AN: A whole hundred reviews already, really? I love you guys. Have a chapter.
Chapter 39: The King and the Snake
The following morning we came up on the hills outside of Edoras and I was startled by how still the place was. Years ago I had been able to hear the town before I could see it; now there was very little movement and little chimney smoke. "I don't like this," I muttered.
"It is too quiet," Boromir agreed.
We rode down to the gate anyway. Gandalf was at the head of the company and spoke first, a call for the guards to let us in.
One came out from a protective structure to reply, "Gandalf we know, and Lord Boromir, and Lady Cassandra, but who are your friends and what is your purpose here?" For some reason they were speaking Rohirric.
"While I understand your language well, not many others do," Gandalf replied in their language, "Why not speak the Common Speech if you want an answer?"
"It is the will of King Theoden that none should enter his gates, save those who know our tongue and are our friends," the main guard, a middle aged man, replied, "None are welcome save our own folk and those that come from Mundberg, in Gondor, or the city of Tharbad. Who are you, riding horses like ours? State your purpose!"
Honestly, I was flattered for my hometown to be included. We were really getting places, I thought at my aunt.
Aragorn then made the persuasive case that we were all friends since we were here returning horses we borrowed. Thieves don't ride home to the stable.
There was little movement in the guard's expression.
Annoyed, I hissed at Boromir, "Get your feet out," and felt him uncomfortably leave the stirrups. Then I stood up in the saddle to demand attention. "Hey, they're with Boromir and I, and we want to see my sisters! Can we come in?" I called.
The main guard's eyes lit up in recognition. "Let me send up my son with a warning, and then I'll let you in," he answered, "What are your friend's names?"
"You know Gandalf, Boromir, and I," I listed out, "Our friends are Aragorn son of Arathorn, who Matt might have called Strider, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli of the Lonely Mountain." I made sure to wave at each person as I mentioned their name.
There was a bit of whispering between the main guard and his son, who must have been only eighteen or nineteen, before he called out, "Alright, open the gates, fellas!" in Rohirric.
We trotted inside to see a ghost town. The buildings stood and were well-maintained, but there was little life. An occasional person would peek out of their shutters, but doors were barred the whole way up the hill to the royal stables. Godiva's house was shuttered and barred without smoke coming from the chimney; I wondered if she had died or left the city.
At the stables we presented the horses back to where they belonged without fuss. Getting into the palace was much less pleasant.
Sitting outside the doors, Hama hopped up and stopped us. "I can't allow you to see the king so armed," he told us with a grimace, "By order of… Grima Wormtongue."
Oh good, we'd come right in time before everyone was purged. I handed my halberd to one of Hama's subordinates, warning him, "That thing's elf-made, so be careful."
Suddenly he found a place to lean it, expression frightened.
"Don't worry, this one's human made," I joked and handed him my hammer.
It was set beside my halberd.
Aragorn removed the dagger from his boot, so I sighed and followed his lead, one from my left side and one from my belt. With a stern warning Boromir put his own weapons against the wall beside mine.
I trusted Grima about a quarter as far as I could throw him, so I kept my hair up around a mallorn stick that I had sharpened into a stabbing instrument in Lothlorien. The sharp end was hidden by neck and collar so no one even saw it as I smiled and waited for everyone else to disarm themselves.
"Your staff," Hama then had the gall to tell Gandalf.
I expected a thunderous rebuke. Instead, Gandalf played his hand masterfully. "You wouldn't part an old man from his walking stick," he said softly and began to visibly lean on it.
For a second, Hama thought about it. When he stood aside, his smile was grim but it was there.
The theatrics of Gandalf leaning on Legolas was just too good. I'd never let him live this down, I decided with a wicked grin.
The hall was as quiet as the town but here unfriendly eyes watched us. They didn't bother hiding, just skulked in the shadows. A few I recognized but most were new to me, Grima's cronies.
At the end of the hall King Theoden sat, but I barely recognized him. I hadn't thought much about it when Matt mentioned an ageing spell but now I was shocked by it; King Theoden looked twice his age and had the pallor of a corpse. He wouldn't last much longer, I realized with dread.
And next to him in rich black furs that he hadn't earned, Grima whispered. Had he managed to get paler? The fear in his eyes made me smile.
I gave him a finger-wagging little wave.
"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Theoden King," Gandalf reprimanded, beginning to ease off of his leaning act.
Grima whispered something into King Theoden's ear. In a voice that was more like the groan of a ghost than the vibrant king I knew, he wheezed, "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" He leaned back partially against Wormtongue as if just speaking had taken great strength.
Nodding like a parent would to a small child, the craven counsellor stood. "A just question, my liege. Late is the hour in which this conjuror chooses to appear," he sneered, "Lothspell, I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."
I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him. Gandalf's got this, I told myself as I glared furiously at the wretch.
"Be silent!" Gandalf barked, "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crude words with a witless worm." He angled his staff in a ready stance against Wormtongue.
The man fell back, furiously complaining at his cronies, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"
They took that as an order and suddenly it was a ballroom blitz. Gandalf was the target so the rest of us surrounded him as he moved slowly forward through the hall, taking all comers.
I didn't feel right possibly killing a human so at least while the threat was minimal, I kept my shank in my hair. Hands and feet worked well enough on the ill-trained brutes Grima had brought in. I was pretty sure even Rosie could defeat half of these guys, I thought, disgusted as one ran right into Legolas's fist.
There was a feminine grunt of effort and a smashing sound behind me that made me spin around, only to find myself face to face with a man covered in some kind of milk and on the edge of unconsciousness. Just to make sure, I punched him.
He fell over and I took my eyes off him to greet my savior. "Andy!" I cheered and despite being splashed with the milk, I hugged her tightly.
She carefully kept the broken bottle from cutting me while she squeezed me half to death. "Does the nick of time mean anything to you?" she asked with a strained smile.
"Harken to me!" Gandalf demanded, taking our attention.
King Theoden growled slightly, like a cornered animal.
Like some TV exorcism Gandalf raised his hand and closed his eyes. "I release you from this spell," he stated.
The noise King Theoden made then was the creepiest thing I'd heard since Moria: he laughed, a cracked sound that reminded me of creaking floorboards. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey," he cackled.
Then Gandalf got down to business. He threw off his cloak and began emitting a bright white light that seemed to physically force Theoden against the back of his throne. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" he proclaimed.
A flash of white was all the warning I got before Eowyn ran over to try and help her uncle. Andy and I were too busy holding onto each other to catch her but thankfully Aragorn had his wits about him.
The smile that crusted over King Theoden's lips would probably give me nightmares. "If I go, Theoden dies," said a voice that was certainly not his, triumphant.
Andy's hands clutched mine so tightly that I lost feeling in my fingers.
"He's lying," I whispered. He had to be, or we were fucked.
The king's seemingly ancient body was slammed back against his throne again.
"You could not kill me, you will not kill him," Gandalf stated firmly.
"Rohan is mine," snarled Saruman through King Theoden's mouth.
Of course he didn't see it but I managed to free one of my hands enough to give him the finger.
"Be gone!" Gandalf boomed.
Like some wild thing, King Theoden then physically lunged at Gandalf. My mouth dropped open as with a single hit to the forehead, the king was sent reeling back onto his throne. Within seconds there was a change; the long beard began to fade away and his color improved. Just a few blinks seemed to pass before he looked as he always had, if a bit whiter in the hair.
Aragorn released Eowyn, who skidded to her knees at the throne. "Uncle?" she whispered.
Even King Theoden looked like he couldn't believe it. "I know your face," he said, smiling tenderly at his niece, "Eowyn."
With a last squeeze to my blood-deprived hands, Andy joined her in-laws at the throne. She smiled down at the reunion with suspiciously bright eyes.
King Theoden smiled up at her, then his face turned to one of awed surprise as he said Gandalf's name.
"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf advised.
I found Boromir watching from the other side of the hall and went to lean my head on his shoulder. "You're not hurt?" I asked, just to be sure.
"No. Are you?" he whispered as someone brought the king's sword to him.
"Nah. Andy covered me," I replied.
As soon as King Theoden had his bare sword in hand, he gave a stern look at where Grima cowered at Gimli's feet.
I wanted to see what would happen to the wretch but weariness hit me so suddenly, it was like a pot brownie kicking in. "I'm going to go wash up and take a nap," I whispered into Boromir's ear as he pulled away to go watch the commotion, "Can you pick up my weapons when you get yours?"
We parted ways with a murmur and I slowly trudged out of the main hall toward the bedrooms. It felt like my feet were melting into the flagstones and I only had meters before I'd lose them entirely.
Thankfully that was enough to find Rohesia, linens piled in her arms. "Are you alright?" she asked immediately, hitching up her burden in her arms.
"I need a wash and a nap. Can you make that happen?" I requested, leaning on a wall.
"Of course," she replied immediately, "Let me deliver these and I'll be back for you." She then hurried off down the corridor and around a corner.
My mind wandered while I was alone. Not counting Frodo and Sam, everyone was in relatively stable positions; I counted that as a success. The challenge now was figuring out how I'd react to Boromir now that we weren't in the process of running ourselves to death.
Consciously, I knew that the danger was over and he was the man I married again. The problem is always convincing my unconscious self, the one that gives me gut feelings and makes me jump like a jack-in-the-box.
I grimaced. Damn Sauron.
Thankfully Rohesia returned before I could self-assess any further, showing me to the room I had used during the weddings. Reminding me of better days. "Is there anything you need besides washing supplies?" she asked, "Do you need Miss Mackey?"
My stomach growled. "Don't worry about it, I'm not injured, I just might sleep until the day after tomorrow. If anybody wants to know why, have them ask Boromir or Aragorn." I instructed dryly, "A set of clean clothes would be wonderful."
For a moment Rohesia lingered in the doorway. "Thank you, and your friends and Gandalf, for your help. It feels like we have hope again," she said shyly before she scurried away.
I smiled to myself and took a long, deep breath. Hope. That sounded nice.
Unfortunately Aragorn wouldn't let me sleep the full two days I wanted to sleep, dragging me to planning groups and conferences that I barely took in. They would ask questions about the odds of Tharbad joining them at war if they declared it, or what kind of resources they could contribute in that case. Who would be sent, and their war practices. Andy and Mackey had been in Edoras longer than Tharbad, so I was their best source of information about a very probable ally.
When I wasn't grumpily tired, I was simply sad to tell him that we were just a large village at this point. If King Theoden asked then Aunt Libby would send as many men as were willing to go, and as many supplies as they could spare. It just simply wasn't much numerically.
As I told him those odds, King Theoden nodded to himself. "Will the Wild Men be an obstacle for sending us men?" he asked, clearly making some kingly calculations I could only imagine.
"I doubt it. Tharbad and the Senones are trading partners and they really dislike how Saruman is making the entire forest stink up. Some fanatics might try. Not many, though," I replied, smiling wickedly across the table at Boromir.
"Senones… I recall that word," King Theoden murmured and squinted his eyes shut like remembering hurt.
I gave Boromir a tight smile and nodded to him, asking him to take the wheel here.
"That is what the Dunlendings call themselves," Boromir replied, "During the wedding, we were attacked by orcs. The chieftain of the Senones saved my life and Theodred saved his in the battle. Theodred has been trying to improve relations with them since."
King Theoden's eyebrows shot up, then down into a frown as he searched his memory. "That would explain how few deaths there have been in the Westfold," he murmured. He shook his head, incredulous.
"I had thought that Theodred was being fooled and far too ambitious and trusting," King Theoden sighed. "If the Dunlendings- the Senones- leave Rohan to itself, then we will leave them to themselves for the length of this war," he decided, "While I am unsure that I trust them, I will trust in Theodred's judgment and Tharbad's treaties with them."
Dammit, we needed a formal treaty now. I put it on the mental list of things that Tharbad apparently needed to become a real city.
"You say that Matthew told you that Theodred vanished at the Fords of Isen. That is closer to your realm than mine; what can they do to find him?" Theoden then demanded.
My lips went thin but I kept my tone in check. "They're currently avoiding parts around Isengard except for a run through the gauntlet with the trade route," I replied, reminding myself that he was a parent in fear for his child's life as much as a king whose heir is MIA, "If you think a message can get through, they'd be willing to look for him."
Even mentioning sending someone brought a dawning, grim realization. "Saruman is blocking the way," he murmured.
I nodded to myself. Who ever thought a wizard could be such a pain in the ass?
The doors opened and the same teenage son of the gate warden hurried up to the table where everyone sat. "My Lord," he murmured to King Theoden, "There are two children. They say that their village was burnt and one has collapsed."
The mention of someone collapsing made Mackey and I look at each other. "They're children, you'd be better off handling them," I told her with a grimace that made my scars go a bit tight.
Thankfully neither was injured, beyond having rode days without food or water. All it took to revive the little boy and girl was being hustled into the hall and presented with sustenance. I moved myself several seats down from where Mackey and Eowyn fussed over them, closer to where Andy had Mackey's and her own children.
"Are they going to be okay?" asked Godric, Andy's son.
"Yeah, sweetie. They just came a really long way," Andy replied and kissed his curly strawberry blonde head. When she looked across the table at me, her eyes were troubled.
I smiled grimly across the table at them. I was going to add in my own reassurances but the words "Wild Men" made my heart beat faster.
"There were only five or six of them but all the men were out in the fields," the boy was explaining, barely young enough to not have been in the fields himself, "There was no defending ourselves, so Mama told us to come to Edoras and tell the king that the Wild Men were breaking their promise."
"Promise?" King Theoden asked, frowning.
The boy nodded vigorously and almost missed his mouth with the spoon. "Years ago the Wild Men came out and started trading with us, and promised to not attack our village unless we attacked theirs. We did nothing to them," he explained.
"Where's Mama?" the girl asked and was shushed gently by Eowyn.
King Theoden's eyes went to mine and he raised an eyebrow in silent demand.
"Like I said, there are some extremists," I told him with a little helpless shrug.
It didn't seem to be enough for King Theoden, but Gandalf seized on that. "This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash, only diminished by treaties and friendship. More will come, and more potent, a force of orcs and uruk-hai, for Saruman is driven mad for fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head-on. Drive him away from your women and children. You must fight," he advised. How odd it was to see Grima's oily black presence traded for its exact opposite.
At the same time, I thought Gandalf to be a bit mad in this gambit. There were so few soldiers, or adults in general, in this town for that to ever work. Though like Aragorn said, if Eomer and Matt could get their men here fast enough…
There seemed to be a bit of tension between King Theoden and Aragorn, both clearly feeling vulnerable and out of control. King Theoden was still regaining himself after Saruman's spell and Grima's manipulations, and was understandably looking underneath the underneath in this stranger with the kingly aura.
Of course King Theoden did the exact thing that nobody else wanted. He decided to head for Helm's Deep.
The second the men were out of earshot of the king, they began to complain. "Helm's Deep! They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight!" Gandalf huffed as he led the march to the stable.
"He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people," Aragorn said, clearly wondering what he would do were he the king.
"Helm's Deep is a mighty fortress and has saved them in the past," Boromir pointed out.
Once in the stable, Gandalf said in a low voice, "There is no way out of that ravine. Theoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they'll get is a massacre." His eyes were haunted with the possibilities.
"Uh, sorry if I sound stupid, but is there a better choice?" I put in, suddenly very aware that I had much less knowledge of the medieval battlefield than my companions, "Cause staying here with the few people there are, is suicide beyond what even I'll put up with." Edoras barely even had an effective wall and one set spark would bring it tumbling down.
Gandalf shook his head, suddenly harried as he set about getting Shadowfax ready for the journey ahead. "There being no better alternative does not erase the danger," he warned.
Softly, almost said to the horse more than to us, Gandalf added, "Theoden has a strong will but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan. He will need you before the end, Aragorn and Boromir."
I had a near heart attack as those deep immortal eyes held mine. Logically he was still speaking to my friends, but it felt like he was telling me specifically, "The people of Rohan will need you. Their defenses have to hold."
Throat blocked, I nodded jerkily.
"They will hold," Boromir said forcefully.
At that point Gandalf mounted his horse and the rest of us got out of the way. "The grey pilgrim, that's what they used to call me," he mused, "Three hundred lives of men I have walked this earth and now I have no time." His voice grew darker as he told the remains of the fellowship, "With luck my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east."
Shadowfax reared and pounced from his stall, and it was back to the five of us.
Suddenly, things felt a little less hopeful.
There was no real reason for Faramir to come wandering to the Anduin. His patrol did not require it and the river was dangerous; he shouldn't be here.
But he had to. Something deep inside urged that he had to be here, though he knew not why.
The past months had been difficult, he acknowledged now that he was alone. After Boromir disappeared up north the attacks had only increased and Boromir's deputy, no matter that he was a capable man, had been hanging on by a thread. Faramir's patrols came across ever more creatures and peoples headed into the Black Land. Father grew more irate and demanding.
How he missed his brother! Boromir had always been there, from when Faramir was in the cradle until he was sent on the errand to Rivendell that Faramir knew should have been his. This was the longest they had ever been separated and he was feeling it. How many times had he whispered in the night for his brother's advice and assurance?
Sometimes it felt that there was even an answer-
Faramir was drawn from his thoughts by a gleam of silver from the river. Silver and white in a curved shape. Frowning, he waded a few feet into the river to catch the item.
Before he even laid a hand on it, his heart stuttered in his chest. An automatic denial passed through his mind even as he removed the remains of a great horn from the river. It had been cloven in two and part of the wide rim was splintered off, interrupting the metal band of runes that wound around it. A little dark colored dried liquid was caught in the seam between the metal mouth and the horn itself.
It felt like someone had their hand inside Faramir's breast. Logic dictated that the blood was his brother's, and Boromir would never cast away the Horn of Gondor by choice, therefore he was badly hurt or dead somewhere in all the endless wilderness of Middle Earth.
How would he tell Father?