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 Fifty-Four:
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 Fifty-Four

The rest of Legolas' visit passed by without much incident. There was no tour of the city to be given; Gúthwyn did not have to spend more than a couple of hours with him each day. Their conversation was always polite, straying more to the weather and the happenings of the city rather than the days that were long past. He inquired about her prowess with Framwine—she, in turn, asked how his archery was progressing.

Nighttime, however, was a different story. Legolas was with them each dinner, speaking with Éomer about various things in their realms. Her brother did not again bring up the topic of marriage in front of the Elf, but this worried Gúthwyn rather than consoled her, for he was not one to let things go so easily. She spent her meals trying to avoid all mention of anything even remotely connected to the subject, reduced to picking at her food because she was concentrating on where the chatter was headed.

When it was time to retire to her chambers, she found herself plagued by nightmares, through which Haldor and Borogor drifted in and out when she least expected it. She would awake in terror of the Elf's hands wandering all over her, caressing her stomach and sliding her leggings below her thighs; or she would reach out, forgetting that Borogor was not beside her, forgetting that he was not kissing her and gently stroking her hair.

These dreams confused and frightened her more than she cared to admit. Haldor and Borogor were moving so rapidly through her thoughts that sometimes it would be the Elf kissing her tenderly, and the man she loved forcing himself on her. Her chambers became more and more of a prison, a room in which her mind sought to trap her and drive her insane. She hated these dreams; and yet she could not rid herself of them.

Instead of struggling to go back to sleep, she began seeking refuge outside beneath the ageless stars. Nor had she been alone: Legolas had stayed up with her, offering not words of comfort but the mere presence of another. Because the forest of Ithilien was thick, he rarely had the opportunity to see the stars, and thus took the time to watch them every night when he was traveling between the two woods of his homes. So it was that they met each other, something that alarmed Gúthwyn at first, but gradually she became used to it. As much as she was anxious around him, it was better to have someone beside her—even if they were both conscientious in maintaining a five-foot distance—than to suffer alone.

They hardly ever conversed during these times, something that neither of them attempted to change. She found it easier when she did not have to stumble around for an answer or think of how much alike he and Haldor were. It was better to let the silence take its toll than to try to overcome it; she preferred not having to even look at him, but just to know that she was not a solitary figure on the landing of Meduseld.

By the time the harvest feast—and the last night of Legolas' stay—arrived, Gúthwyn could safely say that her sleeping schedule had never been more shattered. She was often so exhausted when she returned to her chambers in the early hours of the morning that she slept until the evening was just beginning to creep over Edoras. Framwine had been kept in its sheathe for several days, and she had hardly been outside.

Both Éomer and Cobryn had expressed, with increasing alarm, that she seemed to be growing thinner and wan. But oddly enough, she did not share their concerns. Yes, she had not been eating as much, because she now slept through breakfast and lunch. Yes, she had not gone outside for more than a few hours this past week, and as a result had a paler complexion. However, with Legolas' departure imminent, she prayed that her nightmares would cease. The thought gave her strength, even as her waist grew slimmer and the circles beneath her eyes darkened.

In the hour remaining before the feast, Gúthwyn dressed herself in her green gown, noting that it hung more loosely on her than when she had last worn it—to the celebration announcing Elfwine's birth to the people. She stared despondently at her hair, wondering if it was even worth the trouble to try and put it up.

"My lady?" A knock on the door accompanied the voice of Cwene. "May I come in?"

"Yes," Gúthwyn called, hoping that she would not wish to brush her hair. A quick look in the mirror showed her that it was still tousled from sleep.

"Oh, you cannot go out like that," Cwene scolded her almost immediately, striding forward and seizing the brush from Gúthwyn's hand. "Tilt your head this way—"

Sighing, Gúthwyn obeyed, and tried not to wince as the comb was yanked through her hair.

"If I had my way, you would be at least twenty pounds heavier," Cwene muttered as she worked, loud enough so that Gúthwyn could hear her clearly.

Gúthwyn did not say anything, and instead glanced at herself in the mirror. Suddenly she knitted her brow: Did her collarbone really stick out that much?

"Shall you wear your hair up or down?" Cwene asked huffily, slightly irritated that her reprimand had gone unmarked.

"Down," Gúthwyn said, staring at the bone below her throat. It might have been a trick of the candlelight and nothing more; yet she thought now that her features looked sunken, almost like that of a skeleton's. She shivered.

"Then I am finished," Cwene said, and set aside the brush. She stood next to Gúthwyn, using the mirror to survey her charge. "Oh, child," she sighed. "You are too thin."

"Cwene, please," Gúthwyn replied, trying not to gape at her collarbone. "It is nothing. Let us go."

With that, she swept from the room, and after a few seconds Cwene followed her. The maid was effective in maintaining a stony silence, which Gúthwyn knew meant not that she was angry with her, but that she was anxious for her health. All too soon, however, their walk was over, and they had entered the already crowded throne room. Éomund's daughter winced slightly at the noise level.

She and Cwene parted then, and she went over to where Éomer was sitting on his throne. Lothíriel was at his side, keeping a close eye on Elfwine. The boy had propped himself up at her feet, and was playing with a large wooden block. It was small enough so that he could stick a corner of it into his mouth, but not so tiny that it could slide into his mouth and choke him.

"Welcome, sister," Éomer greeted her, smiling. "How many minutes ago did you wake?"

Gúthwyn made a face at him as Lothíriel's eyes became devoid of expression. "A few hours past," she answered.

Immediately, Éomer sobered. "That is well after noon," he said worriedly. "You are not eating, you are not—"

"Éomer, I am fine," Gúthwyn insisted. "Really."

"No, you are not," he retorted. "Look at you!" With that, he took his hand and closed it about her wrist. His smallest finger and his thumb overlapped by nearly an inch.

Haldor grabbed her wrists, drawing his naked body close to hers and hissing, "This is why your uncle abandoned you: You are pathetic, a disgrace to him!" His hot breath scorched her face and she could not breathe; try as she might, she could not get comfortable underneath him

Gúthwyn yanked her hand out of Éomer's grip, drawing back as if she had been scalded. "Stop!" she cried, her voice no more than a whisper.

Éomer's eyes widened. "Sister, are you—"

"I am fine," she repeated, and swiftly surveyed the room to see if anyone had noticed the exchange. Most of the people were chatting with their neighbors, waiting for the feast to begin. Her eyes flicked towards the guards and their wives; Tun was there, talking quietly to Brithwen. She smiled sadly, and then looked to where she knew Cobryn and the children were. Haiweth was prattling on to Hammel, but Cobryn was watching her, his eyes narrowed.

Gúthwyn flushed and turned away, thus not marking that her friend had not been the only one to see her panic. Éomer's concerned gaze was still on her.

"What is wrong?" he asked softly. "Why have you been sleeping so late?"

"Excuse me," was Gúthwyn's response. "I need to get the cup."

It was still her duty to pass around the cup at feasts, which normally she did not mind, since it was an excuse for her to speak with numerous people. This time, however, she was not looking forward to it. She would have to approach Legolas, and after her unexpected memory of Haldor she had no desire to.

As she passed Lothíriel, the queen glanced disdainfully at her, evidently not understanding why she had been frightened by so small an action. Gúthwyn ignored her and made her way over to where the cup was kept, determined to show no further signs of weakness. As if she could demonstrate this by how she was holding the vessel, she clutched the handles as tightly as she was able. There was already wine inside of it; she had to be careful not to spill it.

When she returned to Éomer's side, he was still watching her worriedly, but she pretended to pay him no heed. Eventually he turned his attention to Elfwine, and a fond smile soon appeared on his face as he watched his son. Gúthwyn was glad that he was no longer preoccupied with her, as he had enough troubles managing a kingdom without her adding to them.

A few more minutes passed, in which the last of the guests entered Meduseld. Once the guards closed the doors behind them, Éomer rose to his feet. Immediately the other Rohirrim did as well, including Lothíriel. "My friends," Éomer called, his arms extended in the gesture of welcome. "Tonight, we have gathered here to celebrate the end of our harvest. We are well prepared for the winter. May none be hungry throughout the cold months!"

A round of wild cheering followed this, and the king waited until it had died down before continuing. "Also," he began, turning to where Legolas and the Elves were seated, "this is the last night in which Prince Legolas of Ithilien shall be gracing us with his company, for he leaves tomorrow to continue his journey to Eryn Lasgalen in the north. Let us thank him for accepting our hospitality!"

There was more applause, though most of the people were trying to get a closer look at the fair folk. Legolas acknowledged them politely, smiling at various people. Gúthwyn noticed that some of the maids were watching him intently, giggling to each other. She tried to forget that she had once thought Haldor beautiful… never had she been more mistaken.

Do not go down that road, she warned herself silently. It was years ago. Forget it.

Such a thing was easier said than done, but at that moment Éomer signaled for the feast to begin. The revelry soared to newfound heights as more dishes than Gúthwyn had ever seen in one place were set down on the tables. Éomer and Lothíriel both made their way over to dine with Elves, as it was customary for the king and queen to eat with their guests during the harvest feast, and Gúthwyn set off to present the cup to various people.

The first table she approached was Cobryn's. Several of the advisors were with him, discussing what appeared to be the trade relations with Gondor. Gúthwyn rolled her eyes, noting that Haiweth had already slipped off to join her friends. Hammel, however, had remained with Cobryn, and was listening intently to the debate.

Clearing her throat as she drew closer, Gúthwyn was rewarded with the nearly undivided attention of the councilors. "You are aware that this is a feast, correct?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "In other words, time to enjoy yourselves?"

"We are," Cobryn replied, smirking as she admonished them. "The fact that you do not have a high tolerance for politics does not mean that the rest of us cannot take pleasure in them."

"Must you do so even at the harvest feast?" Gúthwyn retorted, simultaneously offering him the cup. As he drank out of it, she added, "Surely it is not so difficult to forget about the realm's affairs for one night."

Cobryn handed her the cup, and merely said, "To each his or her own."

She rolled her eyes and turned to Aldor. With a brief curtsy, she asked, "Will you accept this, my lord?"

The old advisor inclined his head as he received the vessel. After he returned it to her and she had given it to Aldhelm, he surveyed her shrewdly and remarked, "Éomer says you are still not willing to consider marriage."

Gúthwyn stiffened, and after a terse moment had passed she asked, "And what do you wish for me to say?"

"That you have reconsidered," Aldor said immediately, eliciting a nod from Aldhelm. "It would do your brother a great service."

"Service or not," Gúthwyn responded sharply, "I will not have myself be auctioned off to whatever noble provides the greatest benefit for his kingdom! Know that, Aldor. If I must marry at all, it will be to a man whom I at least respect!"

"There are plenty of respectable men in both Gondor and the Mark," Aldor spoke dismissively, waving his hand. "You should have been wedded years ago."

Though he had clearly said "wedded," to Gúthwyn it sounded like "bedded." She recoiled, snapping, "I am only twenty-three! Éowyn did not marry until she was a year old than I am now!"

"Then," Aldor said, inclining his head, "your time is running out."

"Peace!" Cobryn interjected sharply, leaning forward as both Hammel and Gúthwyn's eyes widened in shock. "Aldor, leave her alone. She did not come here to discuss this."

"No, I did not," Gúthwyn said shakily. Aldor's words had disturbed her far more than she wanted to admit. "Excuse me," she muttered, her hands white where they were holding the cup. "I have to…"

She did not bother finishing her sentence. Instead she turned away, shaking as she went to the table with the guards. Your time is running out…

No, she told herself firmly. You wrote to Éowyn less than a week ago. She will convince Éomer that he is wrong—all you have to do is wait.

With that in mind, she struggled to clear her thoughts from what Aldor had said. Her eyes fixed on where the guards were sitting, searching for the familiar figures of Elfhelm and Erkenbrand. Once she had given the cup to them, she would at least be able to withdraw and sit down at the table with her brother. It was not until everyone had finished that the dancing would start; until then, she had nothing to do.

When she spotted the two Marshals, she went over to them, plastering a smile on her face that reflected nothing of what she felt. "My lord," she said to each of them, curtsying.

"My lady," they both responded automatically, grinning.

"Have you seen my sister?" Elfhelm inquired after he had taken the cup.

Gúthwyn shook her head. The last time she had spoken to Brytta was some days ago, when she had gone to do her laundry.

"Has Elfwine said anything yet?" Erkenbrand wanted to know, nodding in the direction of Éomer and Lothíriel. Elfwine was sitting in his mother's lap, trying to reach out and grab her food while she was attempting to feed him some broth.

"Nothing coherent," Gúthwyn replied, her smile this time genuine. She could have sworn that, once or twice, her nephew had muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "papa," but it had only been a fleeting moment that was soon gone.

"Well, soon he shall be ordering us about," Erkenbrand said, chuckling.

"I am sure Éomer will put him in his place if he does that," Gúthwyn answered.

"Aye, that he better," Elfhelm said. "Or we shall suffer an indignity akin to being beaten by a woman in sword fighting."

Her bad mood lessening somewhat, Gúthwyn laughed. "That is your own fault," she remarked. "Perhaps you should practice some more."

"I have not seen you on the training grounds recently," Elfhelm commented, raising his eyebrows. "Perhaps it is you who should be practicing."

"Maybe," Gúthwyn said, though the knot in her chest tightened at the mention of her absence. If only she could be rid of the nightmares… "Well, if you both will excuse me, I should return."

Bidding them farewell, she left, heading to where Éomer and Lothíriel were sitting. She tried not to feel nervous as Legolas came into view. His back was towards her, and he was conversing with Éomer about something. It was only when the king saw her and waved her over that the Elf noticed her presence.

"Hello, sister," Éomer said as she approached them. Lothíriel ignored her, smoothing out Elfwine's hair. "Have you spoken with Cobryn, by any chance?"

"Yes, I have," Gúthwyn answered, trying not to look at the other Elves. "He and the rest of the advisors were still discussing politics!"

Éomer chuckled. "Ah well, I can hardly say that I could find more enthusiastic councilors," he replied. "And I suppose that Hammel was paying close attention to every word that they said?"

"Aye, he was," Gúthwyn said with a sigh. "Instead of speaking to children his age!"

"Yes, Éomer, the boy does not seem to have any friends. It is most unbecoming," Lothíriel said, her voice concerned but her eyes, briefly flicking to Gúthwyn, anything but.

"I am sure he will make some," Éomund's daughter responded in spite of her own beliefs to the contrary, angered that Lothíriel had slighted Hammel in that way. Yet mindful of her brother, none of this carried over into her tone, which showed only optimism. Éomer detected nothing of the tensions between his wife and his sister.

In an effort to steer the conversation away from Hammel, Gúthwyn asked, "Were you looking for Cobryn?"

"Oh, I shall speak with him later," Éomer said, taking a long drink from his mug. When he had finished, he explained, "We have yet to finish talking about something."

Likely various charts, or something equally boring, Gúthwyn thought, resisting the urge to sigh.

Remembering suddenly that she had yet to give the cup to Legolas, who was watching their conversation quietly, Gúthwyn curtsied to the Elf and held the vessel out to him. "Will you received the good will of the Mark, my lord?"

Legolas accepted it with a smile, and drank a little from it before returning it to her. "Thank you, Gúthwyn," he said.

Their eyes met for a few seconds, the memories of many a sleepless night lingering within them until Gúthwyn, unable to bear the similarities between him and Haldor, looked away. She then walked around the table to sit beside Lothíriel, gazing down at her empty plate. The queen's frostiness towards her was so tangible that she thought the very air had grown cooler.

At that moment, a noise distracted her from her musings. Glancing up, she saw that Elfwine was straining to reach her, pressing against his mother's arms and trying to grab Gúthwyn with his chubby fingers. Lothíriel tried to restrain him, but when he began fussing and seemed on the verge of screaming, she sighed in exasperation.

"Would you mind?" she asked, looking apologetic for the first time in Gúthwyn's recollection.

"Not at all," Gúthwyn said, and held out her arms as Lothíriel transferred Elfwine over to her. Immediately Elfwine settled down, grabbing a fistful of her hair for good measure. Smiling, Gúthwyn murmured, "Hello, little one."

Elfwine gurgled unintelligibly, gazing up at her with his adorable brown eyes. Gúthwyn felt herself falling in love with her nephew. He was truly her brother's son. She propped him up on her lap, allowing him better access to her locks, and adjusted the blanket around him.

When she looked up, Legolas was watching her. "He seems to like your hair," he said, a trace of a grin playing upon his face.

"That he does," Gúthwyn replied fondly.

"Elfwine!" Éomer exclaimed then. "Do not put it in your mouth—"

But it was too late. When Gúthwyn next looked down, Elfwine was sucking contentedly on her hair. Only an impish grin suggested that he had even recognized Éomer's words.

Her brother sighed. "Gúthwyn, I am sorry—"

"It is all right," Gúthwyn assured him, and bent down to discourage Elfwine. "Hands, little one," she said gently, taking his fingers and placing them on her hair. At the same time, she began to slip her hair out of his mouth, hoping he would be pleased enough to hold it. "We use our hands, not our mouths."

Elfwine looked at her dolefully, but did not try to eat her hair again. Gúthwyn viewed this as a success, and smilingly glanced up. Éomer was still watching her.

"You need to eat," he said bluntly, pointing at her plate. The pewter—reserved for fancier occasions—was still gleaming from the polish the servants had used on it.

Gúthwyn sighed, and obediently took some bread from the basket near her. She ripped off a small chunk and put it in her mouth, chewing on it for several seconds. Although she was somewhat hungry, she disliked being chastised by Éomer. Her brother studied her for another minute, looking displeased that she was not eating more but seemingly unwilling to make a scene in front of the Elves.

The rest of the dinner passed without incident, or indeed anything to distinguish it from all the other meals Gúthwyn had had. The sole difference was the amount of chatter she was able to hear; the noise filled the Golden Hall comfortably. She liked listening to the talk of the people, even if she was hardly able to discern one voice from the other. As long as they were happy, she was glad.

For most of the time, she played quietly with Elfwine, only stopping to eat her bread. As more and more people began putting aside their plates, a group of musicians settled themselves in a corner and started playing a lively tune. Within moments, space had been cleared aside from the dancers, and a whirlwind of gowns and laughter was all that could be seen from them.

Éomer set down his fork and knife and glanced at Lothíriel, a smile on his face. "Would you care to dance with me, my lady wife?" he inquired.

Lothíriel's response was to set her hand in his. "Certainly, my lord husband."

With that, they arose. They had gotten to their feet when Gúthwyn realized that their departure would leave her alone with the Elves. She started, upsetting Elfwine, and stared in panic at her brother.

"Sister, were you intending on dancing with anyone?" Éomer questioned, his eyes not even on her: They were scanning the crowd.

"N-No," she said, feeling the beginnings of terror creep through her. "But—"

"Here comes Cobryn," Éomer interrupted her, and smiled. "Between him and Legolas, you should be in capable hands."

When she had twisted around to ascertain that it was, in fact, Cobryn making his way towards their table, she understood her brother's intent and turned back in utter relief to face him. As their eyes met, he nodded.

"Do not worry, baby sister," he said softly as he and Lothíriel passed her on their way to join the dancers. He patted her shoulder, and then he was gone.

At that moment, Cobryn arrived at the table. "May I sit?" he asked, gesturing to Lothíriel's empty seat.

"Please do," Gúthwyn said, more anxious for him to do so than she cared to admit.

"I left Hammel with the other advisors," Cobryn informed her, acknowledging her gratitude with the smallest inclination of his head. "He may or may not join Haiweth."

"From what I have heard," Legolas spoke, clearly aware of what Éomer had just done for Gúthwyn's sake but equally tactful in not saying anything, "Hammel is fast on his way to becoming Éomer's youngest councilor."

Cobryn chuckled a little, but Gúthwyn shook her head. "He told me that he did not wish to get the title because of his connections to Éomer or Cobryn."

Elfwine blew a bubble of spit, giggling when it popped. She gently cleaned his mouth with a napkin, now far more relaxed than she had been a few seconds ago.

"He said that?" Cobryn asked, on a rare occasion seeming puzzled. "Interesting…"

"Is he thinking of pursuing a trade?" Legolas questioned, looking at her. Her hold on Elfwine instinctively tightened.

"Ah," Cobryn said then, sparing her the reply. "So he is serious about becoming a blacksmith."

"I never know what he is thinking," Gúthwyn answered, sighing as Elfwine yanked at her hair. "He rarely confides in me."

"He rarely confides in anyone," Cobryn responded, shaking his head. "According to the wise, that shows the markings of intelligence, but he is only a child—regardless of how smart he is."

"He has had precious little time to act his own age," Gúthwyn murmured ruefully. "As much as I love him, I wish that he had some companions. Do the other boys still make fun of him?"

"Wulfríd does," Cobryn said heavily. "And the boys follow him. Then again, Hammel makes it easy, because of his lack of progress with a sword."

"Has he been training?" Legolas asked, knitting his brow. "I had thought otherwise."

"He has," Cobryn confirmed. "It is my belief that he has talent, but he simply will not use it. He will not stop taking the class, yet he does not try at all."

"That is a shame," Legolas spoke, "though as you have said, he is intelligent, and that is far from dishonorable."

As Cobryn said something in return, Gúthwyn surreptitiously glanced at the other Elves. They were conversing in their native tongue, of which she knew not a word and subsequently could not understand them. Raniean and Trelan appeared to be listening to both their speech and that of Legolas', contributing now and then with a comment of their own in Elvish.

Not wanting to gaze at them too long, in case one of them made eye contact with her, she looked down at Elfwine. He was fast on his way to falling asleep; his lids were half-closed, and his grip on her hair had loosened. Smiling, she cradled him against her chest, stroking his hair absent-mindedly. "Good night, little one," she whispered. A few seconds later, her nephew had shut his eyes. His tiny chest soon rose peacefully up and down. Not long after, his hand drifted to his mouth, and he began to suck on his thumb.

She was so absorbed in what she was doing that it was a full minute before she realized that someone was watching her. When she glanced up, it was only to meet Legolas' piercing blue eyes.

"You are good with children," he observed quietly, gesturing towards Elfwine.

Gúthwyn felt herself flushing as she stammered, "Th-Thank you."

Luckily, she did not have to say anything else, for it was then that Éomer and Lothíriel came back, their cheeks pink from dancing. Cobryn got out of his seat so that the queen could take it, giving a small bow. His eyes never went to the floor.

"Well, sister, did you find your company amiable?" Éomer inquired, the real question lying within the depths of his gaze.

Gúthwyn nodded. "Yes, I did," she replied. "Thank you."

"Here, I will take Elfwine," Lothíriel said as she sat down. Carefully, Gúthwyn scooped her nephew up from her lap and handed him over, making sure that his head was supported the entire time.

No sooner had she done so than someone approached their table: Elfhelm.

"Greetings," he said to all of them, bowing. His eyes fell on Gúthwyn. "My lady," he began courteously. "May I have the honor of dancing with you?"

Grinning, Gúthwyn rose from her seat. "Of course, my lord," she said, glad to be able to join her people instead of spend the entire night with the Elves. Walking around the table, she set her hand in his, and briefly glanced at Cobryn. "You can take my seat, if you wish," she said with a smile. "I shall not be returning for quite some time."

With that, she and the Marshal departed, making their way to where the other dancers were twirling and clapping to the music.

"I confess myself to have been waiting for the opportune moment in which to make my advances," Elfhelm muttered as they came together, his left hand clasping her right and his other resting on her back: The way in which the other couples were aligned.

Gúthwyn laughed, knowing that she was no longer in danger of him asking her to marry him. "And what made you decide that that was the opportune moment?"

"You were not entertaining our guests with a baby in your lap," he answered with a smirk, guiding her through a turn.

Giggling, Gúthwyn said lightly, "I would hardly call it entertaining. I certainly put Elfwine to sleep!"

"Ah, well. He cannot appreciate your presence like the rest of us do," Elfhelm teased her, chuckling when she blushed.

Their banter continued, and all too soon for her preference the song ended. As it did, she was asked to dance by Ceorl, and happily obliged. The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of partners, laughing conversation, and amusing instances in which she demonstrated that she still had much to learn in the art of dancing. Stepping on others' feet and stumbling her way through turns were not uncommon; rather than become embarrassed, she made fun of her mishaps.

As the musicians started slowing down and playing waltzes, Gúthwyn retired, having not the skill to attempt such movements. She walked back to her table, noting that Elfwine was awake once more and playing with Lothíriel's hair.

"There you are, sister!" Éomer exclaimed jovially. "I was beginning to wonder how much longer we were going to have to wait for your company."

Lothíriel suddenly became very interested in ensuring that Elfwine was snugly wrapped in his blanket.

"Well, I am here," Gúthwyn said. Looking at her seat, she saw that Cobryn was missing. "Where did Cobryn go?"

"He went to get a drink," Éomer said, glancing down at his own mug. "Perhaps I should, as well. This is nearly empty."

He kissed Lothíriel on the brow and then left, exchanging a few words with some of the guards as he fell into line behind the still.

Legolas stood up then, and turned to Gúthwyn. "My lady," he said with a bow. "If you are not too fatigued, may I have this dance?"

"I-I am not tired," she replied, feeling a small tremor run through her body. "Of c-course you may."

Her sense of vulnerability increased when he held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she took it. As they walked to where the few dancers hardy enough to last the entire night were, she swallowed and said, "I still have not learned to waltz."

He smiled, and replied, "Then I shall dance however you wish me to."

She was flustered by this comment and bit her lip, not knowing what to say. All too soon they came to the space that had been cleared, and she had to put her other hand in his. Most of the men around them had a hand resting on the curve of their partner's waist, but it was an unspoken agreement between her and Legolas that they should not do so. To her relief, he also kept a foot away from her at all times.

They were moving in a slow circle, omitting the more intricate steps. "Have you been enjoying yourself?" he asked her.

"Y-Yes, I have," Gúthwyn said, trying not to betray her nervousness. "What of you? Have you tasted the mead?"

Belatedly, she realized that he had been drinking from a tankard while he was speaking to her and Cobryn; she hoped that he had not noticed her error.

"It is very good," Legolas responded, answering the last question first. "And of course, my time here is always enjoyable."

His words sounded like a compliment to her, but her throat closed and she did not know how to accept it. They danced in silence for another minute, until he inquired softly, "Do you think your nightmares will disappear soon?"

Gúthwyn drew in a sharp breath, and when her eyes met his she could not help but tremble. "I-I hope so," she said. "I just… I just want them to go away."

"Is my presence making them worse?" Legolas wanted to know, his voice somber.

"It should not," Gúthwyn said, slightly surprised at how bitter her tone was. "It is my own fault for not being able to forget about him."

"Do not blame yourself," Legolas said gently when she looked away. "There are many things in life one wishes not to remember, but does so anyway."

The conversation was drawing her dangerously close to tears. She forced the lump in her throat downwards and asked, "How long are you going to be visiting your father?"

He nodded, signifying that he understood her need to change the subject, and said, "A couple of months. It has been over two years since we last saw each other, and though that is not a great amount of time, I miss his strict ways."

"So you will come back to Ithilien at the end of the year?" she inquired as they completed another turn.

"Yes," Legolas said. "That is what I am hoping for."

"Will you send my greetings to my sister?" Gúthwyn asked. "I have not seen her for what feels like ages."

"I shall," Legolas replied. "She is most eager to see you again, from what I have heard."

"As am I."

"Have you given any thought to traveling to Emyn Arnen?" he questioned. "It is a beautiful place."

"No, I have not," Gúthwyn said. "I wish to see her, but my heart does not belong to the mountains."

Legolas smiled. "Nor does mine," he remarked. "I know the feeling."

Yet even the plains and rolling fields of my people are second to Borogor, Gúthwyn thought with a sigh. I would rather live in a cave, if it meant I could be with him.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked then, detecting her change of mood.

Mentally she shook her head, and replied, "I am fine."

"I saw you with Éomer upon the dais," he ventured hesitantly. "You seemed distressed about something."

She remembered recoiling from her brother, loathing the touch of his hand on her wrist. A tremor ran through her as she shook her head. "It was nothing," she said. "He was just concerned about my sleeping habits."

Legolas looked at her, his eyes displaying some of the worry that Éomer held for her. "So am I," he said quietly.

Few words passed between them after. The dance was coming to a close; the music became slower and slower, until at last it was brought to a stop. A round of applause followed, in which Gúthwyn stepped away from Legolas and took her hands out of his.

"Thank you," she said, remembering her manners and curtsying.

"You are most welcome," Legolas responded with a nod. "Yet it is I who should be thanking you."

To this she could only blush, and he escorted her back to Éomer's table. They parted then, for he explained that he wished to fill his tankard once more. Somewhat relieved that she would not be in his company for awhile, Gúthwyn sat down next to Cobryn. Mercifully, most of the Elves had left the table.

"Welcome back," Cobryn greeted her. "How was your dance?"

"It was fine," Gúthwyn said automatically. Feeling Éomer's eyes upon her, she added, "Unfortunately, I am still not the most adept dancer."

The corners of Lothíriel's lips tugged upwards. Then she returned her attentions to Elfwine, who was again asleep in her arms.

"Well, sister," Éomer said with a chuckle, "at least the men are more than willing to teach you."

Gúthwyn laughed a little. "Aye. That is indeed—luckily—the case." Glancing down at her plate, she saw her bread from earlier was still unfinished. Sighing, she tore off a small piece, not at all inclined to have it.

"Is that all you have eaten?" Cobryn asked then, his eyes narrowed.

As Éomer's gaze swiveled towards her again, Éomund's daughter shrugged uneasily.

"Gúthwyn, you are too thin," Cobryn said sternly, correctly interpreting the gesture. "When was the last time you ate, aside from tonight?"

Gúthwyn frowned, trying to remember. She thought she had eaten something yesterday… But she had slept through lunch because of her nightmares. A shiver spread through her, and she struggled to forget Haldor's mouth devouring hers.

Cobryn's eyes darkened. "Finish this," he commanded, and set another slice of bread in front of her.

Her mouth opened slightly, but when she looked at Éomer for assistance he was nodding at what Cobryn had said.

"Also," her friend continued, reaching down for a second mug that was beside his plate, "drink this. You have been dancing all night."

"Since when did you put yourself in charge of my diet?" Gúthwyn asked irritably, nevertheless starting on the new piece of bread. She had no interest in consuming the whole thing—she simply was not hungry—but she was not in the mood to argue with anyone.

"Since you decided to abandon it," Cobryn said sharply. "Drink."

If anyone else had ordered her in that manner, she would have ignored them. Yet she only rolled her eyes as she took a sip of whatever was inside the tankard. It did not taste like mead.

"What is this?" she asked, frowning. It was sweeter than she would have expected.

"It is a milder type of ale," Cobryn explained. "I know you do not like what your brother here has showed himself so capable of downing."

Éomer snorted. Smirking, Gúthwyn drank some more, glad that Cobryn had remembered that the normal mead was not to her tastes. Almost mechanically, she ate another piece of her bread.

"My lord," Cobryn said then, addressing Éomer. "Did you see the chart I left for you about the amount of exported sheep wool?"

"I will look at them tomorrow," Éomer promised. Gúthwyn found herself yawning. She covered it up, not wishing to seem rude, but it was followed by another one. Lothíriel noticed and glanced coolly at her.

Drink, tear, eat, swallow.

"You will find the number of barrels has increased over the past five years," Cobryn said. "As have the revenues."

By the Valar, this is boring, Gúthwyn thought to herself, repressing a third yawn. She tried to concentrate on her meal. Drink, tear, eat, swallow.

"Excellent," Éomer replied. "Do you have an estimate for when we shall be able to turn our attentions on repairing the roads?"

"Perhaps as early as spring," was Cobryn's answer.

Drink, tear, eat, swallow.

Gúthwyn did not realize that she had yawned again until there was a halt in the monotonous conversation.

"Maybe you should turn in for the night," Lothíriel suggested, her tone kind but her eyes flaring.

"Are you tired?" Éomer asked concernedly.

"Sorry," Gúthwyn said, simultaneously shaking her head. "I did not mean to—I should not be…"

She was exhausted now, and could not understand why. Is my lack of sleep finally catching up to me? she wondered, setting down her mug. All of a sudden, it seemed too heavy to lift. Or did I dance too much?

"Gúthwyn?" Éomer questioned, leaning forward. For some reason, his figure was blurry, and she could barely make out his features. His voice sounded as if he were a thousand miles away.

"Sorry," she said again, feeling her lids beginning to droop heavily downwards. Try though she might, she could not get them fully open once more. "I do not know why—I am not…"

She yawned, and for a frightening moment the world spun in a dizzying circle. Her head nodded irresistibly forward.

"What… what is wrong?" she asked thickly, attempting vainly to right herself.

"I drugged you," Cobryn informed her.

It took several seconds for his words to make sense, but when they did, she gaped at his dim figure. "You… you what? W…Why?"

"You need to start sleeping normally," he said. "Your rest will not be disturbed tonight, I promise. Close your eyes."

His words were so tempting… but she resisted them. "Éomer," she mumbled, wondering why he had not said a word. Should he not have tried to stop Cobryn?

She looked at her brother.

"Goodnight," Éomer bade her, and smiled.

Everything turned black.