The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Part One: Alone

Book Two

By:WhiteLadyOfTroy

Summary:
When Gúthwyn, the youngest child of Théodwyn and Éomund, becomes a slave of Sauron, she makes a deadly bargain with the Dark Lord. If she fails at the task he sets before her, then the lives of those she loves will be compromised.

About the Trilogy:
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. This will be divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started.

About Chapter Thirty-Six:
Regarding names, Hammel's I made up—I know it's not a proper name, but I can't think of him as anyone else. Borogor and Beregil are modifications of Beregond and Bergil, two citizens of Gondor Pippin meets in The Return of the King. Once again, please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Also, regarding archery and swordplay—I really don't know what the hell I'm talking about, so bear with me. I've had a few archery lessons, but nothing major. In addition, the upcoming chapters will feature disturbing images. If torture and rape scenes bother you, skip over them. I will not post warnings in the middle of the fic, so you'll have to determine for yourself which areas you would like to avoid. Important: Here the story begins to become a little less accurate, canon-wise. I have tried my best to keep it realistic, but sometimes it's just not possible. 

Chapter Thirty-Six

It was a hot, humid day, making the impending free afternoon even more of a welcome treat. Sweat was pouring down Gúthwyn's body as she and Borogor finished sparring, some of the men who were already done drifting over to watch. So far neither of the friends had the clear advantage, but she was keenly aware that she could not last for much longer. A year had passed since he had begun teaching her, and though her skill had improved tremendously she still had yet to beat him in a match.

This was clearly not the day for changing the status quo, as was evidenced when Borogor sent a strike from her side that she did not see coming until too late. The stick rammed into her head, knocking it to the right, and before she could recover he had placed it at her throat.

"You have done better," he said to her, while the few spectators dispersed.

"Mmph," was her reply as she massaged the side of her head. The day had started with her discovering a red stain on her shift; after scrambling around to find a spare rag, she had had to deal with constant cramps and stomach pains. They had made her movements more sluggish than usual, something that irritated her to no end.

Hammel and Haiweth approached them then, Haiweth discarding her bucket and ladle on the ground in favor of giving Gúthwyn an enormous hug. A faint smile on her face, Gúthwyn patted the girl on the head, asking her how her day had gone.

"Good," Haiweth replied into her leg.

"And you, Hammel?" she inquired of the boy. He shrugged, not in a talkative mood. Then again, he rarely was.

Today, Gúthwyn thought, life was alright. Her physical conditions could have been decidedly better, but she was with the children. They were safe. Better still, she would not have to see Haldor for almost an entire week. Her face clouded slightly as she recalled their last encounter.

As usual before starting on her, the Elf offered the easy way out. "Beg," he said, licking his lips at the sight of her writhing form beneath him. "Beg, and I will let you go."

"No," she refused, pausing in her struggles to glare at him. And then something, whether it was the last remnant of her Rohirric pride or another urge that she could not make sense of, stirred her to speak again. "Do what you wish to me; such as it is, I will never beg for your mercy."

He paused, the corners of his lips curving upwards. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, flares of excitement shooting in his eyes. Gúthwyn shivered to see him happy, knowing fully well that she never benefited from it.

"Yes," the strange, bold side of her replied angrily, confident that, after almost a year and a half of his brutality, she could survive whatever else he threw at her.

"I think this is one of many contests you will find yourself losing," he said smoothly, giving the smirk that she had come to loathe as time went on.

"Gúthwyn?" She was shaken out of her reverie by Borogor's voice. Apologizing, she looked at Hammel and Haiweth, who were waiting impatiently for her to snap out of her thoughts.

"Are you ready to go back?" she asked, and they nodded their heads in agreement. She glanced up at Borogor and saw him staring over her shoulder, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

She turned around and had to swallow a shriek. Haldor had appeared out of nowhere and was standing just behind her—how long he had been there, she did not know. Nor did she want to.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them. No one replied except for Haiweth, who gave a small wave. Beregil, who had just met up with the group, crossed his arms over his chest and came to stand by Borogor. Dispensing with the pleasantries, Haldor spoke to Gúthwyn in a short tone. "You are coming with me."

Surprise took hold of her, and she stared at him. "Now?" she asked in disbelief, with no small amount of apprehension wondering what he was up to.

"The next time you question me will be your last," he snapped at her. With a start she moved forward, unable to look back and meet Borogor or Beregil's eyes. Her approach was hesitant. Was he going to take her to his bed in the middle of the day? Or would he use the knife on her?

Her mind boiling with the unpleasant possibilities, she almost did not notice when he gripped her forearm. Yet when she did she tried to jerk away from him, her attempt useless as lighting a fire in the rain.

"Start walking," he hissed. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, but he merely shoved her in the small of the back. As she stumbled forward, he used her disadvantage to push her along, forcing her to keep moving.

"What are you doing?" she gasped as his tent drew closer, then winced as he twisted her arm.

"No questions," he replied, a furious undertone in his voice that made her blood run cold.

She was shoved unceremoniously into his tent, just barely managing to keep her footing as he strode in after her. Hastily she backed away from him: He seemed in such a fell mood that she was suddenly afraid for her life.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, turning his back to her and walking to his bed.

A sudden foreboding feeling entered her, and she hesitated. What is he going to do to me? she wondered. Somehow, she did not think that it involved him violating her. Please, let it be nothing worse than that, she found herself praying, and it was a mark of how serious her situation was.

Then something else occurred to her. "Haldor," she whispered, severe embarrassment coming over her. "Haldor, I… I-I am bleeding."

"That is not my problem," he replied, still not looking at her. She closed her eyes, but when she opened them she was still in his tent. This was not a nightmare.

"I said, take off your clothes!" Haldor unexpectedly roared, whirling around to face her. Horrific, pure rage was upon his face as he withdrew two identical knives from his belt. Gúthwyn whimpered and hastily began undressing, more for fear of his temper than of the weapons in his hands.

When she stood bare in front of him, he picked up something that had been lying on his bed. It was a short coil of rope.

"Come over here," he commanded her, and meekly she obeyed. He grabbed her wrists, and in several deft motions had tied them painfully together. With a hiss of pain, she tried to wiggle them around, but they were bound so tightly that there was no way of doing so. This was something new. Her mind raced over thousands of scenarios, each of them worse than the last.

And then he was pulling on the small length of rope dangling from her wrists, using it to lead her along like a dog. Bright red in embarrassment, she was dragged over to the wall. For a moment she thought that he was going to put her in the chains again; then she realized that he would not have tied her up if that had been his plan.

She did not have to wait long for his intent to be revealed. Haldor grabbed her waist and hefted her up against the wall, oblivious to her moans of panic and discomfort. Using his body to hold her in place, he held her arms over her head and fiddled with the rope—she could feel the cord brushing unpleasantly against her wrists.

"Haldor," she whispered fearfully, "what are you—"

"What part of 'no questions' do you not understand?" Haldor cut her off, and she fell silent, trying to swallow her terror.

At length he stepped away from her, and she gasped in pain. Twisting her head upward, she saw that he had tied the rope around an iron hook protruding from the wall. She had never noticed it before, yet now she was hanging from it by only her wrists. The rope was cutting into her; she strained her feet to touch the ground, but she was merely inches away from it.

Gúthwyn began shaking as she realized what was happening. She was bound to the wall, utterly naked and helpless, in the hands of Haldor. If this was not a nightmare, she did not know what was.

He smirked to see her squirming, then said, "You make a wonderful decoration. Yet I will let you go."

She struggled against her bonds, the panic within her multiplying by the second. "When?" she choked out, dreading the answer.

"When you have begged me to," was his answer. A triumphant light shone in his eyes.

Her face paled. She would never do that. But how long would he keep her there? Would she be fed? It was impossible for a human to survive for more than three days without food or drink.

As she stared at Haldor, it dawned on her just how similar this punishment was to the cage in Isengard. Her heart plummeted as she realized that she had told him all about the ordeal. And now he was using the terrors of her past to torment her in the present.

"You—" she gasped, unable to come up with a word strong enough to describe this monster before her.

"Would you care to finish that sentence?" Haldor asked her lightly, and she glared at him mutely. "No? Good, I have other things to attend to. I will be back—perhaps then you will have reconsidered your predicament."

Before she could work out what his words meant, he turned away from her and went to his armor stand, picking up his bow and quiver. As though she were not even there, he calmly slung the latter onto his back and adjusted it. Then he went over to the lantern. Lifting the lid, he held his lips close to the flame. With one last soft smile, he blew it out.

Suddenly the tent was as dark as a winter evening. Nothing could pierce the blackness; when she looked down, she could not even see herself.

"Haldor…" she whimpered, cringing into the wall, expecting at any moment to feel his hands brushing along her stomach. The responding silence was louder than if he had shouted at her.

There was a brief flare of light to her right; gasping in relief, she turned toward it, hoping to see Borogor's sturdy frame, but instead she saw the Elf ducking under the tent flap. When it closed, she was left alone in the dark.

This has to be a joke, she thought, shivering uncontrollably. Not even Haldor would do this. No, it is all a joke. He will come back in a moment and laugh at me for believing him.

Yet the seconds lengthened, and still he did not reappear. She was growing nauseous now, her eyes darting wildly around for a comforting source of light. To make matters worse, she felt a slow trickling down her legs. A moan escaped her as she thought of all the Wargs her scent would attract.

No, not Wargs, she reminded herself an instant later. I am not in Isengard. I am in Haldor's tent.

The correction did little to help; memories of that terrible time, ones that she had tried to repress for months, were now flooding back with hideous clarity. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of decaying bodies wafted into her nostrils, nearly vomiting as the girl's mutilated corpse was eaten by maggots before her eyes.

No, no, stop! Gúthwyn yelled at herself. She had to bury her recollections, or she would be driven insane just as last time. Is that what he intends to do? she wondered. He could not have been serious about making her stay until she begged… It would never happen. She was not going to.

Despite her firm resolve, after five minutes of hanging by herself she was close to screaming. She had forgotten how maddening the silence was, how everything became dangerous and terrifying when it was unseen. Each little noise made her jump, putting even more strain on her wrists. Already they were sore from holding up all of her weight.

Years were passing. She went into fits, kicking out frenetically with her legs, gasping as they slammed back into the rock but too hysterical to stop. Her mouth was clamped shut against the shrieks and screams building up within her. When was this going to end? When was Haldor going to return? She could not believe that she missed his presence, but the loneliness was more than she could bear.

She was panting heavily, recovering from her latest spasm, when the small patch of light showed again. Gúthwyn stiffened, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Haldor slipping back inside. "Haldor," she called out, her voice wavering and on the verge of panic. "Haldor, this is not funny!"

Only a chilly quiet met her ears, yet it was not an unoccupied quiet. Not even the sound of his breathing could be heard, but she knew he was somewhere in the tent.

"Haldor!" she exclaimed again, clenching her teeth as more blood dripped down her legs. "Let me go!"

He did not answer her. Furiously, she kicked at the wall, hurting her feet in the process. "Haldor!" Her screams echoed throughout the tent. "Stop this! Stop!"

At length she gave up, going limp with temporary defeat, trying to catch her breath. It was then that a hand slid across her stomach.

"No!" Gúthwyn gasped, twisting away from him. But no matter where she went Haldor followed, never saying a word. His second hand joined the first, and together they began roaming over her body. Most men would have taken pleasure in her breasts, yet he was concentrated on what would discomfort her most rather than on his own desires. Time and time again he returned to stroke her belly, growing softer and slower as her cries quickened and became louder.

"Stop, stop!" she was shrieking long before he ceased, every fiber of her being wishing to be somewhere, anywhere else. Even Haldor's bed would have been preferable to this blind helplessness.

When at last he pulled away, leaving her moaning and quivering in horror, she had to stifle sobs that were threatening to escape her. Please, let this be over. Let someone come and rescue me! I will do anything they ask of me in return, anything at all!

No one came. Slowly an hour dragged by—at its end, there was no further sign of Haldor, but he had not left the tent. She trembled to think that he could be standing right next to her, and as the minutes passed she became convinced that he was. At all times she was thinking of when he would next touch her, expecting at any second to feel his fingers lightly caressing her skin.

Eventually, as nearly half a day had gone by, the horrible thought that maybe Haldor was serious about leaving her there grew stronger within her. Blood was no longer the only thing on the floor; she had had to relieve herself, the moment mortifying with the Elf still somewhere in the tent. However, she would not beg. She refused to. Absolutely not, Gúthwyn told herself. You have already dishonored yourself more than most have in their lifetime, and you have not even been in this world for two decades.

Clenching her jaw repeatedly, she soon had to worry about something else: Food. She did not eat much to begin with, but by now her stomach was growling ravenously. Out loud she cursed Haldor, not caring that he could hear her.

Yet she learned to keep her tongue to herself when he returned to her shortly thereafter, handling her so malignantly that she truly thought it worse than anything he did to her in his bed. He did not stop until she was screaming his name and thrusting her legs in his general direction, and it was then that he said his first words since he had left her. They were so low and quiet that she almost did not hear them.

"Beg," he whispered. "Beg, and I will let you go back."

She did not answer, though her stomach rumbled painfully.

The day gradually faded away, and by the end Gúthwyn had vomited three times and was on the verge of a nervous collapse. Haldor had come back to her sweating form once on the hour, keeping her guessing as to where he actually was, groping her from all directions until every second was a miserable struggle against the tears in her eyes. By tilting her head back as he handled her and blinking rapidly, she ensured that not one of them spilled over.

She was becoming dehydrated as well; night lay over Mordor and all she could recall was the sensation of water pouring down her throat. The thoughts tormented her until she could stand it no longer: A fresh burst of energy came into her, and she began yelling and thrashing violently. Garbled screams tumbled out of her mouth, of which none made any sense to her.

The sky was turning pale grey when the voices came.

"Beg me to release you," Haldor murmured, sliding his hand down her chest and stopping it on her stomach. "Beg me, and I will."

Moaning feverishly she shook her head, knowing that he could not see her but not having the energy to speak. Days—months—years?—had gone by since she had been left here, the Elf and the cruel shapes from her past acting as her only companions. It was hard to say which of them was worse. Between the increasingly alluring option of "beg for your freedom" or the jeering taunts of You are pathetic… Listen to the Elf, at least he is offering you a way out, she felt herself slowly being driven mad.

"No?" Haldor asked, interrupting her confused thoughts. "Soon you will. I can smell it."

With that peculiar remark he disappeared into the darkness. Gúthwyn had not seen him once. Groaning, she struggled sluggishly against her bonds. A few droplets of blood trickled down her wrists, and as the rope bit into her tender skin she gasped.

Always in the back of her mind was Borogor. She needed him more than anything right now; she needed him to come and rescue her, to cut her down from the wall and bring her back to Hammel and Haiweth. It seemed like months, but though she did not know it it had been just over two days since she had seen them. Her heart ached as she thought of them sleeping by themselves on the floor, with no one to tuck them in at night.

Sleep. When was the last time she had had any? Tomorrow, she decided. No, not tomorrow—yesterday. The day before? Was that what it was called? What were the days? Stay rational! she tried to scold herself, but logic was fading from her mind. She was half delirious from lack of food and water.

An hour later, Haldor was upon her, such a level of cunning sadism in his touch that she nearly sobbed. When was this nightmare going to be over?

"Beg," he said again, and the voices echoed him. Beg, beg, beg, beg. You are at his mercy. Beg! "Beg me to release you." Beg… release awaits you if only you will beg.

No… she thought, and whimpered. His hands were everywhere, yet there was nothing left in her to throw up.

"Borogor," she muttered. Haldor stopped.

Suddenly a thousand blows were raining down upon her, coming from all directions and causing new levels of agony. She felt herself being slammed into the wall by pummeling fists, both aimed at her stomach; all the wind was knocked out of her, and she would have gagged if she had the breath to.

"Is that it, then?" he shouted at Gúthwyn as he hit her, and she cowered. "Have you pinned your hopes on him? He has not asked about you once! Only you can get yourself out of this!"

He pulled away, tired of her, and now it was not only her wounds that hurt; nor was it the constant ache in her belly, or the parched feeling of her throat, or her poor abused wrists. She was mulling over his words, picking them apart, wondering if it was true that Borogor was not concerned over her current state. Was Haldor lying? She could never tell, and trying to do so was impossible.

Then a strange sensation gripped her: Her eyes rolled back into her head, and for a brief moment she had left her body, blissfully free of all pain. Gúthwyn saw the children, running toward her with their arms throw open, Borogor standing back and watching them happily. They were in Rohan, Éomer and Éowyn alive and well, and there was nothing to worry about—she was home.

She had become limp in her bonds when a sudden silky touch yanked her back into the real world. A world where Éowyn and Éomer were dead and Rohan was hundreds of leagues away.

"No…" she moaned as Haldor's hands slid lower. They prized her legs apart, stroking them gently, yet when she tried to clamp them together his grip was too strong. Not once did he work between them, but always he moved his fingers a little closer to her.

"Beg," he whispered as he did this, and she thought of the children. She wanted to see them so badly. All she had to do was say please and she could…

No, she told herself.

But why not?

She could not remember. She did not even know why she was here, or why she could not just say please. Her mind was swimming.

Haldor seemed to sense her hesitation, and his touch became more gentle and brutal at the same time. "Beg…"

Gúthwyn whimpered. All of her troubles would be over if she just said the word.

"Beg," Haldor repeated softly, and slid his hands up to her stomach. She could sense his face was just inches away from her own. Maybe even less. What she would not give to have this be nothing more than a terrible memory… What she would not say…

She was coming dangerously close to breaking, but she was tired and did not care. All she wanted to do was go home.

"Will you not beg to see the children?" he asked her. She hung her head. Hammel, Haiweth. Her mouth opened, and then closed.

No, the last stubborn part of her said. Do not give in… Yet slowly, surely, it was fading.

"Beg, and you will see them again."

Her head was bowed. A single tear, unnoticed in the dark, rolled down her face. There was nothing else she could do. He had won, as always. "Please," she whispered, and her heart shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. "Please, Haldor…"

Something hard smashed into her head, and she knew no more.