We're going to play a little loose with the timeline here, since both the book and movie are so fast-paced in moving from Edoras to Helm's Deep. I need the characters to breathe a little bit, so you might notice a couple days added here or there to the plot. I've tried to stick to the timeline pretty well otherwise, so hopefully y'all won't mind too much!

Also, I wanted to say thank you to all the guest reviewers reading this story—I can't respond to your reviews if you're not logged in, so let me tell y'all now how much I appreciate it! We're almost at 25K views for this story (just in time for chapter 25!) and I'm still overwhelmed that anyone besides me wants to read what I'm writing. Thank you all so much!

Chapter 25: I Use Horses in All of My Decorating

Eomer didn't seem to be good at waiting.

I could hear him pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath, as the hours ticked by. I couldn't blame him, I supposed, but it was putting my teeth on edge. At last I couldn't take it anymore and I took his lead, walking restlessly around the perimeter of my little cell, arms wrapped around myself for warmth. Spring hadn't come yet, and the air was clammy and cold. My plain cotton servant's dress wasn't doing much for me, either. The fabric was well-worn and thin, and it was made for someone much broader-shouldered than me, though at least that meant I could tuck my hands into the too-long sleeves.

There were rats in my cell, too—I hadn't expected that, my last prison sentence having been served high in a stone tower. They didn't come too close, thankfully, but when a wary-looking guard finally stopped by with some bread, cheese, and water, I sprinkled some breadcrumbs in the corner for my new rodent friends as a peace offering. "Here you go, little fellas," I muttered. Radagast must have rubbed off on me, I thought wryly.

"Who are you speaking to?" Eomer asked from his cell.

I felt myself flush. "A couple of rats."

He sighed in what might have been exasperation. "You seem to be taking this rather well, at least."

"Yeah, well, this isn't my first stint in prison."

"Truly?"

I laughed miserably—saying that made me sound like some sort of delinquent, even though I'd never so much as gotten a speeding ticket back home. "It's a long story," I muttered.

"We have nothing but time," Eomer prompted. "Your friends told me very little of your history. I would know how you caught the attention of a wizard."

I leaned bitterly against the door of my cell, staring up at the sliver of sunlight filtering down to the straw floor, and began to explain. Eomer interrupted even more than Alfric had, but in tones of increasing incredulity and annoyance. When I'd finally caught him up—avoiding any mention of the Ring, of course—I was at the end of my rope. He could believe me or not, it didn't matter.

The day dragged on, and we lapsed back into a stiff silence. I took to humming to myself, tapping out melodies against the mildewing walls, and as night fell I drifted off to the memory of elvish music from Lothlorien and Rivendell, my knees curled tight to my chest for warmth.

I woke to the sound of Eomer's cell bursting open.

A group of soldiers had poured into the prison, a confusing rush of Rohirric words accompanying them. They exchanged urgent words with Eomer, who replied in kind.

"What's going on?" I said, standing up with difficulty. It must have been late morning, or even after noon already, given how stiff and frozen my limbs were. Cold had seeped deep into my bones during the night, and I shivered as I pressed my face against the iron bars of my cell, trying to see into the hall.

It took a long moment for the guards to notice me. "The White Wizard—the White Wizard has come to Edoras!" one of them told me.

"What?" I cried, leaping back in horror. But there was no response—the guards were departing, taking Eomer with them. Their rapid-fire words were cut off abruptly as the prison doors thudded shut.

I paced restlessly around my cell in the following silence, kicking helplessly at the damp straw on the ground. How was it possible—Saruman was here? But why? Had Wormtongue lost control of Theoden? Had Saruman come for me? Surely he couldn't have, could he?

Time crawled by—two or three hours at most, though it felt like lifetimes—until the doors opened again.

"…kept in that cell there, my lord," a guard was saying.

"She should have been released to us at once," came a stern rebuke, and I flinched. It had been so long since I'd heard it, but I was sure—it was Saruman's voice. The White Wizard.

My eyes darted uselessly back and forth for some kind of escape, or something to defend myself with—but of course there was nothing. Overwhelming panic was bubbling up in my lungs, and I grabbed fistfuls of my dress in my hands to stop them from shaking. Be bold, be bold—I squared my shoulders as footsteps approached my cell. Saruman had taken so much from me, but at least I could keep my dignity. I wouldn't show him that I was afraid. I wouldn't.

At last the White Wizard approached my door, and my breath caught at the familiar sight of the tall, imposing figure, the sweeping white robes, a wild white beard—then I blinked. I rubbed my eyes and blinked again.

It wasn't Saruman at all.

"Gandalf?"

"Well met, Beatrice Smith," he said. Gandalf's voice was so similar to Saruman's—had it always been so similar?—though I could hear the differences now, a weathered warmth in his tone that the other wizard lacked. A helmeted guard unlocked the cell door with a heavy key, and Gandalf smiled at me wearily in greeting. "I had not hoped to find you in prison again, though I am glad to see you nonetheless."

Tears sprang to my eyes. "How are you here? What's happening? You…you fell."

"Yes, yes, I fell, and I climbed, and I traveled far indeed, perhaps even farther than you have," Gandalf replied. "But such a tale should not be recounted in a prison cell." He beckoned me forward, but I didn't move.

"Is this a trick?" It seemed like something Saruman might do—lure me out, convince me I was losing my mind—but why?

The White Wizard smiled gently, an expression I wasn't sure Saruman was capable of. "It is no trick, dear girl."

But after everything Saruman had done, I wasn't sure I could believe it. If this really was Gandalf, how could he look at me so kindly, how could he be happy to see me? Didn't he remember what I'd said to him in Moria, how close I'd come to ruining everything? You never had any faith in me, not when we first met and not now, you think I'm too weak to do it! To think I looked up to you when I was young—

"Follow me, now. Food and warmth will do you good, I daresay."

I barely heard him, guilt and shame lowering my gaze to the ground. I took a step back. Hear me now, Beatrice: were we not in Moria, I would turn you from the Company without delay. How could he stand to speak to me, calmly and kindly, as though I hadn't wanted to strike him, scream at him, wrest the Ring from around Frodo's neck and abandon them all?

"Look at me, Beatrice. It is beyond your grasp now," Gandalf said gently, and I jumped, startled that he'd interpreted my hesitancy so clearly.

But if he knew…no one else in the Fellowship had known but Sam, which meant— "It's really you," I said, and burst into tears.

"Yes, Beatrice, I have returned, and only just in time it seems." Placing a hand on my shoulder, he guided me outdoors, where I blinked wetly in the harsh sunlight.

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "About—about what I said in Moria. I'm so sorry." The words felt hollow, insufficient. How could I possibly articulate it, the misery, the shame, that followed our argument in the mines?

"Dwell on it no more for the present," he said, brushing the words aside. "It seems no lasting harm was done, after all."

His answer seemed just as insufficient as my apology, but I nodded uneasily. This was all just so strange—since my dad had died when I was little, I'd never lost anyone close to me, and I'd certainly never imagined someone coming back, wizard or not. But why did his return have to be tinged with such bitterness, this horrible feeling that I was unworthy of his kindness, his understanding? Despite what Gandalf said, I wasn't sure "lasting harm" hadn't been done after all—he hadn't seen the hatred and fear on Sam's face, or known just how close I'd come to taking it. Don't dwell on it, I repeated Gandalf's words to myself, uselessly. Just for the present.

I wiped at my eyes and saw belatedly that the wizard was guiding me toward Meduseld. "Wait," I said, hesitating. "I was imprisoned for treason. And—and murder. I can't just go back, Wormtongue won't—"

"You will find, Beatrice, that much has changed in the Golden Hall this day." At my stunned look, he added, "Theoden King has been healed, and the worm whispering in his ear has gone silent."

My jaw dropped. "Is Wormtongue dead, then?"

"No, no. He was given a chance to redeem himself, but refused. He was released from the king's service and is likely making his way back to his master in Isengard as we speak."

"Y'all just let him go?" I cried. "After everything he—"

"He was a lord of Rohan, and served Theoden King for many years. I understand your reservations, Beatrice, but the king, as well as Strider and I, thought this for the best."

I frowned, then realized what Gandalf had said. "Wait, you mean Strider is here too?"

"Not only Strider," called a voice from the steps of the Golden Hall. "Say not that you have forgotten me, now!"

"Legolas!" I cried. The elf waved cheerily at me from the wooden doors, and I leapt up the stairs and hugged him. He wore his Lothlorien cloak, and his streaming blond hair was flawless as ever—he certainly didn't look as though he'd just torn across the Riddermark on foot.

"I thought I'd heard your strange accent," he said, beaming and beckoning me into the hall. "I am glad to see you again, dear Bee."

"So you and Strider made it—did y'all find the hobbits? Are they here too?"

Legolas faltered, sending a hesitant look back at Gandalf. "Gandalf has promised us that the hobbits are safe in Fangorn Forest," the elf said. "Rest assured we did our best to find them, but they were beyond our grasp, and it seemed that we were needed most in Edoras, so to Edoras we came."

"Oh." My stomach twisted. I'd been so eager to see the hobbits again, and now I clenched my fists restlessly, having no outlet for the fierce protective instinct that had reared up inside me over the last few days.

"Peace, Beatrice," Gandalf said gently. "Merry and Pippin will be well in our absence. Frodo and Sam, meanwhile—" here the wizard lowered his voice to a whisper, "have carried on the quest alone."

I nodded, feigning surprise at his words; he didn't know I knew, after all. But I didn't need to feign my worry, which bubbled up painfully in my chest again at the thought of the little hobbits, all alone, making their way through a land so dangerous and horrifying that it defied my every attempt to imagine it.

I scowled and looked around the hall, trying to push the worry from my mind. This part of Meduseld was new to me, since I'd been ferried inside in secret days earlier. Dust motes hung heavy in the beams of light trailing down from the carved wooden ceiling. They glowed along the rows of wood pillars, which were delicately carved with images of horses rearing, running, or bearing riders with painted helmets gleaming gold.

"So, what do you think of Rohan?" Legolas asked me. "This is your first taste of mortal life in all of Middle Earth—not a bad place to start, I would say, dour as its people seem to me. It has perhaps too few trees for my taste, and their décor has rather too many horses—ah, Aragorn!" he interrupted himself. "You see? We have found Bee at last!" Legolas waved toward the end of the hall, where Strider stood talking with Eomer, Eowyn, and an older man in heavy furs. The elf pointed to me triumphantly.

"Beatrice!" Strider exclaimed, approaching us. Unlike Legolas, Strider certainly looked worse for wear, his traveling clothes stained with dirt and his hair filthy. He squeezed my shoulder, looking exhausted and relieved. "A wild hunt you have led us on. And you are injured," he added, eyeing the bruises along my neck and jaw, which had gone an unpleasant green. "Has a healer seen to you?"

"I'm fine, really—they patched me up alright in the servants' quarters." It was only partly true, though; my jaw still ached where Ugluk had struck me, and the cuts on my legs and back from the Uruk-hai's whips tugged painfully when I walked, exacerbated by the cold and damp of my prison cell.

"As you say," Strider said, raising an eyebrow. "But at least you might don your elven cloak again, for you look chilled to the bone."

He directed me toward a table near the entryway, where their weapons had been stockpiled. A familiar green-gray cloak sat folded nearby, as well as a cloth violin case. I gasped. "You brought my violin! I was so worried—I thought it'd been lost!" Tears sprang to my eyes, and I clutched the case to my chest.

Legolas laughed. "I told you, Aragorn—she missed that instrument more than she did us!"

"Don't be ridiculous," I exclaimed, dragging both man and elf into a hug before turning back to my things. Almost everything was here—not just my violin, but the elvish blade Lanion had chosen for me all those months ago, the compass and Swiss army knife I'd taken from the helicopter, and even my Lothlorien cloak, now torn and stained.

"I can't believe y'all carried my things all this way," I said, my voice catching.

Strider adjusted my elven cloak around my shoulders, enveloping me in sudden warmth. "To do otherwise would be to admit defeat, and that we would not do. Now we must only wait for Gimli and Boromir, and be reunited with the hobbits. It will happen, Beatrice—it must."

I nodded, twisting my too-long sleeves in my fingers. "How long will it take for Boromir and Gimli to get here?"

"You must be patient," he said. "For Boromir was gravely wounded, and his progress will be slow, even on horseback."

I pulled the cloak tighter around my shoulders, frowning.

Gandalf and Strider spoke to one another in low voices for a while, then the wizard turned back to me. "One thing remains to be done, Beatrice, before you may rest. Allow me to introduce you to Theoden King."

"Oh—what, now?" I stammered as Gandalf steered me away. A king, a real king? Strider was a king too, though, wasn't he? But it wasn't the same, not yet, not when I'd met him in Rivendell as Strider the ranger, humble and travel-worn. A king with a crown and throne still seemed like some far-off fairy tale concept to me, even after all my time spent in Middle Earth.

"Westu hal, Theoden King," the wizard said, bending his head to the older man speaking with Eomer and Eowyn. "You will forgive the interruption, I hope."

Looking between the three Rohirrim, there was a striking family resemblance in their strong jaws and stern, sky-colored eyes. Theoden King's hair was iron-gray, his cloak and tunic richly furnished with embroidered horses and lined with furs. His eyes were clear and focused, though rimmed with red, and I wondered suddenly if he had been crying.

"This is the witch Beatrice, then?" the man said, studying me closely.

Gandalf whacked me with his elbow and I sank into a hurried curtsey. "Yes, your majesty," I replied. "I mean—not exactly. I'm not a witch, I'm just—"

"If you prefer the title of sorceress, it makes little difference," Theoden said, frowning. "My sister-son informed me of your origin and abilities. In truth, it sits ill with me to allow someone of such alien background under the roof of my hall. But you are fortunate indeed to have such friends to vouch for you. You may remain in the Riddermark for as long as you have need," he went on. "Your strange weapon may also be returned to you, under the strict provision that you not use it while in my lands." At this, he handed me the flare gun and two remaining flares from within his cloak. "With this, I absolve you of the charges for which you were accused, Beatrice. Walk amongst the Rohirrim freely."

"Thank you," I said. Gandalf nudged me again. "Your majesty," I added quickly, and Eomer raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Now, Gandalf, if you will, I have much to discuss with my family," Theoden said, his voice stiff. "Too long I have lived as one asleep, but the Riddermark at last will look upon the world with waking eyes."

"If I may, Uncle, I would show Bee to the servants' quarters, where lodging awaits her," Eowyn said, glancing between me and the king.

Theoden nodded in agreement, and I waved to Gandalf and the others as we left the hall.

"I am glad to see you free and safe again," Eowyn said at last.

"Thanks," I replied lamely, wondering why she'd offered to take me the servants' quarters herself—she was basically a princess, wasn't she? "Your uncle seems to be doing well," I added after a moment.

"Yes." Eowyn was quiet for a long while. "He—you saw him in the hall just now. He speaks to me, looks at me. He knows me again." A weak smile flitted across her face, and she shook her head. "It is strange that such sorrow and such joy should be mingled this day."

"Sorrow?"

She nodded gravely. "Now that he has come to himself, Theoden King has a funeral to plan. My cousin shall be buried this evening," she added in explanation. "My uncle blames himself, I know, and I cannot but wonder if he was—" She swallowed. "If he was perhaps happier, unburdened with such knowledge, under Wormtongue's influence."

I didn't know what to say to that, and I wondered if Eowyn had simply offered to walk with me because she wanted to clear her thoughts for a moment. "I'm sorry," I said gently.

"Forgive such grave musings," Eowyn said at last. "For we have hope anew, now that Gandalf the White is come. And Aragorn as well—he…" She broke off, color rising to her cheeks, and we walked the rest of the way to the servants' quarters in silence. "Here we are, then. Farewell, Beatrice."

"Wait," I blurted, pausing in the doorway. "Your cousin's funeral is this evening, right?" She nodded. "Do you—do you want me to come?"

Eowyn frowned, looking confused. "There is no need. Bathe, rest, and be well."

I sighed. I'd meant the offer more as emotional support, but I supposed that was overfamiliar. "Alright then. See you around."

Eowyn turned away, and I pushed open the heavy wooden door. The servants' quarters were bustling with activity, many of the maids eating a quick meal or cleaning up before their dinner shifts. They all turned to stare at me, and I swallowed nervously, trying to avoid their gazes.

"Miss Bee?" A small voice broke the silence—Griyr, the girl whose bed I'd shared that first night in the Riddermark.

"Hey," I said, glad to see a familiar face.

"We've made up a spare bed for you this time, Miss," she said. "I'll show you, if you like."

"Thanks." I followed her, trying to ignore everyone's stares, and set down my things on the bed.

"A sword?" another woman exclaimed under her breath. "Is it a good idea to allow her weapons, I wonder?"

"Well, I'm hardly going to take it from her," someone else whispered. "I don't want a curse put on my family!"

"Wait," I said, wincing. "I'm not—"

"Is it true what everyone's saying, Miss?" Griyr blurted, eyeing me with a wary sort of awe. "Are you a sorceress?"

I bit back a groan. "Come on, you had to help me wash my own hair when I got here," I told her gently. "Of course I'm not a sorceress!"

Several of the other women grumbled in disbelief, until a door slammed behind them.

"What's this?" The housekeeper, Wulfrun, folded her arms and glared at them all. "Well?" she barked, and all the maids jumped. "Don't just stand about! Get to work, brainless girls, or Bema help me, I'll cut your wages, see if I don't!"

The other servants scattered.

"Come now, girl—let's get you a bath," Wulfrun said, much more warmly. She patted my shoulder, then paused and brushed at the fabric under her fingers, which was still plastered with dirt and pieces of straw. "Bema, child, what have you done to your dress?" she snapped, her kindly demeanor evaporating at once. "Could you have at least tried to stay clean? Did they raise you with no manners at all in that foreign land of yours?"

"Sorry, ma'am," I said, trying not to roll my eyes in fond exasperation—what had she expected of a prison cell, after all?

"What are you grinning about, girl?"

I coughed hastily. "Nothing." Wulfrun scowled and whacked my hand, though she shook her head fondly as she led me away. I smiled again, despite myself.

It was good to be free again.

Okay, look, I know I promised several of y'all over PM that my next chapter would 100% have Boromir in it, and all I can say is I'm sorry. I'm a dirty rotten liar. But y'all still got the best reunion of all- Bee has her violin again! Really though, the next chapter is almost completely done and I'll have it up within a week- and it has so much Boromir y'all. So much. Hopefully y'all can forgive me, and don't forget to leave a quick review, if you'd like!