Chapter Forty-Eight

"Are you sure you do not wish to come?" Gúthwyn asked Hammel on the morning of the day she, Éowyn, and Faramir were set to depart for Legolas's colony.

Hammel nodded silently, a dark look in his eyes suggesting that he resented her for merely inquiring. Gúthwyn had not expected him to change his mind, but she still felt uncomfortable leaving the children—even if it were only for a week. "Haiweth?" she questioned, turning towards the girl. "What about you?"

Haiweth shook her head immediately. "No, thank you," she mumbled, not meeting Gúthwyn's concerned gaze. Éomund's daughter knew better than to press: when Haiweth was ready, she would acquiesce.

"Then it is farewell for now," Gúthwyn said softly, leaning forward and enveloping Haiweth in a warm embrace. Haiweth returned the hug, looking upset to see her go.

"I will have nothing to do with you and Éowyn gone," the girl complained, rather than address what was disturbing her. "Hammel and Cobryn will only read while you are away!" Behind her, Hammel rolled his eyes and walked back towards Éowyn and Faramir's home.

"Perhaps it would be a good time to work on your drawings, then," Gúthwyn suggested, offering a smile to cover up her nervousness. "Will you make something for me?"

"What?" Haiweth wanted to know.

"Surprise me," Gúthwyn decided. "Anything you desire."

Haiweth promised to do her best. After one last goodbye, she joined Hammel on the stairs leading into Éowyn and Faramir's dwelling. Gúthwyn watched her leave, suppressing another round of misgivings at the thought of spending so much time away from the children.

"They will be quite safe in your absence," Cobryn muttered, materializing by her side.

"Was I being that obvious?" Gúthwyn asked with a sigh.

"You did an excellent job concealing it, but unfortunately I know you too well to be fooled," was Cobryn's response. "I will not let anything happen to them, I promise."

Gúthwyn gave a small smile, not entirely convinced—trustworthy though Cobryn was. "Maybe I should not have agreed to go on this trip," she fretted.

Cobryn glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. "Are you worried about the children, or yourself?" he asked quietly.

"I am fine," Gúthwyn insisted, ignoring the nagging voice in her mind that told her Cobryn was right.

With a disbelieving look, Cobryn reminded her, "Legolas would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know," Gúthwyn whispered, shivering in spite of herself.

"You will also be with Éowyn and Faramir the entire time—even if the latter is hardly your favorite person on Middle-earth," Cobryn continued. "You have nothing to fear."

"I know," Gúthwyn repeated softly. Cobryn may have been right… but that did not stop the tremors of fear from running through her spine.

"Are you sure you wish to go?" her friend interrogated her.

Gúthwyn opened her mouth to respond, even then uncertain of what she would say, but at that moment her name was called.

"Are you ready?" inquired Éowyn, who had already mounted her horse. Faramir was beside her; every now and then the two of them would exchange a smile, and their eyes would then linger on the stomach that had not yet started to expand. To say the Steward of Gondor was excited about the imminent addition to his family was an enormous understatement—Éomund's youngest daughter barely recognized the grinning father-to-be from the man who had once been so somber and serious.

"Yes, I am," Gúthwyn told her sister, her words as confident as her heart was not. Turning back to Cobryn, she embraced him tightly. He understood her need for his security and did not stiffen, but rather held her as she shuddered one last time.

"Good luck," he bade her when at length she pulled away.

"Thank you," she murmured, wishing yet again that he could accompany her to Legolas's colony. However, both Hammel and Haiweth had flatly refused to make the journey—and so her friend had offered to stay behind and watch them for her.

After one more look at the children, Gúthwyn mounted Sceoh and guided him over to Éowyn and Faramir. She was relieved to note that the guard Faramir had chosen included none of the Rangers who had been present in the forest nearly a decade ago. In fact, three of them were the same men who had watched her spar with Cobryn and—supposedly—thought her just as comely as Éowyn.

She could not resist the temptation to scrutinize them now. Like almost every Gondorian male, they had wavy brown hair that reached their shoulders. The older two, with similarly-shaped noses and equally square jaws, might have been related; they were conversing together as they saddled their horses. Yet Gúthwyn's gaze lingered on the younger Ranger, who was ready and waiting atop his steed. He had lighter hair than the others, and his eyes were glints of green as they scanned his surroundings.

Gúthwyn watched him for a minute or two, more out of curiosity than anything. He was handsome, certainly, but that was not what drew her interest. She thought that he reminded her of the youthful warriors in Edoras, such as Hunwald, who had always treated her kindly.

While she was observing the Ranger, he happened to glance up and meet her eyes. Although he had caught her looking at him, she did not blush; instead she gave him a smile, as if she had coincidentally turned her head in his direction that very instant. She was surprised when his mouth opened slightly, like something was stuck in his throat. He quickly paled and stared intently at the back of his horse's neck, but not before his companions had noticed and nudged each other in amusement.

Yet what stunned Gúthwyn the most was not the realization that she could have this effect on a man, the same effect that she had watched other women have on their partners for years and never fully understood. What shocked her was that she felt no threat from this Ranger, despite the fact that she had seen his eyes take in her hair and cheeks and lips. For once, she was not afraid; she was even flattered.

She hummed contentedly, allowing herself a small grin in recognition of this accomplishment.


Although Legolas's colony was set in the depths of Ithilien, where Borogor had fallen, Gúthwyn saw nothing that resembled the dark forest in which the ambush had taken place as she, Éowyn, Faramir, and the Rangers arrived at its boundaries. The ride had been five hours long and quite peaceful, with nothing more menacing than flowers in the shadows between the trees.

The tranquility of the journey, however, had not been able to assuage Gúthwyn's steadily growing discomfort over the destination, which she supposed was only natural. This knowledge did not make it easier to bear, however, and consequently Sceoh became difficult to manage: he detected her nervousness and, assuming that the colony was very dreadful indeed, grew increasingly reluctant to move forward.

Nevertheless, at long last they reached a place in the forest where the sun seemed to shine through even the thickest clusters of branches, and the air was freer though the trees were no fewer. The company of Rangers slowed down, as if they were waiting for something. What they were expecting became apparent a moment later, when two Elves emerged out of seemingly nowhere—causing Gúthwyn to pale and curse herself for stupidly agreeing to accept Legolas's invitation—and greeted the group.

To Gúthwyn's surprise, one of them was Trelan. "My lady," he said to her cordially, finishing the round of acknowledgements that had started with Éowyn and Faramir. He then addressed all of the visitors. "Legolas is currently in council, as we have just received tidings from King Thranduil that require immediate discussion. He apologizes immensely for his inability to meet you himself, but has asked me to show you to your quarters and allow you time to get settled in. The meeting should not last much longer."

Gúthwyn nodded, feeling rather relieved. She had been hoping to have some time to prepare herself before she met Legolas. While she was becoming more at ease in his presence than she had ever been, the fact that she was now in his territory would undoubtedly make their encounters stressful for her. She needed to reassure herself that she had nothing to worry about, a process that would certainly require more than a few seconds.

Trelan now joined them as they continued along the path, but luckily he struck up a conversation with Faramir and Éowyn. Other than the occasional effort to include Gúthwyn, he did not trouble her and she was able to navigate Sceoh so that she was closer to some of the Rangers.

As they rode, Éomund's youngest daughter was startled to see homes begin to appear in the very trees they were passing under. Often they were so well-concealed and so high up that she would never have noticed them had not a tell-tale light been shining through the branches; others were lower to the ground, and consequently more visible. The dwellings appeared to have been constructed around the tree trunks so as never to obstruct their growth. Many of them had few walls, and were open to the surrounding air. Gúthwyn shivered at the thought of a cold breeze gliding through her room at night, and prayed that Legolas had some accommodations more fit for his human visitors.

To add to Gúthwyn's anxiety, the owners of these houses began emerging from the woodwork—literally—to observe the company's movement. Éomund's daughter could rarely see more than a flash of golden hair or a booted foot quickly disappearing into the trees, but she sometimes heard laughter and wondered fearfully if they were mocking her. What foolishness made me agree to come here? she asked herself, shuddering.

An unexpected voice at her side caused her to jump. "Sister, are you feeling well?" Éowyn concernedly inquired.

"Why are they all watching us?" Gúthwyn demanded in a panicked whisper.

"Who?" Éowyn questioned, glancing in confusion at the Rangers.

"The Elves," Gúthwyn hissed, tightly gripping Sceoh's reins. "They are staring at us from the trees!"

"The citizens of Edoras line the streets when they receive visitors," Éowyn reminded her gently. "It is normal that the Elves should do the same."

Gúthwyn was only slightly placated by this. More than ever, she wished she had not bullied herself into venturing out to the colony.

"If you want to go back," Éowyn said quietly, "Faramir can always arrange for some of the Rangers to escort you."

Éomund's youngest daughter adamantly shook her head: she would never be able to live with herself if she turned into such a coward. "I will be fine," she insisted, more to herself than to Éowyn. In order to avoid catching any further glimpses of the Elves in the trees, she stared down at the back of Sceoh's neck and looked neither left nor right until the horses around her began to slow.

When at last Gúthwyn tentatively glanced up, she was relieved to see that they were in front of a large dwelling that was unquestionably grounded. Aside from a few wings that snaked upwards into the trees, with spiral staircases wrapping around the trunks that reminded her of Lothlórien, the main bulk of the house was assuredly touching the forest floor. There were also walls, much to her delight.

"Is it not beautiful?" Éowyn asked her in an undertone, surveying the premises.

As reluctant as she was to agree, Gúthwyn had no other choice but to concede. The red and orange hues of a glorious sunset were streaming in all around them, and there was the distinct sound of a rippling brook somewhere nearby. The noise reminded Éomund's daughter of the waterfall she had seen in Emyn Arnen. Ithilien still had nothing on the open fields of Rohan, yet she could not claim that it was not magnificent in its own way.

She was unpleasantly jolted out of her thoughts when another group of Elves appeared as if out of thin air, a mannerism she was starting to fear as commonplace. One of them stepped forward and said, "We will bring your horses to our stables. Do not worry: they shall be in capable hands."

Éowyn and Faramir were already dismounting; Gúthwyn noticed that the Steward of Gondor was quick to help steady his wife as her feet touched the ground. Far from rolling her eyes and reminding Faramir that she was perfectly capable of getting off a horse, as Gúthwyn expected her to, Éowyn instead smiled at him and put a gentle hand on her stomach. There was still no visible sign of pregnancy, but in a few months that would change.

Éomund's youngest daughter briefly glanced away to conceal the envious shade of green tinting her features. She wanted so badly to only be happy for her sister; yet she could never quite suppress the jealous faction in her soul that made her constantly wonder, why can I not have a child, too?

Of course, the answer was simple… and it came back to the one topic that had been plaguing Gúthwyn's thoughts with an alarming voracity for the past several weeks: marriage. Without a husband, she would never give birth to a son or a daughter. However, the prospect of finding a spouse brought with it a whole new set of problems. She could not have both chastity and children; she had to forsake one to obtain the other.

Which is more important to me? she asked herself, knowing she would not be able to come up with an answer.

"Sister, are you coming?"

Belatedly, Gúthwyn realized that she had yet to dismount Sceoh—and that both Éowyn and Faramir were watching her concernedly. Flushing, she slid onto the ground and unwillingly surrendered the reigns to an Elf who came forward. She did not place them in his hands, as she should have; she simply let go and hurried away before he could move closer to her.

"Trelan will show us to our rooms," Éowyn explained when Gúthwyn caught up, slightly out of breath. "We have plenty of time to settle in before dinner."

Gúthwyn inwardly grimaced: such a meal would be far more difficult to stomach in the presence of Elves. She said nothing, however, and dutifully trailed after her sister as Trelan led them through an arched entryway. They apparently had not gone through the main door, since they were now in a spacious corridor hung with numerous paintings and tapestries.

"First, we will bring Lady Gúthwyn to her room," Trelan announced as they began the trek down the passageway. Gúthwyn gazed at the walls as she followed Éowyn, noticing that they all seemed to depict the same forest: Mirkwood, or Eryn Lasgalen, she assumed. Despite the feasting and merry-making of the Elves shown in nearly every piece, the trees remained untouchably dark and menacing. She shivered, wondering why anyone would wish to reside in such a place.

Eventually the group slowed in front of a door, which Trelan opened to reveal where Éomund's youngest daughter would be staying for the next week. Gúthwyn nervously walked around Trelan and into her new quarters, hoping to at least find walls. Once inside, however, she was pleasantly surprised. Not only was she mercifully protected from the elements, but there was also a fireplace and an enormous bed piled high with thick fur comforters.

Then her eyes widened in shock: hanging between two candle-brackets on the wall across from her bed was the banner of Rohan—a white horse running across a green field—proudly displayed for all to see. It was a bit of home that was both jarring and comforting in this unfamiliar location, not to mention completely unexpected.

"W-Where did Legolas get that?" she asked Trelan, stunned.

"He had it made once your visit was arranged," Trelan explained, smiling at Gúthwyn's wonder. "It was his hope that it would remind you of your home and ease your time here."

Gúthwyn could scarcely believe that Legolas had gone to so much trouble to make her feel comfortable in his dwelling, and such a revelation only intensified her guilt at having treated him so poorly during the first year of their acquaintance. "I-It is wonderful," she told Trelan wholeheartedly, though her words were inadequate a description of how kind and generous the gesture truly was.

Trelan inclined his head. "Is there anything I can get you before we depart?"

Gúthwyn quickly assured him that she lacked for nothing; even if she had, she would not have troubled him by asking for it. Legolas and his companions had clearly already done more than enough to assuage her misgivings about venturing into the colony—requesting aught else would be incredibly ungrateful of her.

"Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?" Éowyn inquired softly as Trelan and Faramir began to leave the room. "I shall return as soon as Faramir and I have unpacked."

"I will be fine," Gúthwyn told her, neither for the first nor last time.

Éowyn gave her a quick, stern once-over to determine whether or not she was lying. Gúthwyn evidently passed the test, for at length Éowyn bade her farewell and followed the others out. The sound of the door shutting made Éomund's youngest daughter swallow—perhaps she had been too hasty in pushing her older sister away.

However, unless she wished to humiliate herself by running after Éowyn and asking the White Lady to stay with her, she would have to grit her teeth and endure her solitude in a colony full of Elves.

"I should unpack," she decided aloud, hoping that occupying herself with the menial task would keep her mind off of her current circumstances. She had not brought much, however: just enough dresses to last her the week, a couple of tunics and a pair of leggings, and Framwine. It was a few minutes' work to take everything out of her knapsack and stow it away in a drawer, so when she was done she still had plenty of time left until Éowyn and Faramir returned.

Walking over to the window, she leaned over and tentatively peered out to examine the view. She found herself looking out across a marvelous garden, one that contained many plants she recognized from Emyn Arnen. Clearly, Éowyn had been liberal in her gifts to Legolas. Gúthwyn noted the tasteful layout of the trees and herbs, though her eyes were most drawn to the large pool in the center of the garden. A ring of white flowers, the same Legolas had given her the morning after her discovery of Borogor's grave, had been planted around the water's edge; she could smell them from her room.

Éomund's daughter took a deep breath, for a brief moment wondering what it would have been like if Borogor had been the one to bring her such flowers. Yet before she could surrender to such torturous fantasies, she reminded herself that she could no longer dwell on the man she loved as she once had. For her own sake and sanity, she had to move on.

Searching for something to distract herself, she set her sights upon the bed in her chambers. Now that she thought about it, she was rather tired from the afternoon of traveling. Additionally, the furs on top of the mattress were exquisitely tempting. The air around her suddenly seemed a bit chilly—or was she just casting around for an excuse to slide beneath the covers and take a nap?

Well, she hardly needed convincing. Closing the drapes—which were successful in blocking her from the view of any Elves potentially wandering in the gardens, but mercifully not thick enough to entirely cut off the light—she retreated to the bed and ensconced herself within the first layer of comforters. Enveloped by warmth and a lulling sense of security, she closed her eyes and began to drift off.

It was one of those enjoyable naps where she was sentient enough to be aware of her surroundings, yet otherwise rested peacefully in the arms of sleep. Gúthwyn could dimly hear birds chattering in the forest and the faint rustling of the trees, but inside her fur cocoon she was removed from everything except the slow, rhythmic beating of her own heart.

Her thoughts started to wander. First they circulated around Éowyn's child, guessing as to what gender the baby would be and coming up with vague, half-formed names that would have perhaps made no sense to someone fully awake, but somehow seemed valid to her. She imagined herself carrying the boy or girl in her arms, planting a soft kiss on the infant's brow.

Before she could grasp that image and hold onto it, Gúthwyn slid further into her subconscious and saw Legolas approaching her. She hovered uncertainly as she watched him draw closer, torn between staying and running away. Would he hurt her? He had never tried to before… He seemed genuinely pleased about their encounter, and was even smiling at her. There were white flowers in his hands—a peace offering?

Then his eyes changed. They turned cold, dark, remorseless. By the time she saw the danger, it was too late: Haldor was upon her, his mouth clamping down on hers and sucking all the air from her lungs. Gúthwyn gasped in terror and tried to wrench away, but the fists curled around her arms were like iron and she could not break free. There were thorns on the flowers; she could feel them pushing through her skin, sharp pinpricks of agony that were nothing in comparison to what she was experiencing as icy fingers slid between her legs.

I want Legolas back, she thought, whimpering against Haldor's tongue. Please, make Haldor stop… Where had Legolas gone? Anything, anyone was preferable to this. "Legolas!" she tried to call, but Haldor pulled her in closer until breathing was impossible. She was drowning in him, unable to tell where she ended and his rule began. Legolas, please…

A sudden knock on the door caused Gúthwyn to fling herself forward, bursting out of her dream and emerging into an unfamiliar room. She sat bolt upright on the bed, panting heavily and frantically trying to figure out what had just happened. At last she remembered that she was in Legolas's colony, and that Éowyn had promised to return; with a hoarse, croaking voice, she said, "Come in!"

The door slowly opened. "Gúthwyn?" someone who was most certainly not Éowyn asked.

When Legolas stepped halfway into the room, Éomund's daughter jumped a foot in the air and attempted to turn around so that she was properly facing him. She was so tangled in her blankets, however, that she could not move. With a muffled curse, she kicked and squirmed until she was free—and then realized that both her dress and riding pants had ridden up during the course of her slumber, and were now exposing a significant portion of her legs to a rather confused Legolas.

Mortified, Gúthwyn yanked the closest comforter back over her lower half.

"Is everything all right?" Legolas inquired concernedly, still firmly in place under the doorway.

"No—I mean, yes—" Gúthwyn stammered, painfully conscious of the disheveled mess that was her hair. "I mean, I j-just woke up from a nap I-I did not know I was taking…" She attempted to surreptitiously flatten the frizz on top of her head, though without success. "What time is it? Is it dinner already?"

"The table is being prepared as we speak, so it shall be at least another quarter of an hour before it is ready for us to sit down," Legolas replied, tactfully not commenting on Gúthwyn's disoriented state. "I simply came by to see if there was anything you found lacking in your accommodations."

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn immediately protested, some of the color returning to her cheeks. "I-In fact, I must thank you for everything you have done," she continued, gesturing towards the Rohirric banner on her wall. "This is incredible—I-I cannot even begin to describe how much I…"

"Do not trouble yourself; it was my pleasure," Legolas insisted, smiling at her expression. "How was the journey here?"

"Wonderful," Gúthwyn assured him confidently, although she was beginning to feel increasingly awkward about the fact that she was addressing him from a bed with her skirt bunched up uncomfortably close to her waist. Fumbling around for something to say, she settled on, "And your meeting? How did it go?"

"Well enough," Legolas replied. "A number of Elves in my father's kingdom have expressed an interest in relocating here. Consequently, we will have to have several additional meetings in order to discuss the housing that must be built for them—however, thankfully not tonight."

Gúthwyn giggled, fully aware that the prince's dislike for council sessions was a close match to her own. She would never understand why Cobryn enjoyed them, nor how Éomer was able to endure them without going insane. Her taste of power in Rohan had been brief, but still long enough for her to discover how unsuited she was to being a ruler. It was just as well that she had not married Elphir, for sooner or later she would have found herself as the reigning princess of Dol Amroth—a frightening concept.

"Before I leave you," Legolas said then, "are you sure that there is nothing of which you are in need?"

"Positive," Gúthwyn replied firmly.

Legolas inclined his head and then exited her chambers, closing the door behind him. Gúthwyn was very relieved to disentangle herself from the comforters and straighten her clothing. She could hardly remember what she had been dreaming about before Legolas's visit; she resolved to push the few remaining scraps of recollection from her mind and instead find Éowyn's room. Perhaps she would help her sister unpack, instead of waiting for her return—after all, rest was now more important than ever to the White Lady.

She thought Éowyn had turned right when heading to her own quarters, so she went in the same direction. As she walked down the hall, she prayed that she would not run into an Elf. Legolas's letter had promised that these lodgings were removed from the main part of the house, and as such were relatively secluded, but clearly they were not inaccessible. Luckily, however, the corridor was quite deserted—so that when Éowyn's laughter suddenly rippled out from behind a wall, it was undiluted by any other noise.

Curious as to what had amused her sister, Gúthwyn approached the room closest to the sound. The door had been left ajar, yet she still raised a fist to knock for fear of intruding upon something. Then, she stiffened: through the crack, she had a clear view of Faramir wrapping his arms around Éowyn's waist and pulling her in for a passionate kiss.

"Faramir!" Éowyn exclaimed breathlessly when they separated, her eyes sparkling. "Dinner is in less than half an hour…"

Faramir's voice was lower and huskier than Gúthwyn had ever heard it, but she could still discern every word. "That is more than enough time," he murmured, now planting a trail of kisses along his wife's collarbone.

A growing sense of dread began to fill Gúthwyn's stomach as Éowyn responded by sliding her hands underneath Faramir's shirt, slowly working them up the Steward's spine and then gradually around to his chest. Faramir's back was to Gúthwyn, so she could not see the reaction Éowyn's ministrations provoked, but his sharp intake of breath was audible.

Suddenly, without warning, one of Éowyn's palms ghosted down Faramir's torso and disappeared into his breeches. Gúthwyn blanched, unable to tear her eyes from the ghastly sight—but feeling as disgusting as if she herself were now doing whatever it was that was making Faramir moan in pleasure.

Éomund's youngest daughter was so busy gaping in horror at her sister's rotating wrist that she did not notice how Faramir's hands were occupying themselves. She was dimly aware that they had ventured somewhere behind Éowyn's back, but she was utterly unprepared when the White Lady's gown unexpectedly slipped below her shoulders—exposing everything above her stomach to Faramir's ravenous lips.

The sight of Éowyn's nakedness was like a slap in the face. Gúthwyn wrenched herself away from the repulsive scene and ran, sprinting until she reached the safety of her own room. Once inside, she bolted the door and took several deep, shuddering breaths. Her eyes darted around, searching for the chamber pot. Already she could feel the nausea rising within her stomach, threatening to spiral out of control.

You will not throw up, she ordered herself, curling over and gasping for air. You will not throw up. She was not going to make her first evening in the colony even worse by becoming violently ill, even if every fiber of her being was screaming to physically reject what she had just seen.

She sank to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and waited. She waited until she no longer had the urge to vomit, though it took a quarter of an hour and left trails of blood on her limbs from where she had dug her nails in and squeezed. She waited until she could inhale and exhale without a single memory of Haldor resurfacing, without her mind being tormented by thoughts of what Éowyn and Faramir were doing.

She waited until she had fooled herself into believing that the darkness was gone.