The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Epilogue: Recovery

Book One

By: WhiteLadyOfTroy

Summary:
The War of the Ring is over, and it is time for Gúthwyn to return home with the children. Yet things are not as they used to be, and many changes are in store for her, whether she would welcome them or not.

About the Epilogue:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my Trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started. Recovery will be divided into two books.

About Chapter Thirty-Eight:
The upcoming events are based off of what I have learned from the appendices and various sources concerning the aftermath of the War of the Ring. I wish more was known, but unfortunately, it is not—thus, I have had to do much guesswork and fill in my own beliefs about what happened. Please bear with me.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Not long afterwards, Tun took to wife a woman named Brithwen. Gúthwyn saw him being introduced to her by Erkenbrand at a feast: the Marshal had been intent on finding some means of distracting his nephew from his lady. She watched without envy as her champion courted Brithwen, without remorse as they wedded, and without flinching as the woman emerged from their home the next morning with permanently glowing cheeks.

It made her glad that Tun had found someone, and there was no falsehood in that. The days after she had rejected him had been miserable; they had avoided each other out of awkwardness, unable to even speak without blushing terrifically. To make matters worse, the other guards had made fun of him relentlessly. She was treated more deferentially, as she was a lady, but he had endured countless heckling from the soldiers.

Loathing herself for causing her champion so much misery, Gúthwyn had literally worried herself sick over the matter. For nights she had lain awake without sleeping, imagining with a terrible guilt what she had put Tun through; she had barely eaten for days, unable to muster up the desire to. By the time her birthday rolled around, she was bedridden with a fever, one that was even worse than the year before. It was three weeks until she had the strength to walk again. For the vast majority of that time, she had been hunched over the chamber pot, throwing up whatever meager meal the anxious maids had forced her to consume.

Éomer had sat by her side whenever he was able to. Like the others, he had been shocked when Gúthwyn had staggered back into the Golden Hall on the night of the seventh of June, her eyes a swollen red color. He had stared, open-mouthed, when she had whispered hoarsely that she had just refused Tun's proposal. And he had been too stunned to say or do anything when she had run from the room, struggling to conceal a fresh onslaught of tears.

Yet they rarely, if ever, spoke of her champion, and for that she was grateful. She had told him the story, and though initially he had been incensed that Tun had kissed her, she had been adamant that the man would see no punishment for it. Afterwards, they had turned to other topics for conversation. She learned from him that he had granted permission for Gimli to start a colony in the Glittering Caves, where they would mine meticulously and provide Rohan with a sizeable portion of the profits.

Furthermore, Éomer had mentioned that King Elessar had traveled to Mordor, which meant that, assuming the negotiations went well, he would return in a few months' time. Gúthwyn was awaiting his letter somewhat nervously; she prayed that a suitable solution for the slaves and the remnants of Sauron's army would be reached. She thought also of Dîrbenn—had he survived the final battle before the gates of the Black Land? Or had he too perished, like so many of his comrades?

When at last Gúthwyn was able to rise from her bed, she did so with vigor, and was welcomed eagerly back into the social circles of Edoras. Her regular routine she resumed, waking up at noon only to head out to the training grounds. Haiweth's lessons had progressed remarkably well, so now Gúthwyn had elected to teach her the basics of running a household: Cleaning clothes, serving various dishes at meals, and sewing. The latter was a joke, as Éomund's daughter was laughable in the craft, but Haiweth seemed to take well enough to it, and soon surpassed her. In terms of the washing, Gúthwyn was able to take the girl with her whenever she brought her laundry down the street to speak with Hildeth.

As for Hammel, he continued to excel at his own studies, though was less successful with the sword. Cobryn had more than once remarked, with a trace of frustration in his words, that he simply did not put any effort into his techniques. This had made him no more likeable to the other boys, and as Rohan was plunged into a gloriously warm summer, he still had not gained more than a few friends.

Gúthwyn noticed that he persistently watched the blacksmith's daughter Aldeth, though he rarely worked up the courage to talk to her. Both she and Cobryn exchanged many a glance at this, wondering with some exasperation when the boy would ever express what appeared to be a growing love for her. At last, Gúthwyn had taken the initiative to probe him for information. He had grudgingly admitted that he was somewhat attracted to the blacksmith's daughter, but was quick to point out that she barely even knew what he looked like, and, at best, thought him only a friend.

To this, Gúthwyn could only give him mild encouragement, hoping that in time he would overcome his inhibitions about approaching Aldeth. Yet always in the back of her mind was the memory of what had happened when Tun had mustered the bravery to declare his love to her. She did not want the same to befall Hammel. Besides, he was only eleven—there was plenty of time ahead of him in which he could lose interest in Aldeth.

"I highly doubt he will," Hildeth remarked when she confided in her on the matter. "Yet neither will he do anything, unless someone nudges him in the right direction."

Gúthwyn sighed a little, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Then she turned her attentions back to Hammel's shirt. It was dirty from practice: he had fallen on the ground when sparring with someone.

"He is so secretive," she muttered, lowering her voice so that Haiweth, who was only a few feet away and concentrating diligently on her own washing, could not hear. "I sometimes feel as if I know naught of what goes on inside his mind."

"Well, that is a smart child, make no mistake about that," Hildeth replied, wringing out a tunic. "If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: There is far more to him than meets the eye. You make sure that your friend is keeping close watch on him, now."

"He is," Gúthwyn promised, smiling at the mention of Cobryn. He was one of the few people who had not teased her about Tun, though he had made a point of telling her that she had shocked him with her refusal.

"My lady," one of the other women said, pausing in her task to glance at her. She was the wife of a Rider, and her dress was stretching tightly over a rounded stomach. "Last night, my husband and I were talking about you."

"You were?" Gúthwyn asked, looking at the woman. She grinned. "I hope you were saying good things."

"Of course, my lady," Wífled assured her hastily. "But we were wondering if you had yet given thought to marriage, now that Tun…"

A faint murmur swelled up amongst the wives and maidens.

"Well," Wífled said, her cheeks flushing a little as Gúthwyn's eyes widened, "now that you have gotten one offer, it seems as if there may be more to come."

"Oh, nonsense," Hildeth retorted crossly. "Look at her! She hardly weighs more than Haiweth."

The child started, having been absorbed in the exercise of thoroughly rinsing an undergarment.

"Pay no heed," Gúthwyn said kindly to her, though she could feel her face heating.

"I think you could stand to gain several pounds before you marry and start wanting to have children," Hildeth muttered.

"Now, Hildeth, you are always so pessimistic," Wífled admonished. "My lady, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two," Gúthwyn answered, setting Hammel's shirt to dry on the side of her washing basin.

"There you are," Wífled said triumphantly. "I was married and several months pregnant at your age. Your brother, I deem, is doing you a great disservice in not announcing your eligibility."

The other women around them, with the exception of Hildeth, voiced their assent.

Firmly, Gúthwyn shook her head. "The longer he delays, the better. I am not looking forward to having to endure suitors that seek me only for the purpose of their own gain."

"Yet, just imagine," Mildwen said dreamily. "Being courted by dashing princes—such as Elphir, you did seem to get on with him well—left and right! Why, anyone would give an arm to be in your position!"

Gúthwyn snorted, in spite of herself. "There are better things to give an arm for," she responded, and thought with a pang of Lebryn. His arm had been lost in a Warg stampede, similar to the one that had ended in Chalibeth's death and her confinement in the cage.

At the memory, she swayed, and for a moment the world spun around her. When she regained control of herself, Hildeth was narrowing her eyes at her. "Child, you need to eat more," she commented sharply.

"She is not a child," Wífled retorted. "And you are certainly not her mother."

There was a brief pause, in which the other women glanced uneasily at each other. Wífled quickly realized what she had said, and swiftly apologized. "I am sorry, my lady, I did not mean to—"

"It is all right," Gúthwyn said, waving away her concerns. "Thank you." In truth, she hardly remembered Théodwyn. A brief flash, perhaps, of golden hair, and the feeling of sitting on someone's lap and hearing their laughter… That was all.

Haiweth looked up at her with wide, surprised eyes. "Gúthwyn," she began very seriously, "where is your mother?" For the first time, the child was contemplating that the person who had taken care of her for six years actually had parents.

Gúthwyn smiled in spite of the situation, and wiped her wet hand before reaching out to ruffle Haiweth's hair. "She passed on, little one. Many years ago."

"Oh," Haiweth said, glancing down at her small basin. "Like Mama."

"Yes," Gúthwyn replied, her tone now somber. "Like her."

At that moment, Brytta happened to look beyond their circle into the main street. "Well, girls," she remarked with a wry smile, "there is something to feast your eyes upon."

Accordingly, the maidens burst into giggles. Some of the younger royal guards were making their way down the street. Most of them were unmarried, and wasted no time in directing their gazes over to the blushing girls. Some of them smiled, and one waved. The woman to whom the gesture was aimed soon found herself the object of several envious stares.

Gúthwyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and was about to return to the washing when she caught sight of Tun. He had been at the back of the group, talking with a friend, but when he glanced over and saw her he froze for an instant. She, too, felt her breath catch in her throat. A thousand emotions ran through her at once as she recalled that night, and she saw them written across his face. He did not try to conceal them.

And then he swallowed. There was a nod, one that she returned automatically. Then he wrenched his eyes away, and continued down the road. Gúthwyn looked down, and bent her hands to the wringing out of Hammel's leggings.

Wífled sighed. "My lady, I still do not understand how you could have refused him."

Once more, the conversation was brought back to the very topic that she had sought to avoid for what felt like years.

Gúthwyn did not answer her, but then Brytta said sagely, "You know what they say: There are other horses in the field. I suspect that when she falls in love, it will not be long until she is happily married."

If only that were so, Gúthwyn thought bitterly. Her hands rested lightly on the water, as if it were a mirror that she could look into and see Borogor. Yet it was just her reflection, warped and rippling in the dirty liquid. She sighed.

"That shall not be so difficult," Mildwen replied. "There are plenty of fine, single men living in Edoras. Most of them would need only the slightest encouragement to ask for the lady's hand."

Gúthwyn closed her eyes briefly, trying not to think of how she had unknowingly helped to build the fires of Tun's attraction to her.

"Speaking of fine, single men," Wífled said, "there is your brother, Brytta."

Elfhelm the Marshal was approaching them, a smile on his face. He had just returned from his duties in the east of Rohan; Éomer had given him a welcoming feast the night before.

"Now, that is a handsome piece of flesh," Wífled whispered, leaning over to Éomund's daughter so that only she could hear. "As is his stipend."

"Wífled!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, mildly appalled. "It is not a man's pay that should make him more endearing to my heart!"

The other woman appeared unabashed. "Yet it will make your brother more likely to approve of him."

"He is twenty years older than me!" Gúthwyn hissed.

Wífled opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Elfhelm joined the group. "Good afternoon, ladies," he said, and leaned over to kiss Brytta on the brow. "Hello, sister. I hope Heahtor has not soiled too many clothes."

Brytta sighed in exasperation. "I swear, he crawls his way around the city rather than walks! Look at this!"

She held up the shirt for inspection. It was positively covered in dirt; all of the women winced sympathetically.

"I am glad Hammel is not so messy," Gúthwyn commented in an undertone to Haiweth.

"Hammel never does anything," Haiweth complained, and splashed at the water in irritation.

The noise caught Elfhelm's attention, and he glanced over to see the two of them. He smiled, greeted Haiweth, and then said to Gúthwyn, "My lady, what a surprise to see you here. Are you sure you were not looking for the training grounds, and wandered in the wrong direction?"

Gúthwyn made a face at him. "I am teaching Haiweth how to do some household tasks."

Snorting, Elfhelm replied, "A fine role model you must be. When are we to expect the honor of instructing Haiweth on how to use a sword?"

Haiweth wrinkled her nose. "I do not want to fight," she informed the Marshal. "It is too dirty."

Elfhelm laughed at this, and said, "I would never have suspected that any child under Gúthwyn's wing would choose a bar of soap over a sword! What is the world coming to?"

"Neither she nor Hammel have much interest," Gúthwyn admitted. "A grievance to me, though I will not push them into something they do not wish to do."

"At any rate, one woman on the training grounds is enough," Elfhelm said. "It is quite humiliating to lose to you, in case you have not noticed."

"And why is that, Elfhelm?" she teased him, grinning. "Is it because your skills are woefully lacking?"

Mildwen gave an admiring gasp, that her lady should be so daring as to insult the Marshal of the East-mark.

The maligned glared at Gúthwyn. "If you were not behind that washing basin…" he threatened.

"As if you could hurt me," she retorted with a grin. "Besides, Éomer would have your head cut off, and hung on a post as a warning."

"Aye, that he would," Elfhelm conceded ruefully. "I suppose I shall have to content myself with challenging you to a duel."

Gúthwyn beamed. "Name the day."

"I will look for you tomorrow," he promised.

Some of the maids burst into giggles at this, and had to duck out of the circle to stem their laughter. Elfhelm chuckled a little before bidding them farewell, telling them that he would have stayed longer had his duties permitted it. Brytta smiled fondly at him, returning to the washing only once he had passed out of sight.

Gúthwyn found herself facing an onslaught of accusations.

"He could barely keep his eyes off of you!"

"He spoke to you even more than his own sister!"

"He may be twenty years older than you, but I will wager that you would still find his performance quite satisfactory."

Scandalized gasps echoed throughout the circle, and Brytta said sharply, "Wífled, curb your tongue! This is my brother you speak so freely of! And do not forget that there is a child present!"

Wífled did not look the least bit apologetic, though Gúthwyn's cheeks were burning with humiliation. "Wífled," she whispered, feeling nausea coil at the pit of her stomach. "Please, stop."

The woman took one look at her face and was quelled. "I am sorry, my lady," she said. "I should not have been so forward."

"Now look at what you have done," Hildeth scolded her. "You and your sharp mouth!"

"Yours is hardly better!"

Their squabbling grew more distant as Gúthwyn stood there, her hands dripping with water and soap and her body filled with horrible sensations. Haldor was upon her, his hot breath on her skin and the smell of his body in the air. She was crying out, begging for him to stop, but he merely pinned her to the bed and pushed harder… The mutterings, the terrible words—you are a whore… you wanted this, do not pretend you did not think of it when you saw me for the first time… you brought this upon yourself, it is your fault, do not deny it—all the tears that she was not allowed to cry… And the pain, the disgrace, magnified with each movement and each muffled groan…

All of a sudden, Gúthwyn knew that if she did not leave, if she did not get out of the circle now, she would throw up. "Haiweth," she choked out, motioning at the girl. "Haiweth, gather your things."

Hastily, she began throwing clothes into her laundry basket, not caring that some of them were still wet. Haiweth looked indignant.

"Gúthwyn!" she protested. "I am not done!"

"We will finish later," Gúthwyn said shortly, feeling as if she could hardly breathe. "Come!"

Haiweth scowled, and flung her garments into her own carrier. No sooner had she picked the container up than Gúthwyn strode forward, clutching at her stomach with one hand and balancing the basket on her hip with the other.

"My lady," Mildwen said concernedly, "are you all right?"

"Fine," Gúthwyn managed, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. "Something I forgot to do…"

With that, she left the women, though not before Hildeth's keen eyes met hers. Haiweth kept up a steady stream of complaints as they walked up the main street, but while Gúthwyn felt marginally guilty for making the girl leave so abruptly, she was concentrating on not vomiting. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably; panic wormed its way through her. She kept her eyes fixed on the road and tried to count the cobblestones, boots, livestock—anything to distract her mind from Haldor.

Gradually, she began calming down. The nausea retreated, though the feeling of unease in her belly reminded her that it could return at any time. Haldor was starting to fade, his grip on her wrists loosening.

"Gúthwyn!"

The near-screech from Haiweth brought her back to her senses. She looked over to see the girl glaring at her. "You are not listening to me!" she cried angrily.

"My apologies," Gúthwyn said wearily. "What were you saying?"

"Why did you make us leave?" Haiweth demanded. "I was only halfway done!"

They had now come to the top of the stairs, and were about to enter the Golden Hall. Yet Gúthwyn sighed, and held her hand up to prevent the guards from opening the doors. The basket was beginning to weigh heavily on her hip, so she set it down and waited until Haiweth had done the same, albeit grudgingly.

"Little one," she said, lowering her voice so that the sentinels could not hear, "I am sorry. But you must understand…" She swallowed, and Haiweth's stormy eyes blinked. "Sometimes, I feel ill, and I have to… to go somewhere else to get better."

Haiweth looked at her dubiously. "Why?" she wanted to know.

"I cannot tell you, little one," Gúthwyn replied, putting a hand on her shoulder. "When you are older… perhaps you will understand."

A frown crossed the girl's face. "I am never old enough!" she complained.

Gúthwyn smiled. "One day, you will be. And you might even be taller than I."

At just a couple inches over five feet, she was not growing anymore; yet Hammel would soon surpass her, and the children's parents had been of a good height.

Haiweth's eyes widened at the thought of being bigger than Gúthwyn. "That is not possible!"

"Well, look at Hammel," Gúthwyn replied, bending down to pick up her basket. Haiweth followed suit. "Soon, I will be looking up to him. You are not that far behind."

It was true: Haiweth's head was already past her shoulders, and she still had much growing to do. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, the girl conceded with an impish grin, "Maybe! How tall do you think I could be?"

"A few inches higher than me, if you are lucky," Gúthwyn answered. "Though, if you are too tall, then it will be difficult to find a husband!" She ignored the pang in her chest as she said this.

Haiweth stuck out her tongue in distaste. "Boys have germs. And they are always dirty!"

Gúthwyn could not help but laugh at this, and as she and Haiweth made their way into Meduseld, she felt her spirits lifting.