Chapter Fifty
"What think you so far of the colony?" Legolas asked Gúthwyn the next afternoon, looking closely at her as they strolled through one of the numerous pathways in the forest. It was practically a garden in its own right, with a multitude of flowers and herbs on either side.
"It is wonderful," Gúthwyn responded sincerely, though the same could not be said of the weather today: she had long ago started wearing her cloak, and despite the extra layer was still rather chilly. "I can tell how much work you put into it." Since the start of the tour, she had seen a plethora of trees which not even Emyn Arnen could boast, numerous gardens—many complete with fountains and pools of water—and stunning architecture which seemed to wend its way around the branches, rather than interfere with nature.
By now their exploration was coming to a close, as the sun would be setting soon and it would be too dark for them to continue. Éowyn and Faramir were well behind them, as they were walking at a far slower pace and had insisted on not making Legolas and Gúthwyn wait for them. Éomund's youngest daughter rather suspected that they wanted some time alone; she did not know whether to grudgingly accept this, or be angry with Éowyn for stranding her with Legolas.
Not that she feared overmuch: Legolas was as cordial and kind as ever, and if worse came to worse she could always call for help. Yet she found that she was not afraid—in fact, she might have even been enjoying herself. In spite of Éowyn and Faramir's absence, she had been able to relax in Legolas' company and maintain a steady flow of conversation.
"I have but one question," she announced, turning from the exquisite scenery back to the Elf at her side.
"And what might that be?" Legolas inquired with a smile.
"Does your colony have a name?"
Chuckling, Legolas replied, "There have been suggestions, but no title has yet stuck out in my mind as fitting."
"It must be nice, to have the luxury of an eternity to make decisions," Gúthwyn mused wistfully. If only she had centuries upon centuries to determine whether or not she wanted a husband…
"Yes and no," Legolas replied seriously. "While it is often liberating to have thousands of years in front of you, since it will rarely be too late to set things right, such time eventually becomes wearisome. The burdens of the world weigh heavily upon one who has witnessed many an age—regret, sorrow, decay. It is my belief that if mortals understood what an endless existence truly means, they would be less eager to obtain it."
Gúthwyn mulled over his response, trying to imagine what could possibly be considered a downside of immortality. "If someone you knew were to die," she began slowly, "would you never see them again unless you yourself were killed?"
"Correct," Legolas answered somberly.
Frowning, Gúthwyn said, "Then perhaps I do understand, or at least perceive the drawback to eternal life. Many of my friends and family have perished, and knowing that I might never reunite with them would be torturous."
"Aye, it is difficult," Legolas agreed, staring off into the trees as if deep in thought.
Gúthwyn glanced up at him, but his face was quite expressionless. "Have you ever lost someone close to you?" she asked tentatively, praying that he would not consider her prying.
"I have been fortunate in life," Legolas responded, looking at her once more, "and have been parted from few I hold dear. Yet I will never forget seeing the slaughter of my people at Helm's Deep—nor will I ever forgive myself for my failure in that hour."
His words were filled with such raw, unconcealed grief that Gúthwyn felt terrible simply beholding it. She knew how much he had beaten himself up over not being able to kill the Uruk who had caused the explosion of the Deeping Wall, though the creature had been so bent on its task that no amount of arrows would have felled it in time. She also knew that Legolas's feelings were further compounded by his guilt at being the only surviving Elf, the only one of his companions to return to his home and family.
Legolas was now scrutinizing the forest, unwilling to meet her gaze. By now they had slowed to a halt and were standing beneath a large tree whose branches arched out across the path. Hesitantly, unsure of herself at first, Gúthwyn slowly reached out and tapped him lightly on his arm. The initial contact shocked her: she could hardly believe that she had followed through with the gesture.
If anything, Legolas was even more surprised than her at the voluntary touch. His eyes widened slightly as he turned back towards her; afraid of what his reaction might be, Gúthwyn pressed quickly on. "What happened at Helm's Deep was not your fault," she reminded him firmly. "No one could have stopped that Uruk."
Legolas was unconvinced. "Because of my incompetence," he insisted, "none of those Elves will ever walk as we are now through the forests of their homes."
"They died fighting for a cause they believed in," Gúthwyn replied forcefully. "They knew the odds were against them and that they were unlikely to return home, yet still they came to Rohan's aid. It was a valiant service for which my people are forever in debt to yours."
For a long time, Legolas was silent. Gúthwyn was beginning to regret having tried to console him, for clearly she had only raised painful memories for him; but before she could think of a tactful way to change the subject, he glanced back at her. "Thank you," he said quietly, his deep blue eyes focusing in on hers.
"Y-You are welcome," Gúthwyn murmured, stumbling slightly as she lost her concentration on aught but his gaze.
He smiled at her and, in order to avoid lingering in a moment where she felt exposed and vulnerable, she briefly returned the expression. Then, as quickly as possible without seeming rude, she started walking again. Legolas fell into place alongside her, and for a time there was peace.
Then, out of nowhere, an Elf dropped from the branches above them and landed less than a foot in front of Gúthwyn.
Éomund's daughter screamed in terror and leaped backwards, forgetting that she had nowhere to run—only a forest in which the Elf would have the upper hand. She lost her balance in the process, and would have fallen to the ground had Legolas not grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against his sturdy frame, steadying her.
"Raniean," Legolas said tersely. When Gúthwyn trembled, his grip on her tightened for the briefest instant, but he let go so quickly that she could almost imagine that it had never happened. Certainly, she did not have time to panic.
Raniean paused only long enough to narrow his cold eyes at Gúthwyn before pointedly addressing Legolas, his words undoubtedly harsh. Legolas's answers were curt, his tone making it evident that Raniean was not welcome. The conversation did not last long. Raniean soon turned and disappeared further up the path, though not without sending a glare towards Gúthwyn that made every hair on her body stand painfully on edge.
"What—" she began when she and Legolas were at last alone, but the expression on his face stopped her.
"My apologies for his behavior," he said merely, embarrassed.
Gúthwyn shook her head. "It was not your fault," she replied.
Legolas looked as if he were debating whether or not to respond, but an instant later he frowned and cocked his head as though listening to something. It took a full thirty seconds before Gúthwyn was able to hear it. By then, Éowyn and Faramir were so close that their footsteps barely had time to herald their arrival.
"Sister?" Éowyn demanded immediately, upon catching sight of the two of them. Faramir was beside her, surveying the path as a soldier might scan a battlefield for any imminent threat. "What happened?" the White Lady continued, bewildered. "I could have sworn that you were yelling…"
Legolas stepped forward and calmly explained the situation to Éowyn and Faramir, allowing Gúthwyn the space she needed to catch her breath and calm herself. She noticed that Legolas's account portrayed Raniean in a significantly more positive light: the Elf had been hunting game from the vantage point of a tree, when he had seen Legolas and dropped down to speak with him. Gúthwyn, unused to such an action, had understandably taken fright. Legolas then assured Éowyn and Faramir that he had discouraged Raniean from such behavior while their human guests were present, since he suspected that his friend had underestimated the affect he would have on Gúthwyn.
Éomund's youngest daughter stiffened when she heard this, realizing that Raniean had targeted her with his actions—and that he must have enjoyed the sight of her leaping away from him in terror. For a moment, doubt seized her: was this further proof that Legolas was the exception, that more Elves were like Haldor than not? Yet Trelan and Faelon had always been kind to her…
"Perhaps we should retire for the rest of the afternoon," Éowyn suggested, watching Gúthwyn concernedly.
Gúthwyn was about to agree in relief. She was about to say that yes, she was tired, even though she was not. Or perhaps she would plead a headache, despite her feeling absolutely fine. Essentially, she was seconds away from hiding behind Éowyn's offer, using her sister to shield her from her fears. In other words, being wholly, completely, utterly cosseted—when what she really needed was to take courage and face what she was so afraid of.
"I would rather stay out here," she said, so quietly that Éowyn at first did not hear her. Legolas, however, did, and his eyes were round with surprise.
"Come again?" Éowyn inquired.
Gúthwyn cleared her throat. "I-I would not mind staying," she responded, louder.
"As you wish," Éowyn conceded after a pause, looking rather taken aback—yet not unpleasantly so.
This time, when the walk resumed, Éowyn and Faramir did not fall behind. Relieved more than she cared to admit, Gúthwyn asked the White Lady, "Sister, how are you feeling?"
"Well, thank you," Éowyn replied, beaming. "Aside from the expected morning sickness—which, let me assure you, does not so kindly restrict itself to the early hours—I have no complaints."
"Wait until you can no longer fit into your clothes," Gúthwyn pointed out mischievously, recalling one of Lothíriel's chief complaints about pregnancy.
Éowyn rolled her eyes, retorting, "I would ask you to sew new garments for me, but…"
Gúthwyn flushed as the others had a laugh at her expense: she still had yet to produce a completely even row of stitches. She found herself glancing at Legolas and Faramir, wondering if they thought any less of her because she was completely unversed in the arts that a woman of her status was expected to be proficient in. Faramir, she suspected, did not—after all, Éowyn was far from conventional—but what about Legolas?
Surely female Elves were nothing short of flawless in their needlework, their dancing, their singing, and of course their beauty; why, then, would Legolas want to be friends with a woman who ranked so poorly in comparison? Did he not inwardly cringe at how unskilled, how educated she was?
"Gúthwyn?"
Éomund's youngest daughter started, looking around to see who had addressed her. Then she realized that Éowyn, Faramir, and Legolas were all watching her, apparently waiting for some sort of response. "I-I am sorry," she apologized, turning bright red at the latest evidence of her shortcomings as a lady. Hopefully, her attention had not wandered for too long. "What were you saying?"
"We were discussing plans for tomorrow," Éowyn informed her. "Legolas just asked if we were interested in spending the day at the waterfall, picnicking—and swimming, should you dare this late in the season. How does that sound to you?"
Wonderful. The entire conversation had changed in her absence. "Perfect," Gúthwyn agreed heartily, hoping to make up for her rude behavior.
"One more thing, baby sister," Éowyn replied, looking rather amused.
"Yes?" Gúthwyn asked warily.
"This will require you to wake up before noon."
To my favorite nephew,
Little one, you would never believe where I am right now. I am at your friend Legolas's home! Auntie Éowyn, Uncle Faramir and I are visiting this week. There are hundreds of Elves here—you would like it very much. Today we are having a picnic—
Peals of laughter broke through Gúthwyn's concentration, causing her to look up from the letter she was writing to Elfwine. Her gaze fell on Éowyn and Faramir, who were standing by the water's edge. Faramir had evidently kicked water over Éowyn's ankles, prompting the White Lady to retaliate by sending a cold spray in his direction. Faramir chose not to escalate the aquatic assault; instead, he leaned towards his wife and offered a peace treaty of gentle kisses.
Gúthwyn watched the Steward for a moment, marveling at how joyful and content his expression was. She knew it was her own fault that she rarely saw him as happy as he was now; it was a regret that had come slowly into being over the past three months, ever since she had realized that hating him for a long-ago crime would not change what had happened. She could not quite bring herself to like him just yet, but she was doing her best to be cordial to him.
Under normal circumstances she might have joined them, even if she ultimately wandered away; yet her stomach was still aching from the food she had ingested during their picnic. Either there were strange ingredients in Elven fare, or she had unknowingly eaten too much—and now the mere thought of moving in her present condition was enough to make her groan. She had long ago excused herself from further activity, pleading nausea, and still felt as if she might burst at the seams.
Rubbing her aching belly, she tried to focus on the task at hand. She had received a letter from Éomer the day of the journey to Legolas's colony, indicating that her nephew was still grief-stricken over her departure from Rohan. Gúthwyn had immediately endeavored to find a way to cheer Elfwine up, and prayed that a description of life in an Elvish community would help.
Elfwine's state of distress had not been the only cause for worry that Gúthwyn had detected in Éomer's correspondence. Although he never explicitly said so, it seemed that her brother still had yet to remotely reconcile with Lothíriel. In his letters, she was referred to only as "my wife"—and even then, it was obvious that the term was not endearing. Despite Gúthwyn having explicitly inquired after the queen's health and the mending of her relationship with the king, Éomer ignored her questions and instead wrote about his son.
More than anything, Gúthwyn wished she had worked harder at keeping her rivalry with Lothíriel a secret. While she could not deny what a relief it was to not be the target of cruel gossip on a daily basis, she would have endured slander and far worse if it meant keeping her brother blissfully unaware. She hated what she had done to his family, and every day she thought of how she might repair the damage. Thus far, she had not come up with any idea worth pursuing. Nor did she dare ask Cobryn for help, clever though he was: he would berate her, not understand her.
"How are you feeling?"
Gúthwyn glanced up to see Legolas approaching her, a concerned expression on his face. He came from the direction of the surrounding forest, having walked off into the woods shortly after their mid-afternoon fare. Gúthwyn had not marked his return. "Better," she assured him, setting down her letter and securing it in place with a small rock. "I think I need only wait a little longer to recover."
"These herbs might help," Legolas said, crouching down at the edge of the blanket and holding out a few small shoots. "They can usually cure the worst of stomach ailments. All you have to do is chew them."
"Th-Thank you," Gúthwyn replied, touched that he had gone to such trouble to help her. She leaned forward to take the proffered plants, examining them curiously. At first glance the leaves were an ordinary pale green, yet when she held them closer to her nose she caught a whiff of something both fresh and minty. Somewhat dubiously, she broke off a small shoot and put it in her mouth. Despite its aroma it settled bitterly on her tongue, and she could not help but grimace as she chewed.
"I should have warned you about the taste," Legolas apologized, noting her disgust with a small grin.
"It is fine," Gúthwyn ground out, forcing the herb down her throat.
Legolas quickly got to his feet and went down to the water, where he produced a flask and began filling it. Gúthwyn opened her mouth to protest that he need not inconvenience himself on her account, but by ill-timed chance one of the leaves went down the wrong pipe. She began choking, yet also attempting to conceal her discomfort; the result had her hunched over and silently gagging.
"Gúthwyn?" Legolas questioned worriedly, kneeling beside her again.
Éomund's daughter responded with a wheezing, rattling breath.
"Drink this," Legolas urged her, holding out the water he had drawn.
Gúthwyn accepted the flask reluctantly, albeit gratefully. The sudden rush of water down her throat washed away the offending herb, allowing her to breathe freely again. "Thank you," she murmured, setting down the container.
"Are you all right?" he inquired, watching her closely.
"Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed, recovering slightly. "A thousand thanks."
"Wait a few minutes, and the medicine will take effect," Legolas assured her.
Gúthwyn nodded, having no other choice but to do as he said.
"May I sit?" Legolas asked, gesturing to the empty stretch of blanket beside her.
After a moment's hesitation, Gúthwyn replied, "You may."
Legolas slowly lowered himself to the ground, maintaining a foot's distance between them. Gúthwyn felt comforted by the familiarity of this courtesy, and she was able to smile at him as he met her eyes once more. He returned the gesture, looking pleasantly surprised. "To whom are you writing?" he inquired, glancing down at the letter that lay in front of her.
"Elfwine," Gúthwyn answered wistfully. "I can hardly believe it has been a full season since I last saw him."
"Is there a chance that Éomer might take him to visit you?" Legolas inquired.
Gúthwyn hesitated. "He might come when Éowyn's child is born," she said slowly, "but not before then. His duties will not permit it." Rohan was still in the process of whittling down the debt it had accumulated during the War of the Ring, as well as rebuilding the agricultural infrastructure that had been destroyed under Saruman and Gríma's watch. Eight years had done much to lessen these tasks—and in fact, Dol Amroth had finally been repaid not long ago—but by no means was the Riddermark on even footing again. Éomer had to work tirelessly to maintain his kingdom; that he did so exceedingly well and still found time for his family made him a man Gúthwyn was incredibly proud of.
"How are he and Lothíriel faring?" Legolas asked quietly.
Gúthwyn sighed. "Not well," she responded sadly. "I fear that I have irreparably damaged their marriage."
"What happened with Lothíriel was not your fault," Legolas reminded her firmly. "She should not have tormented you so, had she desired to be at peace with Éomer."
Gúthwyn shook her head. "I should have…"
"What could you have possibly done?" Legolas pressed her. "Éomer would have found out sooner or later."
Although Legolas was probably right, Gúthwyn could not shake the feeling that she was somehow culpable for Éomer having discovered the truth the way he had. "I just feel terrible about what Éomer and Elfwine are going through—I never wanted them to be hurt. If only I could figure out a way to…" She trailed off, raking through her brain yet again to come up with a solution.
"You truly wish to help Lothíriel, in spite of all she has done to you?" Legolas questioned, looking astonished.
"To help Éomer and Elfwine," Gúthwyn corrected him. "I feel terrible for her, yes, but I would be lying if I claimed that my brother and nephew were not greater concerns. I would not have their family destroyed on my account."
Unlike Cobryn or Éowyn, Legolas did not attempt to dissuade her—a kindness for which she was exceedingly grateful. "What are you going to do?" he asked simply.
"That is the problem," Gúthwyn admitted anxiously. "I had hoped that after I left, Éomer and Elfwine would be able to spend more time with Lothíriel. Yet this is not the case: it is to my knowledge that my brother completely avoids his wife, which will only make the situation worse. I do not want my nephew to grow up in a household like that."
"Which means that, somehow, you must repair Éomer's relationship with Lothíriel," Legolas finished.
Gúthwyn nodded eagerly, glad that Legolas understood. Unfortunately, "There are also other issues that need to be addressed. Part of the problem is that Lothíriel does not speak Rohirric, which sets her at a distance from the rest of the population—and contributes to her resentment. If only I can take care of that, and then perhaps get Elfwine to play with her once in awhile, and finally convince Éomer to give her another chance…" She groaned, and buried her face in her palms. "I might as well join the ranks of the Valar for performing such a miraculous feat."
There was a moment of silence, and then Legolas put a tentative, albeit comforting hand on her shoulder. It was a simple, brief act, yet Gúthwyn felt as if a shock had just raced through her entire arm: she still was not able to quell the nervous tremors that occurred whenever she and the prince came into close contact. She forced herself to ignore these remnants of her fears from Mordor as Legolas said, "I have no doubt that you will succeed."
His faith was reassuring, if unfounded. "Thank you," she murmured politely, unconvinced.
Sensing her doubt, Legolas replied, "Given enough time, you will find a way to overcome these obstacles. I know it as well as I do my own name."
Gúthwyn at last lowered her arms and put her letter to Elfwine away, but she continued to bite her lip in consternation. The background noise of Éowyn and Faramir's laughing, breathless skirmishes was a stark contrast to the gloom she felt settling upon her, and she envied their happiness.
"How is your stomach?" Legolas inquired then, temporarily distracting her.
"Completely recovered," Gúthwyn announced, surprised by how quickly Legolas's remedy had worked. "Thank you for the herbs—they seem to have helped tremendously!"
"Excellent," Legolas replied, grinning as he got to his feet. He then extended a hand to her, as if he would help her stand. Gúthwyn looked up at him in confusion. "Will you go with me to the water?" he asked gently. "There is something I want to show you."
For a moment Gúthwyn hesitated, wondering what she would be getting herself into if she agreed. Then she swallowed, steeled her nerves… and voluntarily took Legolas's hand.
