Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT
Into Shadow She Rode
Chapter 3: Knots Unraveling
by Papillon
Éowyn woke early the next morn to see her brother and the king off on their hunt. It was a gloriously clear autumn day, and the wide blue sky, with the sun newly risen tinting the East a rosy pink, seemed to form a great bowl that encompassed all the land. Birds sung their sweet melodies as Théoden and his party mounted their horses and rode off down the hills. Éowyn watched them leave, deep in thought, then turned and went into the hall.
After they had been riding for some time, Éomer pulled his mount up beside Théodred's, near the head of the hunting party, and commented, " 'Tis a beautiful day, is it not?"
Théodred glanced over at him and nodded. "Ay, and I deem that the hunting will be plentiful. There have been many reports of elk on the edge of the Westemnet."
They rode along in silence for a few moments, falling back into the throng of riders. Éomer looked forward at where the King was riding, with Gríma beside him, and said, "What do you think of Gríma son of Gálmó d? Think you that he is wise?"
"I do indeed," Théodred said. "though I am less sure of his prowess in battle. But he has not yet had a chance to prove himself."
Neither have I, Éomer thought. "Tell me, Théodred," he asked, "why does Théoden not allow me to fight in true battles? Others ride on raids and defend our borders, but he reigns me in and sends me not to battle."
Théodred frowned. "You are only twenty years of age, Éomer, and still quick-tempered. Wait a few more years and your time will come."
"But I have proven myself!" Éomer cried. "I have shown myself to be brave and strong!"
Théodred's response was interrupted by a horn from the front of the company, signaling that prey had been sighted.
"It is a great boar!" someone called from the front. Théodred and Éomer readied their spears and rode closer to the fore, where they beheld a furious grey boar, charging one of the king's men. He narrowly ducked out of harm's way, and Théodred took advantage of its momentary disorientation to aim a spear at it. The spear grazed the boar's side, drawing a thin red line of blood down its flank. The boar let loose an angry roar as a circle of riders began to close in about him. He spied a gap in the circle, near Eyoforth, a young rider, and charged. Eyoforth's horse shied back, nearly unseating him, and the boar was freed from the circle. It turned away from the stallion's thundering hooves and the riders' eager spears and ran straight at Éomer, who had fallen back from the rest. Here is a chance to show my worth! Éomer thought, and bent in for the kill.
Just then he heard a cry. "Orcs! Beware of the orcs!" He turned momentarily away from the boar and saw a multitude of orcs swarming down the hill, making directly for the men. One threw itself at Fama, a guard of the king, and he saw a jagged knife land in his chest, ripping through flesh and tissue. He would have spurred his horse on to their defense, if the boar had not then leapt up at him, desperate with rage and bloodlust. One of its great tusks drove itself into his side and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. He did not have a chance to examine the wound, for at that moment his horse reared and threw him to the ground.
As he fell, he thrust his spear into the boar, which squealed in furious agony and drew back. The wind was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, and his sight was momentarily covered in blackness. He could hear the boar pant and scratch the ground. As if to ready himself for an attack! he thought, and grappled frantically at his waist for a weapon, his lungs struggling to take in air and vision just beginning to return in spots of colour. His fingers closed around a hilt and he pulled the knife quickly out of its scabbard, jabbing it blindly up and out.
It pierced soft flesh, driving in deep, and Éomer felt muscle and tissue shudder around the knife. He pulled the knife out and struggled to one elbow, his sight now mostly restored, and saw that the boar had fallen back upon the grass. Its eyelids fluttered and then it was still. Éomer sighed in relief and let himself down exhaustedly, tossing the bloody knife off into the high grass. His eyes closed and he lay stretched out motionless in the dirt, oblivious to all that was around him.
A cry from the other men brought him back to the battle. "To the king, to the king!" they called, and Éomer opened his eyes and lifted himself painfully up to see the captain of the orcs running towards for his uncle, who sat on his horse alone. He heard the orc-captain yell orders in its foul black tongue, and other orcs began to converge on Théoden. Éomer fought to get up and run to the king's aid, but the wound in his side was bleeding profusely, and as he staggered to his feet he saw that he was already too late, for, as Théoden grappled with the captain, another orc at his back was stringing a bow with a deadly arrow, aiming directly at him.
"Théoden!" Éomer cried out desperately. "At your back, Théoden!"
Just as the orc made ready to loose his arrow, a rider came charging seemingly out of nowhere, and knocked the orc archer down, trampling him under his horse. The arrow was flung harmlessly into the air. Broken from their horrified spell, the riders swept down upon the orcs with renewed fury, slashing and destroying. Théodred rode in and, with one swift stroke of his sword, sliced the head off of the orc captain. Leaderless, the orcs were easily killed or frightened back into the hills, and the battle was soon over.
Éomer staggered over to where his uncle was standing, directing the care of the wounded and blessing the dead. He wearily embraced the king, saying, "It was a stroke of fortune indeed that saved you from that fell arrow. I am greatly glad to see you alive and whole, for at that moment your death seemed certain."
Théoden let him go and held him at arm's length and said, "But what is this? You are injured, my sister-son, and it looks to be very grave. We must tend to it immediately."
Éomer shook his head. "'Tis nothing. I hardly feel it," he lied. "But I must know, who was the rider who rode so valiantly to your defense? He must be rewarded and celebrated in great honour in our hall."
A voice said from behind him, "It was I who saved your uncle, Lord Éomer," and Éomer turned to see Gríma, his sword and spear stained dark with orc blood.
Éomer, struggling to hide his surprise, said quickly, "It was a brave deed for certain, to ride in amongst the mass of those black orcs alone. We are all very grateful to you."
Gríma pushed some of his lank dark hair out of his face and said, "It is what any would have done, I am sure, if they had been able. I never hesitated for a moment, for my love for the king, my liege lord, is ever present in my mind."
Éomer nodded, unsure of what to say that would not reveal his suspicion and dislike of the counsellor, both of which had only grown since the first day of their meeting.
Gríma looked over to where the dead boar lay and smiled, condescendingly Éomer thought. "You have also won renown this day, have you not, young Éomer? I believe it is the first time you have brought down something so large in a hunt. Congratulations."
His forked tongue hints at insults too subtly to rebuke, thought Éomer angrily. May he die an ignoble death! He excused himself and went off to help prepare the boar's carcass and get his wound dressed, in order to get away from Gríma's veiled insults.
After all the work had been done, Théoden mounted his horse, Snowmane, once more and rode to the head of the gathering riders. He called for their attention, then cried loudly, "Men of my household, dear friends, hear me now! Today I would have been lost to you, but for the strength and courage of my counsellor. He was appointed to serve me with his wisdom, but I deem that he will also serve me with his sword and spear. I am forever grateful and in his debt for the service he has rendered me, and so I name him a friend and ally of my household for ever. Whoever speaks ill of him will be committing treason against me!"
All the riders present bowed their heads in recognition of the honour, but Éomer, looking up from under lowered eyes, saw that Gríma did not bow in humility, but rather, smiled, as if in triumph.
Night had fallen on the land by the time the riders returned to Edoras, yet Éomer, as they rode up the winding path to Meduseld, beheld Éowyn still standing at the top of the steps, looking out and watching for their return. People came out of their houses to see how the hunt had gone, and the heralds spread the word of Gríma's brave deed to all. Éomer stirred uneasily as they passed the curious people by, for the wound in his side was beginning to steadily ache, with a slow, throbbing pain that spread throughout his whole body. But his pride would not let him speak out and be further shamed by Gríma. So he bit his tongue and dismounted with the rest of the riders when the stable boys came to collect their horses.
Éowyn was waiting for them at the threshold of the hall, and would not let them pass.
"Uncle Théoden!" she cried. "They are saying that you are wounded and nearly died! Is this true?"
Théoden laughed. "Dear Éowyn, do not worry. Those are but anxious rumors. I am fine and well, though it is true that I barely escaped the brush of death's roving hand. I would, perhaps, come before you cloaked in funeral pall, were it not for my brave counsellor."
"Speak not dark words," she said, then, catching his full meaning, she turned to Gríma and asked, "Your brave counsellor? How has he saved you?"
Gríma caught her implied sleight, and the corners of his lips turned up in a humorless smile. "My lady, I assure you, it was merely luck that I happened to come to your uncle's aid. An orc aimed an arrow at him, which I was just able to deflect in time. But anyone would have done the same."
Éowyn was better able to hide her feelings than Éomer, but still, she was stricken for a moment speechless, suppressed doubts swirling in her mind. She recovered immediately, and said politely, "Ay, but you were the one who did. For that all of us are in your debt." She cleared her throat. "Théoden, I must beg your pardon and go to my rest. It is late, and we have waited long hours for your return. I am glad to see you safe from harm and I hope to talk more of the hunt in the morning. Farewell." As she turned to leave, she looked directly at Éomer and tilted her head ever so slightly as if to ask a question.
Éomer was unsure of her meaning, but said, "I am afraid I also must ask for your leave and be excused, my king. My wound pains me and it needs rest." Without waiting for Théoden's response, he strode away to catch up with Éowyn, who was already halfway down the hall.
"What games are you playing?" Éomer muttered as he drew up beside her, nearly limping from pain.
Éowyn did not look at him, but slowed to a more normal pace. "None. I merely could not stand to be in that man's presence anymore."
Éomer raised an eyebrow and asked, "That man? Why do you speak of him in such a manner? Only yesterday you danced with him gaily. And you have said that my fears of him were silly and ungrounded, and that you had forgotten yours utterly. So why now does he strike you so ill?"
Éowyn stopped and looked back to see if Théoden and Gríma were still standing by the entrance. They were not, but she still lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped into a hollow in the wall where the torch had burned down to ashes. "I cannot say why, but I fear we are in great danger."
Éomer followed her, and they stood in the shadows close together. "What cause have you to say that?"
"What cause?" she asked, her voice frustrated. "Why do you ask so many questions? Do you not also feel the threat behind those lidded eyes? I am no fool, Éomer. I have listened carefully and eagerly to every man who talked of battle, and strife, and threats to our country since I was very small, hoping to learn enough to be a great warrior. There are no orcs near the edge of the Westemnet this time of year. They do not come so close to us except in the winter, when they are hungry and desperate. You know this as well as I."
Éomer sighed. "Ay, I do. I am sorry for questioning you. But I had to be certain before telling you of my doubts and dark thoughts. If you have come to realize what he is, then you also must know that he is very dangerous and far more powerful than we suspected. If even a hunting party, filled with armed and brave riders, is not safe, where then will he next choose to strike?"
"So you also believe that he drew the orcs upon you?" asked Éowyn. He nodded, and she frowned. "But why does he mean to kill Théoden? Does he think that he alone can topple all of his line, and kill you and I as well? He can never ascend that throne. Surely he must know it is futile to try."
"Perhaps it is futile," said Éomer. "And perhaps not. He nearly succeeded today, do not forget. He must be stopped. But there are many things yet hidden from me. How did he buy the orcs, seek them out, and offer them certain death?"
"He has some hidden ally," she said. "one we have no knowledge of. One that also seeks the throne of Rohan, maybe. Éomer, he is cunning beyond our wisdom. He nearly fooled me, and he has fooled the rest of Rohan."
"What then gave him away to you?" asked Éomer curiously.
"I do not quite know," she replied. "The look in his eyes, the look that is always in his eyes when he thinks no one is watching. He thinks he is the only one whose gaze can penetrate beyond a person's defenses. But I had always thought he was merely a strange man, or had some sorrow buried in his past. I suppressed my doubts and intuitions, but they were never lost to me. I had a dream last night, Éomer, that portended of some great terror befalling not only Rohan, but all the free lands. A great smoke and cloud, twisted and foul, swept down upon us, but our eyes were blind and did not see, and we were enveloped in it and lost, and in it I saw Gríma's eyes, laughing.
"It was a warning. I am certain of it now. When I saw him riding up beside Théoden, there was a smile on his face of victory that he did not trouble to conceal."
"But why? Why did he stop the orc from killing Théoden?" asked Éomer. "Why did he summon the orcs, if not to kill him? Is not his goal to gain the throne? He cannot do that unless all those who hold it are dead. What was his intent?"
Éowyn opened her mouth to respond, but a voice from behind them answered him instead.
"To gain Théoden's love, trust, and devotion. And he has succeeded."
The siblings turned in surprise to see Théodred standing, his face shadowed and hidden by flickering torch light.
"Théodred?" said Éomer, his voice uncertain. "Théodred, please do not heed whatever you have heard. It was but childish mutterings. Do not tell the king, I beg you."
Théodred laid his hand on Éomer's arm. "Do not fear, my cousin. Had I heard this conversation but a day earlier, I would have been filled with wrath at your insults, but…I do not hold you accountable for treason. Say rather that I wish to join you in this treason."
"Speak plainly," Éowyn said. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," he answered, his voice growing heated with anger, "that I also believe Gríma to be a traitorous worm who saved my father today only to further his own gain, and indeed was the one who put his life in jeopardy in the first place. He has poisoned my father's mind with his words, and he had poisoned mine until today. He thinks he has made a great step forward, but he has made a grave mistake. The veil is torn from my sight, and I can see him for what he is, a betrayer to our kingdom, an insect who deserves to be crushed in the mud. Wormtongue I christen him. Wormtongue!" This last he said in a louder tone, and Éowyn hushed him reprovingly, earning herself an angry look.
"Then you also should know we must be careful," she said. "If his goal was as you say, then he has achieved it. He stands as a puppeteer behind the throne. I do not know what Théoden would say if he were to hear us now, whether he would choose his counsellor over his own flesh and blood, or not, but we should not take that risk, at least not yet. We must bide our time. We must not let Gríma know he has betrayed his true nature to us."
"Why?" cried Éomer. "Let us flush him out and reveal him to Théoden and all of Rohan! Let us be rid of him before he does further harm."
"Éomer speaks well and true," said Théodred. "Why should my father deny his only son? I will seek an audience with him tomorrow and tell him all that has come to pass. He will know what to do to rid our kingdom of this Wormtongue." With that, he turned on his heels and strode down the hall, without bidding farewell to either of them.
Had she been but a few years younger, Éowyn would have stuck her tongue out at his receding figure, but she restrained herself. Instead, she said softly, "He will forever treat us as lower than himself, will he not, Éomer?"
"Perhaps," he said, "but he is brave and bold. Bold enough to do what I will not."
She frowned. "Éomer, it is an ill plan to reveal our thoughts to the king. Gríma's webs are woven deeper than we know. It troubles my heart to think of it, and I wish he would not go. But I cannot stop him, to whatever end it may lead."
"I do not agree, dear Éowyn," Éomer said, "though I do think that you most of all should take care. Do you not remember when he first laid eyes on you? We both sensed some unnamed malice then, and it is still present today. Stay away from him."
Her eyes narrowed. I tire of being treated like a delicate glass bird! she thought angrily, and, moving swifter than his eyes could follow, she whirled around, grabbing his hands as she went, and pinned him face first to the wall, his hands captured in hers behind his back. They stood there in silence for a few minutes, both breathing heavily.
She could feel the muscles of his shoulders taut against her, though he made no attempt to push her off. Her hair had fallen in her face and brushed in her eyes and her nostrils, making her long to reach up and tuck it behind her ears, but she was not ready to let him go just yet. She wondered why he felt so tense and yet stayed so still.
Finally, she gave a rueful laugh and released him.
"I fear that your efforts to convince me that I am weak and fragile have been in vain, Éomer," she said.
He said nothing as he turned to face her, but merely stood, studying her. She said uncertainly, "Are you angry, Éomer? It was a jest, nothing more. I simply could not bear to be treated as a helpless maiden by you again. Éomer?"
A few awkward moments passed, and then he broke into a hesitant smile. "I am not angry, Éowyn, but merely admiring of your skill. I suppose I shall nevertheless ever be called to protect you as your older brother, so please forgive me." Abruptly, he stepped forward and enveloped her in his strong arms. She returned the hug and smiled into his shoulder. I am blessed indeed to be given such a brother. She pulled back, and he winced slightly, catching himself quickly lest she notice. But her keen eyes caught the gesture, and she said apprehensively, "Éomer, what is the matter? Be you hurt? Why did you not tell me before?"
He looked away, reluctant to burden her with worry, but eventually yielded, saying, "It is but a small wound, from the boar I slew earlier."
"I must tend to it," she said, and, ignoring his protests, sat him down on a nearby bench and began to unfasten his armor and unlace his jerkin. She could not prevent a small gasp from escaping her lips when she saw the bandage; the wound had bled through and left an angry dark red stain. "Éomer, this is a grave wound!" she cried.
He was prevented from answering with more than a strained low hiss of pain, for she then began to undo the bandage from around his waist. He was proud when she did not blanche or look away upon seeing the open gash, for many women fainted at the sight of blood. She inspected the wound impersonally and went to fetch clean wrappings and a bucket of clean water, and, sitting on the bench, bent over him and began to gently sponge the wound clean. Neither of them spoke, him deep in his thoughts and his pain, and her too focused on her present task. The only noises were her soft sounds of frustration as she pushed her hair out of her face and his barely heard swift intakes of breath. She patted him dry, then wound the wrappings tightly and secured them with a deft knot. She stood then, and waited in silence for him to finish dressing, looking into the flames of the torch opposite them.
The hour was late, and they were both very weary. Yet she wondered at his reluctance to talk. Hers was due to fear. Éomer…you heed your own concerns far too little! she thought distractedly, wondering what cause he had for silence.
Finally, she broke the uncomfortable quiet. "Éomer, I sway on my feet. I need to go to rest, and you need sleep to heal as well. So let us depart."
He nodded, though he seemed distracted and hardly listening. "Ay, you speak truly. Goodnight, my dear sister." He turned and went down the hall towards his chambers, and she departed to hers, after cleaning up the discarded bandages and bucket. There she fell into a restless sleep, troubled by many things.
A/N: Sorry this chapter took a while to get up! I'd written most of it earlier, but then I went out of town, and when I came back, I took another look and had to change some things and add some stuff in. Oy vey, action scenes are rather difficult to write. I'd never tried doing them before, and they're not too fun. They're deceptively easy, but then, once you look back, you think, "Wow, this is incredibly dry and dull." This chapter is also longer than the previous two; not intentionally, I just kept finding things that had to be put in before it could be wrapped up. So that's part of the reason why it took longer.
Tension grows! And Théodred is rather rude, don't you think? Did anyone else think he was, erm, attractive in the movie? Sure, I know they hardly show a single shot of him directly, but if you look really closely…better than Figwit, I think. Though I couldn't really get a clear look at him, so maybe I'm completely wrong there. And, of course, he looks way too young, since he's around forty years old at that time. Oh, the things you learn from appendices!
I changed my summary, did anyone notice? I was poking around for references and came across that quote, and remembered that it was one of the things that inspired the plot bunny for this story a long time ago, so I decided to put it in there for fun. Oh, and I fixed the formatting on our favorite counsellor's name, which was screwing up rudely, and added in some spacing which, unnoticed, had gotten deleted somehow.
Thanks to absolutely everyone who reviewed! I didn't have time before, but…thanks to shadow kitty129, Electra292, Gaslight, Ginger, Marvelo Lady (critique helps!), ginny_riddle, LadyAvi, Setsuna, and especially eunuch (who's much much better at writing than I am!) and pommekitty (whose reviews I really enjoy but who already knows that if she's checked her email).The reviews really do encourage me. And thanks to the two people who added me to their favorite author list, but, mysteriously, haven't reviewed. I like you anyway! You know, I strangely seem to be attracting a lot of Harry Potter fans, for reasons unknown…
Okay, a bit of rambling there, but in the past two chapters I haven't had time to write proper author's notes, so I guess I felt I had to make up for it. Not much lighthearted stuff going on in the next chapter, I'm afraid, but you never know. Things happen. Don't you just hate it when characters insist on doing things you didn't tell them to? And they're very stubborn. I really will stop now.