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 Forty-Nine:
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 is a modification of Beregond, a citizen 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 Forty-Nine
Mordor was growing darker by the hour. Night settled in comfortably over the Black Land, bringing the eventful day to an end. Gúthwyn was sitting inside her tent, waiting with the children for the return of the men. She had decided not to return to the training grounds—Hammel and Haiweth's safety would be at stake until the temper of the Easterlings had cooled off.
The day had been utterly terrible, despite triumphing over Burzum in their duel. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see Borogor's face before her, uncomfortably asking for a word. Then he would lean back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to form a sentence. Nothing else had she regretted so intensely that he had never gotten the chance to.
Her heart was drenched in grief, only made worse by the realization of how, if Faramir and his men had waited another minute, she would have been betrothed to Borogor. Tears did not, could not, come to her eyes, but as she wrapped herself in Borogor's cloak, she felt more unhappy than she had ever been in her entire life.
Hammel and Haiweth clearly sensed her sorrow; they did not, of course, understand what was going on, nor did they know anything about Borogor's unfinished proposal, but they could tell that she was miserable all the same. Haiweth had spent the afternoon sitting on her lap, trying to comfort her in what limited ways the five-year-old could devise. Hammel chose to remain silent, sitting stiffly beside the two of them. She knew he had not forgotten the morning's events, either.
The tent flap opened, and the men filed in. Dîrbenn was first, and right after him was Sîdhadan; both of them cast such fierce glares over at her that she held a now-sleeping Haiweth tighter. She became vividly aware that, if she had not just proven herself mightier than Burzum, they would have exchanged angry words with her; they might even have tried to harm her. Dîrbenn was so fiercely loyal to Borogor that he would certainly feel no qualms about doing such a thing.
As it was, she could almost feel the hatred being directed towards her from all corners of the tent. With Borogor around, few had dared to raise their hands or mouths to her. Yet now that he was gone, she realized just how many of the soldiers despised her or thought her a slut. Sleeping with Haldor—her stomach turned at the memory, and her face burned with shame—had certainly not helped matters.
At that moment, someone stepped inside the tent. There was a flash of golden hair; Gúthwyn froze: Haldor stood before them.
"You," he said to her. The other men exchanged dark looks. "Come with me."
Haiweth was still in her lap. Gúthwyn instinctively clutched the girl to her. She could feel her own body trembling.
"Move," Haldor ordered, and hastily she put Haiweth to the side; scrambling to her feet and removing Borogor's cloak, placing it upon Haiweth, she approached him meekly.
"Haldor," she whispered, terrified by the thought of being taken to his bed, "what more do you want from me?" She did not think she could bear another night with him, especially after what she had just done.
"Nothing," he said, and then raised his voice slightly. It did not matter; the soldiers were listening intently in on their conversation. "Though you were excellent last night—interesting, how the death of a friend can do that to you…"
Gúthwyn would have slapped him, if she had a tenth of the bravery. Yet then he put an arm around her shoulders, letting his hand trail down her back. She tensed, arching as he leaned towards her. "Tomorrow, I think," he muttered. "Plan on staying the entire night."
She whimpered as he slid his hand up to the base of her skull. "No, please…" she said, her voice hardly a whisper.
Haldor drew away from her, and she realized that he was doing this because of the other men—in their eyes, he was showing them just how despicable she was, how little she cared of Borogor's death. When she turned to Dîrbenn, who was sitting there with his hands clenched into tight fists, she knew that the technique had worked. Too well.
"Dîrbenn," she began pleadingly, not wanting to ask a favor of him, but having no other options. "Will you watch the children?"
Dîrbenn got to his feet. He was actually shaking in fury as he stepped closer to her. "You disgusting, sickening…"
And suddenly, without warning, the action so unexpected that Gúthwyn stood dumbfounded as it happened, he punched her. His fist landed solidly on her jaw, and there was an explosion of agony. She gasped as her head was knocked to the side, spitting out a mouthful of blood. A coppery, tangy smell rose into the air.
"Yes, I will watch them," Dîrbenn snarled as she straightened, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide in shock, "but understand that I am doing this for them, not for you. I will be happy if you rot in the Void for doing this to his memory!"
"Dîrbenn, I—" she began, but Haldor took her arm and pulled her away, destroying all hope of reconciliation. Dîrbenn's eyes narrowed, and he spat at her.
Haldor smirked, and thrust her out of the tent. She stumbled into the night air, for a brief moment panicking in the darkness. The Elf's hand wrapped around her wrist, and she gasped as he closed the gap between them.
"We are going to the fortress of Barad-dûr tonight," he spoke, and for a moment she thought that she had not heard him correctly.
"W-what?" she asked, stopping and squinting at his form.
He pushed her forward again. "The Dark Lord wants to see his experiment in the flesh."
Gúthwyn paled. "W-what are you t-talking about?"
"Surely you did not think that the slaughtering of the Easterling leader would go unnoticed by those in the Tower."
Her entire body was shaking violently. She had heard tales, tales of how even the strongest-willed were driven mad by a black shadow, having no shape but somehow even more frightening of a presence without one. It was common knowledge amongst the soldiers that the Eye of Sauron was not just a brand on their wrists—it was a real thing, perched on top of Barad-dûr, watching over the lands with a ceaseless, unswerving stare. Its gaze could penetrate through cloth and steel alike.
To hear that Sauron wanted to see her was horrifying. She swayed, imagining what the Dark Lord would do to her. Everything was turning black… so black, like him…
"Get yourself under control!" Haldor grabbed her by the arms and pushed her along. "You are a disgrace!"
"Haldor, no, not there!" she gasped, trying to twist away from him. He slapped her, and she was subdued.
"You will do as I say," he snapped, "or you are going to live in my tent! Do you understand me?"
A moan escaped her. She was going to die.
"Do you understand me?" he repeated, increasing the pressure on her wrist.
"Yes!" Gúthwyn choked out, and he released her. It was a mark of how much control he had over her that she did not turn around and run away; rather, she remained close to him as the night pressed in on her.
They continued the walk in silence, until Gúthwyn realized that they were not heading east, but west towards the Black Gate. "Why are we going this way?" she asked, hesitantly, not sure if he would yell at her for speaking.
"Because, fool, one does not walk to Barad-dûr from Udûn. They ride—has your mind escaped its insufferable containment?"
Gúthwyn felt herself turning red, but she did not dare reply. The Morannon was swiftly approaching, and before she knew it an Orc was coming up to them.
"My lord," he said, bowing low to Haldor, but Gúthwyn saw a flash of rage crossing his eyes. She wondered if Haldor had the power to treat Orcs as terribly as he did the human portion of Sauron's army.
"Get me a horse," Haldor answered shortly, and the Orc straightened before hastily striding away.
She would have liked to point out that she could ride, but she thought the statement would only serve to augment Haldor's foul temper. Yet suddenly she became aware of how long it had been since she had actually ridden a horse—seven years, almost. She did not know what day it was, but the last time had been on her twelfth birthday.
Soon the Orc returned, leading with some difficulty a large black mare. Haldor's hands suddenly grabbed her by the waist, instilling a rush of panic as he lifted her effortlessly onto the horse. He mounted behind her an instant later, taking the reins; his arms were wrapped around small frame, and she stiffened at their proximity. Without another word Haldor kicked at the horse, sending the beast galloping off into the night.
Gúthwyn knew they must be going east, but other than the gleaming Eye of Sauron she could see nothing—not even lights from the soldiers' tents. The horse's hooves pounded over a flat surface: Most likely the training grounds, which were connected by the Isenmouthe to the vast, terrible plain of Gorgoroth. There was a road that she had never set foot upon, leading to Barad-dûr. She trembled now to think of herself and Haldor, passing through the night like the Black Riders Borogor had told her about.
At the thought of Borogor, a hard lump formed in her throat, accompanied by the endless questions that she had been asking herself over and over again. How had she not realized her love for him until it was too late? Why had fate cruelly intervened, using Faramir and his Rangers to rip him away from her? And why, why had she made love to Haldor? Her face tightened, and she was nearly sick before regaining control of herself.
Dîrbenn was right. She was a whore. Less than four days after the death of the man she loved, whom she had called her best friend and savior, she was sleeping with his worst enemy. Horrible feelings wormed their way into her gut as she remembered the pleasure she had inexplicably experienced. For some reason, she was unable to recall much that she saw that night—Haldor's hair was golden, yet she kept thinking of brown. The idea of hallucinating was a hopeful solution, that the whole incident had been the result of her ruined mind, but the fact remained that she had shared the Elf's bed and enjoyed it. Not just enjoyed it. Begged him for more.
It seemed like the rest of the journey took hours to complete. She did not know how far Barad-dûr was from Udûn, but based on the speed of the horse and the time they had been going, she estimated that the distance was at least fifty miles, maybe closer to twenty leagues. Her legs were not sore, being an experienced rider, but she did not relish being stuck on an unfamiliar horse with Haldor for hours on end.
The light from the Eye unexpectedly shone brightly in her eyes. Haldor pulled the horse to a stop, and she realized that they must have arrived at the tower. She could not see any of what must have been an enormous structure, but she felt the evil emanating from it as easily as she was aware of Haldor's body pressed against hers. For a moment her heart froze; then it began beating wildly within her chest.
Haldor quickly dismounted, and she followed suit. He took her by the arm and started dragging her forward.
"Haldor, I cannot see anything!" she gasped. Panic was swirling within her—the darkness was so absolute, so complete, that even the gleam of the Elf's eyes was obscured. She whirled around, trying to find some source of light, even if it was a Nazgûl carrying a torch.
"Learn to get used to it," he snarled. "You are in the Black Land, not the sun-filled Rohan."
Breathing was becoming harder and harder by the second. Her throat was constricted by something, and as her eyes darted wildly to and fro she could herself cringing against Haldor, needing to know that she was not alone. He let her lean on him, yet when he wrapped a tight arm around her she was well aware that it was not for her benefit.
"Can you even remember Borogor's face anymore?" he asked, the smirk evident in his voice. Gúthwyn whimpered, trying to move away from him, but as always he brought her even closer to him. "He hated me as he did no one else, you know."
"I do not blame him," she whispered angrily, her eyes brimming with tears. Hastily, she blinked them back, terrified of what Haldor would do if he saw them.
"That was not your opinion last night," Haldor replied smoothly, and one of his hands moved down to her stomach.
Gúthwyn was almost sick. "You knew I was not thinking," she replied, her voice shaking in both horror and rage. "You knew it, and you took advantage of me…"
Haldor's laugh reverberated painfully in her ears while he pushed her forward some more. "You knew exactly what you were doing," he said. "'Please, Haldor, please! No, please—" He was adding the moans as he spoke, completing the humiliation. This time Gúthwyn really did vomit, wrenching away from him and sinking to her knees as the insides of her stomach spewed out upon the ground.
When she was done—he had not held her hair back like Borogor used to, but watched her in cold silence—she glanced up at him.
"Get up," he spat, all trace of a smile, evil or otherwise, utterly gone.
Trembling, Gúthwyn obeyed. He grasped her arm tightly and started leading her once more. Still everything was pitch black, and Haldor ended up pushing her forward again. Now she was shuddering at the thought of what lay before her. She did not understand how an Eye wanted to see her, especially when he could at any moment of the day; furthermore, she could not make sense of the tales of a dark shadow, if the Dark Lord was really just an Eye.
Yet the prospect of coming face to face with Middle-earth's most dangerous form of evil since Morgoth was terrifying. Her mind was not ready for this. It was like asking an eggshell to withstand an onslaught of a thousand armed men. Already she was sweating and shaking, and she had not even crossed the threshold of Barad-dûr.
Suddenly, all of the ground except what they were walking on fell away, revealing what was an enormous moat surrounding the tower. Gúthwyn had to repress a shriek as she realized that, instead of water, this "moat" was filled with lava: Bright red, gurgling unpleasantly, and radiating such intense heat that for a moment she felt faint. Haldor chose that moment to remove much of his support, and it seemed to take her forever to cross the bridge.
At the end, she espied the forms of countless numbers of Orcs, crowded together at the ledge to see the strange pair coming towards them. At the sight of Haldor, shrieks and cries rose up amongst the creatures, and they separated. The Elf must have been second only to the Nazgûl, she decided as he steered her forward.
They were making their way towards a foreboding set of doors that could not have been made of anything less adamant than steel. They were sunken into the structure, so that there was a small court before them. And within this court, at first so shocking that Gúthwyn thought the acrid fumes from the tower had affected her mind, was a winged beast.
It was a hideous thing. When its head turned towards them, she saw that its wings were folded, but she was willing to bet that it had a wingspan larger than any other bird in the world. Yet it was not exactly a bird—no bird could have been so foul, so revolting, so terrible looking.
As she gaped at the beast, Haldor gripped her arms and began moving her towards it. Gúthwyn felt her body tensing in fear and disgust as they drew closer. The stench was so overwhelming that she nearly fainted. "W-what is it?" she stammered.
Haldor was about to answer when a sudden noise screeched into the night air. It ripped at her ears, so loud and unbearable that she sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms about her head. It was a high-pitched, keening note; Gúthwyn found herself screaming as well, needing the agony to stop, feeling as though her ears were about to bleed from the abuse. She had never heard such a ghastly sound in her entire life.
After what seemed like hours, the wailing died down, disappearing slowly and eventually fading into the night. Gúthwyn was pulled to her feet by Haldor; he slapped her.
"You are pathetic," he snarled. "Move!"
He shoved her forward again so that she was standing right beside the creature. It was lowering its head, and she realized with a start that it was what had caused the awful noise. Before she had time to panic, Haldor lifted her and placed her on the thing's back. She gasped, trying to slip off, but the Elf mounted directly behind her, pressing his legs firmly against her own so that she could not escape.
From his mouth poured the words of the harsh, guttural tongue that the Orcs spoke. Gúthwyn could not understand a word of it (nor would she have been able to in any case, as she was preoccupied with his body so close to hers) but evidently the beast could decipher its meaning. With an unexpected, heart-stopping movement, it reared up, pushing off of the ground and spreading its colossal wings.
For the hundredth time that night, she felt sick. The air was rushing into her face, making her eyes sting and water. By the now burning light from the Eye of Sauron, she saw that the creature was flying in swift circles around Barad-dûr, gaining anxiety-inducing levels of altitude with each second. In a wild moment of terror, she thought that it would carry them straight up to face the Eye.
Haldor did not seem concerned at all, but she was seriously considering leaping off of the beast and praying for her safety when it stopped. Gúthwyn glanced up as it hovered in the air, cowering when she looked into the blazing Eye. What drew her in, and at the same time made her recoil, was the small narrow pupil—like a cat's eye it was, only a thousand times worse.
She managed to wrench her gaze away as the beast began to lower itself onto a large outcropping of stone. There was a plain door about twenty feet away, leading into the tower. It was entirely black, interrupted only the symbol of Sauron, glaring bright red at her. For reasons that she could not describe, she felt herself overcome with horror and paralyzing fear at the sight of it.
The creature landed, and Haldor pushed her onto the ground beside it. Gúthwyn's legs were shaking violently; she lasted for only a short instant before crumbling to the stone. Immediately Haldor yanked her up. "This is the second time you have been too weak to stand," he hissed. "Do not let there be a third!"
Moaning, she nodded, and he steered her towards the door. He did not even need to knock before it swung open. She attempted to see what lay beyond, but everything was obscured by a black shadow.
"Go," Haldor commanded, and released her.
