My heart is heavy today. Indeed, it is so in all of Edoras. If the city were not swathed in black already, we would have gone into mourning.
Théodred, son of Théoden, is dead.
It was discovered this morning. Lady Éowyn ordered us all from her while she wept over his cold, still body. She has lost all now – parents, aunt, uncle, cousin… and it may be she loses Rohan as well. We are in great peril but reluctant to see it. Too proud, my people, far too proud…
Grima Wormtongue grows ever more forward. Talk amongst the maidens is that he will convince the king to give Éowyn to him. I do believe my lady might sooner kill herself. I can not blame her… to be forced to a man with a soul so foul… I can not come within close range to him without cringing. It feels like darkness gripping my heart. He exudes… an aura of subterfuge, oozing a blackness which ruins all that it touches… I believe my lady knows this. It is why she used to keep us near her at all times… but today she has sent us all away, and I am afraid he will reach her in this time.
No. I must not worry. Lady Éowyn is more than capable of dealing with him.
So why do I still sense the danger?
With Théodred has gone our last hope. There are few now who believe our once-strong nation can endure such troubles. Our king is weak, our army scattered, our spirit diminished. I fear for my country.
Sleep well, dear prince, for you have earned the rest. Sleep, and hope not to notice the nation in tatters you leave behind.
2 March
The re-alive wizard came here today, with companions. Such excitement in Edoras! Imagine the surprise of the gatekeepers when this strange assembly approached… the Grey One, who has been here before, with a man, strong and handsome and yet so somber (they are whispering he is one of those Rangers, and I would believe it, looking up on him), and an Elf, who is as beautiful as all the stories say, and a Dwarf, who is as ugly. Lady Éowyn saw them first, and told us to clear the hall. It is a shame, for if she had not sent us away, we would have seen what happened – I have heard it was both mystical and amazing. Théoden-King, so old and grave in this past year, has been reverted somehow to the strong warrior we once knew. Or, I should say, that our parents once knew, for he was much advanced in years by the time I was born. The wizard must have great powers, to have rejuvenated (is that the word? Aesith thinks so…) our king so.
It was after all this that I saw the strange visitors, for with his senses restored, Théoden seemed finally to notice his son's departure from this realm, and organized his funeral. He is greatly wounded by the loss, but too proud to let his people see the weakness. The visitors attended the funeral, and Lady Éowyn sang the dirge, so low and mournful…
Does this mean the Riders will be called back? May I see my Hathneyn again? Surely Théoden-King will wish to have his nephew Éomer at his side again, with his son lost to him.
Oh! And I had nearly forgotten. Grima Wormtongue, that greasy adder, has been expelled from Edoras. This I saw, which was small comfort after having missed the earlier excitement. Indeed, Aesith and I were just getting ready to go to market when we heard a great roar from the top of the steps to the Great Hall. Théoden fairly threw Wormtongue down the stairs, and had at last his sword in hand again. This was my first glimpse of the restored king; it was so for all the citizens, and I daresay we gaped more than was perhaps proper. But how could we not! It is as though thirty years had been removed from him.
Wormtongue begged for mercy, and it was granted (sadly, I think). Théoden would have killed him for his treachery, and I think it would have been the right choice. Has not death always been the price for turning your back on your home and people, on the country that bore you? It came out at this time to those of us who had not witnessed it that Wormtongue was responsible for our king's deterioration in recent months – I know not how this was discovered, but I trust that wizards and Rangers (if indeed that is what he is) have more learning than I to uncover such things. I do not doubt that it is true; we have all of us mistrusted the Worm, with his shifting glances that fall too frequently on Lady Éowyn. More than once I have heard Aesith express a desire to "kick him in one of those scrawny shins of his," which, if you could know Aesith, you would recognize as quite a fierce threat coming from her. And I agree – though perhaps I am of a more violent inclination. If his inappropriate overtures to my lady were not enough, it has been well known in Edoras for some time that he controlled the king. We just had no idea how much, before.
Théoden berated him, and would have hacked his head off and stuck it on a spike as a warning against all traitors, but that the Ranger (?) stayed his hand. I can not fathom why; this man, this stranger may be handsome (and, though I should not make such assumptions, I have seen Lady Éowyn cast her glance on him much this day), but he is not one of us. Who is he to intercede in our laws? But the end of the matter is that the betrayer went free. Free! Free, this man who has had no small part in what has become of our once-grand nation, this man who turned his back on the country of his birth and blood. I should have preferred him dead and gone, that I might spit up on the body. He ran, slinking away like the coward that he is, tail between his legs like a whipped pup. I hope he finds his death painfully and soon.
2 March, later
And just as I was ready to prepare Lady Éowyn for sleep, more arrivals from outside the city. Children, these, brought in by Théoden-King and the wizard (White, not Grey any longer, I have learned. I thought Saruman of Isengard was the White Wizard, but I also have no doubt that the world outside Edoras changes far more than I can keep up with it). They are from a village on the border of Rohan. The boy, the older of the two, says that they were attacked by Wildmen. The little girl just keeps asking for her mother. The poor dear… Aesith and I have been given charge of them for the time being, and we saw to it that they were fed and warmed and rested, and now they are in our bed while we have piled up, wrapped in furs, in front of the fire. I do not know what we will do when it goes out, for fueling it the whole night would mean going out for more wood, and it is too cold to move.
Aesith, too, finds the Ranger (?) very handsome. I do not think any woman with eyes could fail to draw such a conclusion. The Elf, too, is fair to behold, but almost too much so. He is almost frightening in his perfection, and at any rate he is not of our Race. "But," says Aesith, "that we could never have him does not mean we can not look on him." I giggled and agreed. His hair is a lighter colour than any of ours, even little Eilyn's, and there is no agreement among the ladies as to how he keeps it brushed so straight and cleaned so well, as he has no doubt been journeying long, to have come from the Elflands to Rohan. We in the castle can not keep our hair untangled for more than a few hours, and if we do not wash it at least once a week it is rather unpleasant. Aesith says she is going to ask him his secret; I do not believe her.
The children are sleeping easily now. It took some persuading to get the girl – Freiya, was it? Fresyn. Freisa. Freda! It took some persuading to convince Freda to sleep without her mother there, and the little boy, Éothan, did not want to stop chattering about their journey, and how well he handled their horse (too large for him by far), and how long they rode, and how Freda kept whining, and how he wanted to know where his mother was, and then he fell straight to sleep in the middle of a sentence.
I look at them now, and they are darling. So small, there would probably still be room for either Aesith or me in the bed if we wished. They are curled up next to each other, for warmth or comfort or both. Freda is sucking on her smallest finger, and no doubt it will be somewhat wrinkled by the time she wakes up. I fear that their mother must have been killed in the attacks of the Wildmen, and according to Éothan, their father has been missing in action for some time now. Though the children remain firmly convinced that both parents are alive somewhere, somehow, I can not help but feel that they are all that is left of the family.
Is that in my future? A family, I mean. I hope so. I want so much for all of this terror to be over, for Neyn to return to me so we can be married. I look at these precious children, and my heart aches for him. I yearn for children of my own, for a home and hearth to keep, for a daughter's hair to plait and a son's scrapes to mend. Will I have that, or will this darkness consume all that is good and right in the world, leaving only misery in its wake?
Today has been a small beacon of light, a faint hope, but will it be enough in the shadow of such overwhelming despair?
I need to stop being so morose… I know not where these thoughts, so enigmatic that even I hardly understand them, come to me from, but I like them not at all.
[Authoress's Note:
[The title is from Henry IV, Part I
[Next… Helm's Deep.]