XXI – Golden Halls, Silvered Fates
Waking, Mirren did not know how long she'd been asleep, but was certain that they would have to set off again soon. Lifting her head, she noted the absence of Legolas, seeing instead a cushion formed from his cloak which he must have laid her head across when he had moved.
Mirren looked up to meet the knowing gaze of Aragorn, teasing her silently as he rearranged the traces of the fire, they had lit the night before. She grazed a hand over the neatly tied braids in her hair and stood, blushing a little in the warm rays of the morning sun.
"We must ride on soon. If we are to reach Edoras before dusk." She noted, distracting the ranger from is thoughts as she brushed herself off. She went to retrieve her pack before he could reply.
Mirren had removed her tight belt the night before and tucked her knife instead in the side of her boot to keep it close. Now she re-looped its leather ends around her waist, re-securing the small pouch carrying herbs at her side. Her blue travelling tunic-dress was dirty, but it would have to do. She was thankful for the lightweight chest plate that allowed her to comfortably place her father's horn over her head and left shoulder so it sat by her hip where her hands could grab it at any moment.
Her weapons she picked up last, sighing as her twin blades fell into a secure place underneath her cloak, the steady weight of her bow and quiver on her back, comforting after so man years of travelling with them by her side.
I'm almost out of arrows, Mirren thought to herself, I'll have to find or make some more in Edoras. The thought of yellow fletching's fell into her head, and the nimble fingers that had been correcting them whilst he talked to her the night before. Shaking her head she walked to Aragorn and Hausfel, who he was saddling at the edge of camp.
"I know not what to expect from this city of men." Mirren mused. Ready to leave, she patted Hausfel lazily, feeding the beast the last apple from her pack as they awaited Gimli who was rolling away his mats and collecting his axes so that they could leave imminently.
"Edoras is a small place, I fear it will easily fall to ruin if Saruman has truly set his eyes upon it." Aragorn told her, mounting the brown horse swiftly. Jumping up after him, Mirren shielded her eyes from the new days sun.
"Then we must not let that happen."
Soon, their party set off again, racing across the grassy lands with ease.
The great homestead lay glinting in the sun, a golden gem surrounded by yellowing plains almost as far as the eye could see.
"Edoras… and the Golden Hall of Meduseld." Gandalf presented as their horses came to a stop on the crest of a hill. "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan... whose mind is overthrown."
Mirren's eyes glazed over the structures, feeling a sense of the darkness that had taken hold there.
"The King does not lead his people." She stated, thinking of Eomer, Théoden's nephew who was riding across the plains away from the King and towards the Westfold as they spoke.
"Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong." Gandalf agreed thoughtfully, "… Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here."
Mirren gripped Aragorn a little tighter, holding her horn to stop it from jostling at her side as they rode on. It had been an age since she had visited a realm of men and she disliked the thought of being unwelcome in such a place.
As they got closer, the hall towered over them. Great walls of felled timber guarded the landmark but the doors were thrown open so that Gandalf, leading the way with Shadowfax, rode into the city with little hinderance. A stray flag flapped in the wind overhead, clearly ripped from its flagpole and pushed into the gushing breeze. It fell at the hooves of Hausfel as Aragorn steered him on.
"That's not a good sign." Mirren remarked in elvish softly. The running horse of the Rohirrim now lay crumpled on the floor in a way that too eerly mirrored the lack of life within Edoras.
The city was silent. And it was not the quiet of peace. Mirren noted the people all seemed to be wearing black and thought that it must have been along time since these they had received hope. A thick layer of grief seemed shrouded over the place.
Spotting the wizard and the elves, the people shrank back, afraid.
"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard." Gimli observed, his voice echoed loudly when it should have been swallowed in a sea of voices.
None of the remainders of the Fellowship went to correct him.
Dismounting, Mirren quickly walked next to Legolas and Gimli as Gandalf led them up the steps of Meduseld to the King's hall. Aragorn flanked them, keeping a wary eye behind as they were greeted by a group of armed guards.
"I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." A red-headed captain stopped them, "By order of… Grima Wormtongue."
The name was not familiar to Mirren and she felt the dislike of it roll from the man's words into the air. Looking to Gandalf, she saw the wizard frown briefly before he nodded towards them with an encouragement that prompted the boys to hand over their weapons.
Reluctantly, Mirren lay her bow and few arrows down, raising a challenging eyebrow at the man in front of her.
"…You think that because she is woman, we will not suspect her?" One of the guards asked, looking wearily at Mirren as Aragorn and Legolas finished dumping their weapons onto the table. Gimli who was standing next to her had thrown his axe on the wood with a huff.
Mirren narrowed her blue eyes at the guard but still, he would not move to let them aside. Begrudgingly, she removed the two long daggers that were hidden at her waist by her cloak, placing them on top of her bow with a steady glare towards the fire haired guard.
"-Touch these and you will pay for it with your life." She ensured, not missing the smirk that appeared on Legolas' face beside her as she spoke.
The guard simply nodded, glancing towards the serrated edges of the blades before looking to the wizard uncomfortably, "And your staff?"
"Hmm?" Gandalf wondered, looking to his long stick with a little interest, "Oh! You wouldn't part an old man from his walking stick?"
For a moment, the guard looked doubtful but eventually moved aside, his guardsmen falling in step behind them. Mirren contained her smile as Gandalf winked effortlessly at Aragorn. To aide the wizards act, Legolas stepped towards the wizard, taking his arm as if to help him balance as they entered the great hall of Rohan's king.
The red-haired guard hovered at the door, letting them pass. Alone in the hall Mirren first glimpsed Théoden, an aging man who looked to be on the cusps of death sat clinging to the throne as if he could be pushed from it. At his side, a man in black crept, leeching onto the golden chair as he whispered sharp words into the King's ear.
So this is Grima Wormtounge, Mirren deduced, feeling grateful that she'd managed to keep the dagger in her boot from the guards searches.
"My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming." His words were muttered quietly and stank of Saruman. "He's a herald of woe."
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late...Théoden King." Gandalf called in reply across the shortening distance of the hall. The old man's silvered eyes raised to behold the wizard, who was covered in a cloak of grey.
"He's not welcome here!" Grima whispered.
"Why should I welcome you.. Gandalf… Stormcrow?" The King thus answered, each word growing in strength an animosity despite the frailty of his voice.
Mirren was distracted from a moment by the unarmoured guards who began to circle the room, slowly walking alongside them towards the King.
"A just question, my liege." Grima stood, taking control of the situation. Slowly, he advanced upon the remainders of the Fellowship, glancing at Mirren with greedy and empty eyes that made her stomach grimace. "Late is the hour...in which this conjurer chooses to appear." The unarmoured and menacing men looked at them suspiciously, closing in. "Lathspell - I name him! Ill news is an ill guest."
"Be silent, Snake!" Gandalf called, stepping without fear towards the greasy man. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death...to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."
Carefully, Gandalf shifted his weight, switching his staff from his left hand to his right.
"His staff!" Grima's eyes widened in fright, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" His repetitions and shock went unheard by the Rohirrim but the unarmoured men closed the trap. Attacking suddenly from all angles. Diving upon them like fish in a barrel.
Prepared, Mirren dodged the first blow that was thrown at her, kneeing the man in the groin before he crumpled to the floor.
Quickly she tripped another one up, causing him to fall into the path of Legolas who swiftly punched him in the face.
"Théoden...son of Thengel...too long have you sat in the Shadows." Gandalf proclaimed, slowly approaching the thrown. "Harken to me!... I release you from this spell."
Mirren watched as Gandalf raised his hands towards the old man.
But the spell did nothing.
Grima shuffled across the floor in a feeble attempt to escape. Gimli huffed and stamped his boot across his chest. "I would stay still if I were you." The dwarf advised.
A mocking laugh erupted from the King and Théoden's milky white eyes widened to challenge the wizard.
"You have no power here… Gandalf the Grey."
Frustrated, Mirren watched mesmerised as the old wizard threw off his grey cloak, flooding the hall with a bright white light.
Raising a hand to prevent her blindness the elleth could see Théoden being pushed to the back of his thrown by an invisible force,
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" The wizard stepped forward once more, thrusting his staff towards the King.
From the back of the hall a fair maiden ran forth, reaching up towards Théoden. Seeing her worry, Aragorn grabbed her arm and told her to wait, quietly, as Saruman fought back. Théoden squirmed in pain under the glare of Gandalf's power.
"If I go Théoden dies!" Saruman warned through the voice of the King, Mirren winced at his words and the sharp gasped that came from the long blonde haired woman in Aragorn's arms.
"You did not kill me…You will not kill him." Gandalf disagreed.
"Rohan is mine!"
With a final thrust of his staff the wizard called "Be gone!" And Mirren watched, amazed as the King slumped in his chair, groaning in pain.
As the King began to loose his strength, the white Lady broke from Aragorn's grasp, reaching out to catch him as he slid from his seat.
Unclenching her hands, Mirren sighed as the power of Saruman was completely removed. Colour returned to the mans face, his eyes cleared and his hair grew darker.
"I know your face…" He breathed slowly, studying the woman who held him with fresh eyes, "Eowyn!"
Eowyn smiled brightly and Mirren saw that her beauty was young and fresh.
"Gandalf?" The King muttered, looking towards his saviour,
"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Gandalf smiled.
Shakily, the King of Rohan stood, casting his eyes over the hall and all who lingered there.
"Dark have been my dreams of late." He muttered, his voice completely changed after being freed from the clutches of Saruman.
He looked amazed at his hands, feeling his skin and the strength that was returning to them.
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better…if they held your sword." Gandalf prompted, nodding to Théoden's guards.
The red-haired captain stepped forward, offering the King a mighty long sword. Théoden accepted it and drew it in front of him, recalling the song of the steel, testing the weight of the blade. Gently, he smiled.
In the lines of his face and the grief that lay deeply set in the light of his eyes, Mirren was reminded of her father. She wondered without possible answer whether Mordor's darkness had yet spread to his lands, interrupting his work and all things that bought him joy there.
Catching Legolas' gaze, Mirren saw the look of worry that was laid there and cursed herself for being read so easily. She smiled a small smile and saw it returned softly.
Meanwhile the King turned his attention to Gimli's shoes. Or at least the wriggling man who was trapped by the weight of the dwarf's sturdy boot.
Swiftly, Théoden's man grasped the Grima and dragged him out of the hall.
With his sword held high, the king watched as his guards brutally tossed the man down the stairs of Meduseld.
"I've only...ever served you, my lord." Grima tried, scurrying backwards on his hands down the last of the steps.
"Your leechcraft would have me crawling around on all fours like a beast!" Théoden accused, unsteadily climbing down the stairs towards the traitor. Mirren watched as Aragorn followed him hesitantly and wondered what he was doing.
"Send me not from your sight!" Grima begged.
With a yell, the King began to swing his sword, unaware of the crowd of people gathering at the sound of the commotion.
"No, my lord! No, my lord." Swiftly, Aragorn caught his arms in mid-air, staying his blade and the kill he would have made. "Let him go… Enough blood has been spilt on his account."
Slowly, the King lowered his golden blade.
With grace, Aragorn turned his attention to Grima, who lay frozen in fear on the ground. Gently, the Ranger held his hand out, offering the man some help to stand.
Mirren winced from the top of the stairs as the ill looking man spat on the offer, scampering away as if someone had set his coattails on fire.
Aragorn shook his hand off with disgust.
"Hail Théoden King!" The fire-haired captain called out when the commotion had settled.
Slowly the people of Edoras knelt. Unsure of what they had witnessed before the King's hall but feeling lighter at the appearance of Théoden, looking healthy and strong.
"Where is my son?" The King wondered slowly, as if he was still the man, made old by Saruman's power. "Where is Theodred?" He asked again, turning.
"The King's son is dead." Legolas whispered sadly in her ear so only she could hear and Mirren raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"I heard the servants whispering of it on our arrival." He explained, pulling his gaze past the gates, where the two elves could see the dust kicked up by Grima's horse as he carved his way across the plains towards Isengard.
Mirren frowned; her heart heavy with sorry for the King.
"The heirs of all men will not go untouched by this war." She sighed, turning her gaze on Aragorn, who followed the crowd of men and bowed to the King of Rohan on the steps of Edoras.
AN: Just a short one, thanks for all the love and stay safe xx J