My brother has spoken of these creatures to me," she said, "They are very dangerous, are they not?" Gwen nodded again into the pillow. "They are the creatures that did all this to me," she offered after a moment's silence. "In a battle," she whispered, remembering the vicious encounter. "I thought I was dead."
Éowyn had a soft touch; Gwen felt almost nothing as she was unwinding the dense cloth from Gwen's leg. "You are very young to have encountered such beasts," she answered gently, and Gwen got the sense that there was a lot that she wasn't saying. Long moments passed in silence as the healer continued to unwind her dressings. "You were very lucky to have received only this wound in your battles," Éowyn murmured. Gwen remembered how Boromir had fought to the death defending her and the hobbits. By the time she had received this wound, her own skills in combat were worthless thanks to the head wound she had sustained. Remembering all that made her ache.
At last the long gash was uncovered, and Éowyn grew silent as she inspected the wound, prodding it gently at different intervals, making Gwen wince a time or two. "Are you in much pain?" The lady asked. Gwen turned her head to speak more clearly, laying it awkwardly on the pillow. "Not really. I get a twinge now and then, but nothing terrible," she answered. Éowyn nodded, bending to inspect the stitched gash again. "I think it is healing nicely, and there is no sign of further sickness within it, thank the Maker!" The woman smiled, but it was muted as she studied the younger girl with clear eyes
"You were in poor shape when you arrived, you know," she said with a healer's more critical admonition. Gwen did not really know what state she was in before, but she nodded anyway, a derisive chuckle rising from her chest. She twisted her torso to look at the woman with a fair bit of humor in her eyes. "Well, I don't really know," she said, "But judging by my lack of concrete memories of the last...three days?"She made a show of counting her fingers. "I'd say I was in pretty poor shape, too," Gwen concluded lightly. Éowyn didn't seem to share the same humor regarding the situation. Instead she seemed a little withdrawn and sad, making Gwen wonder, not for the first time, what had this woman distracted and moody. She did not seem the type not to smile, especially if the laugh lines around her eyes were to be believed.
Musings aside, Gwen knew what she needed right now. "Do you think I could take a bath?" she asked. "I feel disgusting." She lifted her hands, inspecting them and finding dirt under her fingernails. Éowyn considered her a moment, as if weighing her hardiness with her illness, before finally nodding. "I think the air will do your newly made battle-scar some good, now that the danger of blood sickness has eased. Come, let's get you up. Britta!" she called. The old servant entered the chamber and stood waiting for her orders. Éowyn helped to turn Gwen over, who was being very careful of her wounded leg. Together, the three of them eased her up from the bed, into a sitting position.
"Fetch water for the tub, and our guest's things, if you would, please," she commanded the older woman, convincing Gwen of her higher status than the servant. Having completely forgotten about her belongings, Gwen beamed at the suggestion. Éowyn caught her happy smile and returned it, but it didn't reach her eyes completely. Something told Gwen it wasn't personal, but that she was carrying something inside that was making her unhappy. At least, that was her guess. It was just that, a guess. Being an almost complete stranger to her, Gwen didn't figure she would find out about her life any time soon.
"Come, come," Éowyn ushered her away from the bed with gentle strength. "To the tub with you." Gingerly, Gwen eased her weight down onto her legs, aware of even the slightest twinge of pain. Don't be a baby, Gwendolyn. It's just a gash. A mega gash. But it'll heal, she told herself.
Together Éowyn and Gwen moved carefully to the low tub in the middle of the room, which Britta had filled nearly half full of hot water. Small tremors of pain bolted up and down her leg as the stitches in her thigh protested Gwen's every movement, but it was nothing unmanageable. The pain was, thankfully, temporary. Trying to move served as a great reminder of how weak and underfed she had been in the last days. Her stomach rumbled audibly in response, making all three women chuckle. Once she was settled, naked, in the water, Éowyn dashed off to bring a tray of food to her.
Gwen loosened her hair with a sigh, enjoying the heated water's numbing affect on her body. She eased her hips down farther in the tub before dunking the filthy strands of her hair into the water, coming up in time to hear Britta murmuring sympathetically and motioning to her body. Hair dripping, Gwen twisted her head around so fast her neck popped. All thoughts of keeping her body relaxed were forfeited as she tensed, knowing automatically what the servant was saying even if she couldn't understand. "I know they look terrible," she said, motioning to her scars. It came out a low sad murmur, and Britta looked embarrassed, obviously aware of her words' affect. "It happened a long time ago," Gwen explained, even though Britta would not understand. She was oblivious to Éowyn returning with a tray of food. "But they don't hurt anymore, at least," she offered the old woman a smile, wishing she could understand even half of what was being said. Éowyn, however, did understand, and after placing the tray upon the bed, joined them by the tub with a compassionate smile. There was a look of steel, however, in her eyes when she said, "Did your companions harm you thus, Gwen?"
The younger could only stare, utterly stunned into silence for long moments as she processed the serious question. Images of Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas filled her mind's eye as the foreign woman waited for a reply. Then Boromir's. The Gondorian had, at first, been her adversary, a man bent on humiliating her into quitting, and who had become, later, a friend. Even he would never have harmed her. Anger rose to fill her gut at Éowyn's assumption. Logically, Gwen recognized it was a reasonable assumption to make, but it galled her that anyone would think so lowly of these men whom had protected her at cost to themselves. Still, Éowyn waited for a reply, innocent of Gwen's inner rage.
In a controlled, chilly voice, Gwen answered, "Of course not. My companions would never harm me." It was the most she could choke out. Abruptly, she rose from the tub, uncaring of the pain that jolted up her leg at the movement. She stalked to her pack with a heavy limp, heedless of Éowyn's protest. Gwen wrenched it open, retrieving her bathing items before limping back to the tub, anger apparent in every line of her body. Silence reigned inside the room, and Éowyn was greatly sorry for the damage her assumptions had apparently wrought with the other woman.
Éowyn wanted to make things right, somehow. "Britta, leave us, please," she commanded to the servant. Gwen did her best to ignore the two Éorlingas women completely as she scrubbed her skin. The servant woman swiftly left the room, and Gwen did her best to concentrate on trying open the stoppered bottle of oil for her hair. Éowyn spoke softly, watching the other woman more carefully now. Her prior movements could have done real damage to her wounds and she did not want her to do anything more to harm herself. "I am sorry, Gwen, for my assumption about your friends. I can see that it has angered you."
Gwen was silent for long moments, taking care to wash her hair fully, scowling. Finally, she replied, "Do you know even who my friends are?" Éowyn shook her head, twisting her hands together regretfully. Gwen began to feel badly about her anger, knowing that Éowyn could not have known the truth. "I was traveling with the heir to the throne of Gondor, a well-mannered dwarf and a prince of the elves," she continued more gently than before. "That is who you have thought capable of this." Gwen waved a hand down her scarred torso, wet and gleaming from the water. "The man – no, wraith," she corrected herself, "Who did this to me, well. He was an evil being. Nowhere close to the level of goodness in my friends."
She leveled a glance at the blonde woman, to show that she wasn't angry anymore, just being very serious. "But I understand why you might think so," she said evenly. "But they are old wounds." Éowyn nodded, earnestly glad that the other woman was not upset with her. She had had a bad habit of making assumptions as a child, and Éowyn thought herself beyond those years now. The realization that she wasn't quite was very humbling. Gwen, at least, seemed willing to move past the error. "Shall we get you up and out of the tub?" she suggested brightly, voice tinged with embarrassment. The water was getting cold, so Gwen couldn't be all that comfortable by this point.
When the younger woman acquiesced, Éowyn pulled Gwen to her feet in the tub, waiting patiently as she stepped gingerly onto the floor. Passing her a towel with which to dry, Éowyn informed her that her clothes were being washed and dried and that she would need to wait in bed for them. Gwen, who by this point was very tired, welcomed the opportunity to sleep. Éowyn helped her onto the bed, encouraging her to sit and cover herself while she fetched a sleeping gown for her to wear. Gwen was not concerned with her attire at the moment, but slipped under the covers anyway. She was more concerned with slaking her hunger. Gingerly, she ate fruit and cheese from the food Éowyn had brought her as she waited for the healer to return.
The chamber door opened suddenly, and Gwen, expecting Éowyn, sat up in the bed, unthinking of her undressed state. Instead, a very tall man filled the doorway, his body taking up the space nearly from seam to seam. His presence startled her, and she gasped in surprise. The man's leonine features were sharp, angular, and unfamiliar to her, but his eyes were piercingly memorable as his gaze found hers amongst the bedclothes. This was the horse lord! Gwen remembered falling to his feet in supplication, and of feeling afraid of him. Now, in more sane condition, she took note of him more clearly.
Upon their first meeting, Gwen hadn't been able to see his features under the grime of life in the wilderness, together with his helm. She could see how how those yellow-green eyes fit into the cut of his features. He was beautiful. She flushed red at the thought, still lost to his presence as her eyes drank in the sight of him. Normally, facial hair did not attract her, but the short beard framing his stern jaw looked pleasingly roguish on his face, and was exceeded only by the long, golden hair framing his face and brushing his shoulders.
It was like she forgot her wits as she looked at him. Gwen covered her breasts with her hands and arms, not knowing she was increasing their appeal by doing so. She was unable to say a word; Gwen only gaped open-mouthed at him. The horse lord didn't seem inclined to speak, either, but rather was more interested in looking at her, too. Something she had never experienced before was passing through the room, because of him. It was a curious energy that swirled between them.
He was built like a warrior – all thick muscle stacked onto a well-built, tall frame. There was power in every line of his body. and something commanding and riveting about the way he held himself. Gwen thought he was the most attractive man she had ever seen. The ferocious look in his eyes also made him the most intimidating man she had ever laid eyes on. Restless energy nearly crackled visibly around him, and his eyes burned her with their fiercely keen, piercing yellow-green gaze. This man was clearly a leader. It made sense now that he had been the one to confront them on the plains.
He met her stare head on, never taking his eyes from her, and it made her feel strangely warm and vulnerable as she lay there. Instinct whispered to her to lay still and silent. This man terrified her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Realizing he could see her naked breasts even with her arms over her chest, Gwen gasped and pulled the sheet up to cover herself just as Britta appeared in the doorway, dwarfed in size and stature by the man beside her.
"Lord Éomer!" She gasped in horror, clearly not intimidated by him as Gwen was. "You cannot be in here!" the old woman declared, glaring fiercely up at him. The massive man ignored the servant's obvious upset caused by his presence, though he did at last allow his gaze to flow towards the servant. Free now to observe this foreign conversation, Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, and listened, though she could not understand a word.
"I am looking for my sister," he explained in a rumbling voice, in the same language. Gwen found herself reacting to that sound just as she had his appearance, with every nerve jumping in response to that deep, gravelly tone. Though she had little experience with the opposite sex, it seemed unusual to be so affected by a person. When his weighty gaze flickered back to her, Gwen resisted the urge to shudder. Helpless desire, far stronger than anything she had felt before, pooled inside her abdomen.
Gwen blushed hotly at the ideas that ran through her head in the next moments, knowing she had no business thinking about anyone, much less a stranger, in such explicit terms. That she had at all made her wary and confused. Gwen was sure it wasn't normal to react like this to a person. Britta, for her part, seemed wholly unaffected by the man, though she supposed the elder woman's age might have something to do with that.
"She is not in here," Britta answered disapprovingly, "And neither should you be. Leave, now!" she commanded, and Gwen was surprised at the tone she took with the man. Éomer's sharp eyes flickered to meet Britta's but immediately returned to Gwen's face before inclining his head with a regally lazy bent that could only be described as indolent. He turned away from her, toward the door as the older woman bid him. His movements reminded her of a great golden lion, all sinuous power and feline grace. Gwen couldn't help but wonder what he would have done if Britta hadn't appeared at all.
He exited the chamber as softly and quietly as he had entered, and Gwen shared a look of equal parts horror and fascination with Britta, who quickly explained to her using their curious communication that Éomer was Éowyn's older brother, which shocked Gwen. That was Éowyn's brother? Holy shit. Other than their shared hair color and texture, they couldn't have been more dissimilar. Where Éowyn was sweet and gentle in form and nature, Éomer was as electric as a thunderstorm, and twice as deadly – even a fool could see that. Thinking of his eyes on her and the reaction they caused within her, Gwen shuddered. She was no fool, and made a note to avoid him at all costs.
Please review! More Éomer/Gwen interaction to come.