Lady of Gondor Ch 16 - The Four Riders
2-4 March 3018; Edoras
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Éomer was in the lock-houses almost a week. He did not suffer much because Mellamir personally saw to his meals, and the jail itself was not completely unpleasant, but for one used to the clean air of freedom and the feel of galloping horses any sort of imprisonment was torture. Yet he had pleasant enough company as Mellamir came to see him every day. She had brought a chess board from Minas Tirith and taught him how to play.
"The secret of the game," she said once, "is to realize that, just like the men under your control have different talents, a sage can do things a rider cannot."
"Ah," he replied as her rook took his knight. "And keeping them all straight. That's my problem at least, there are just too many types. And you have to sacrifice when you have to, if that's the only way to win."
"Just like in war."
Éomer moved his pawn up a row. Mellamir took it with her knight, then Éomer took her piece with his sage. "I think," he said at last with a chuckle, "that I'm beginning to understand this game."
They spent several hours each day together, talking about what had happened since Éomer left for the Westfold, playing chess, and generally passing the time. Mellamir had invited Éowyn to come but Éowyn refused: one of her patients had died, true, but she still had another, and Théoden still needed her.
It was Éowyn who first saw the Four Riders approaching Edoras. She was standing in the courtyard of Meduseld, looking out at the setting sun and daydreaming, when she saw them riding across the plains. One she recognized. It was gray, and powerful, the proudest of its kind: Shadowfax! He had returned several days earlier riderless, and the whisper had spread through Edoras that Gandalf was dead. Wormtongue had been all-too-happy to tell Éowyn of his fall, and Éowyn had relayed the news to Mellamir, but Mellamir wouldn't believe it. What of a horse? Gandalf escaped on eagles' wings; what did he need a horse for? She was concerned, yes, but Gandalf had been riding into dangers for long years. Besides, she hardly had time to dwell on rumours those days.
Shadowfax, though, seemed to have taken a new rider. He wore a gray cloak over white robes and had white flowing hair and a long, white beard. Yet somehow he seemed familiar. What if it _was_ Gandalf? No man had ever been able to tame Shadowfax before Gandalf, and by all accounts Shadowfax had rode off to the sound of a whistle in the air.
And what's more, two horses rode beside Shadowfax. On one rode a man, and on the other an elf and a dwarf. If it were just a man Éowyn wouldn't have thought any more of it, but the elf and the dwarf, that caught her attention. Éomer had told her of his meeting with an elf, a man, and a dwarf, and how he had lent them horses. These were clearly horses of Rohan. Could it be the three Éomer had seen? Éowyn ran to tell Mellamir of this strange news.
But Éowyn wasn't the only one to recognize Shadowfax. Wormtongue looked out from the window in Théoden's suite high above, noticing the four. "My lord," he said to Théoden. "Gandalf Stormcrow approaches. Come now, we must get you dressed and seated at your throne to extend a fitting welcome to our guest. He must know that his ill news is not welcome here." Théoden sat up and allowed Wormtongue to dress him.
~*~
The four riders rode across the plains and up the hill toward Edoras. They passed the mounds, seven to their left and nine to their right, where Théodred and so many of his fathers now lay forever under cold earth. As they approached the gates of Edoras they stopped in front of the guards blocking their way.
"Stay, stranger!" the first said in the tongue of the Rohirrim.
Gandalf answered him, "Well I know your tongue, but few strangers do. Why do you speak such if you want to be understood. Why not use the Common Speech of the West, as was your custom when last I traveled through Rohan?"
"Rohan has no welcome for the stranger in these days of love. Our king Théoden wishes that we not admit anyone to the city, save his own people and those from Gondor who bring us hope in the coming attack. Yet you ride horses like our own, and only those in service to Théoden are permitted to ride them. Where did you get them?"
"They were lent to us three days ago," Aragorn answered, "by the marshal Éomer. We now return them, as we promised. But has Éomer not brought word of our coming?"
"None that has reached guards such as us, yet we do not hear everything that passes at the Golden Hall. Give me your names, and I will ask the king if he will hear you."
"I am Gandalf, as you well know," Gandalf said. "With me ride lords of far-off lands, three of the greatest Théoden has ever kept waiting at his gate. Aragorn, a lord of men far to the North; Legolas, son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood; and Gimli, son of Glóin, dwarf-lord of the Lonely Mountain. But my name should be enough. Go, then!" So the guard left and a few minutes returned. The guards stood aside, and the four riders left their horses with the guards and made their way slowly up the winding streets toward the Golden Hall.
There was, of course, Gandalf, now Gandalf the White. He had fought a balrog in the mines of Moria and was thought to have died, but he had returned. With him was Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor, though this was not common knowledge yet. And also Legolas the elf and his friend Gimli the dwarf. At last the guard returned and opened the city gates, allowing them to pass. The four riders walked forward, yet they were hardly unnoticed. Women and children stopped their work to stare at them.
As they approached the great steps of Meduseld the guards held the hilts of their swords out in a sign of peace. One stepped forward and bowed formally. "_Haletan, gyst_*," he said in the native language of Rohan, then continued in the common tongue: "I am Háma, door-warden of Meduseld. Théoden --" But Háma stopped short, seeing Mellamir running up. He frowned; most unlady-like. But he did not say anything and let her approach.
"Gandalf!" she called as she climbed the stairs. "Is that you? Where have you been? We heard that you had died!"
"Wherever I have been," he answered, "I am back. Melllamir, excuse me; my business is urgent. I am glad to see you yet live, though."
"I know your business," she answered; "it is with Théoden. But can a lady of Gondor not watch?"
"Gondor?" asked Aragorn. "Who are you?"
Gandalf hastily answered him, "Strider, meet Mellamir, daughter of Denethor, steward of Gondor. Sister of Boromir."
A stranger who did not know the ranger of the North would think those words meant nothing to him, but his friends saw how deeply affected he was. Here was a daughter of Denethor, and thus a Númenorean, proud and true. But she was also sister of Boromir, and that meant he would have to tell her the truth, even though he knew it would hurt.
"Mellamir, I -- " he began, but Gandalf interrupted.
"Not now, Aragorn." He nodded toward Háma.
"Gentlemen, and my lady, the king awaits you. Yet first you must leave all your weapons at the door. Here they will be kept until your return." They reluctantly disarmed: seven short-knives, one sword, five axes of various sizes, two bows, and forty-seven arrows. The guards stared in amazement that four travelers should carry so many weapons but said nothing.
Háma nodded toward Aragorn. "And your sword, sir."
Aragorn unsheathed his blade and lay it across the palm of his hands, holding it out for the guards to inspect. Some of them whispered amongst themselves; others tried not to let their amazement show, with varying degrees of success.
"You recognize it, then," Aragorn said. "This is Andúril, which of old was called Narsil, Isildur's blade. It was reforged of late by the Elven-smiths at Rivendell, and I carry it now to war. Any lesser blade I would leave at any master's door, whether he be a shepherd or a king."
"Yet those are my orders," Háma answered, "and it is not clear to me that the wishes of Aragorn of the North should supercede those of Théoden King of the Mark, even if he carries the blade of kings. For even if Aragorn sat on Isildur's throne, still Rohan is its own country and is not subject to Gondor's decrees." Háma pointed his sword at Aragorn.
"Come now, Háma," Gandalf said, "put your sword away." Then he turned to Aragorn. "Needless are the demands of Théoden, yet a king may demand as he will. We do not have time for this idle banter."
"Very well," Aragorn said at last. "He replaced Andúril to his sheath, then loosened the sheath from his girdle. He stepped toward the wall of Meduseld, holding out his hand in a sign of peace, and rested his blade against the wall of the Golden Hall. "But the next man who touches Isildur's blade save myself shall die on it."
The look in the guards' eyes told Aragorn that, even if he had not threatened them, none of these men would dare touch so noble a blade. Háma, though, still did not move aside to let them enter. "And your staff," he said, nodding at Gandalf.
"Come now!" Gandalf exclaimed. "Foolishness is one thing, but courtesy is quite another. May an old man not have a stick to lean on?"
Háma frowned. "A staff in the hands of a wizard may be more than a prop for old age." But then he sighed. "Yet, in times such as these, a man must trust to friendship as much as wisdom. I know you, Gandalf, to be a friend, regardless of what others may say. Keep your staff. Now go; the king awaits." He stepped aside and opened the door, allowing the five to enter the hall. It clicked ominously behind them.
~*~
The throne room was dark, lit only by a small fire on the hearth in the middle of the hall; dark clouds blocked out the sun outside. Théoden sat, wrapped in his great cloak, the throne on his head, Wormtongue sitting at his right hand on a low stool. "My king," he said, "the four approach: Legolas the elf, Gimli the dwarf, Aragorn of the Dúnedain, and . . . ah, Gandalf, constant bringer of ill tidings!"
Mellamir stood near the back wall. She had intended to stand before the king beside Gandalf, but now that she was actually in Meduseld again, she doubted, after her last encounters with Wormtongue, that her presence would help Gandalf's case. Gandalf and his companions walked slowly up the hall until at last they stood before the great throne. "Hail, Théoden son of Thengel!" Gandalf announced. "I return at last. We have passed through many dangers, through cave and wood and plain, across rivers and through hordes of orcs, to bring you aid. Will you not hear us?"
"What do you have to say that you did not say on our last parting, Gandalf Stormcrow?" Théoden asked. "Is Saruman still our enemy, or has he since become our friend? Or perhaps you wish to unsay some things?"
The king took his black staff from beside the throne and pulled himself up. Stooped though he was, he seemed tall to those there, and they thought that as a young man he must have been tall indeed. "I admit you to my halls," Théoden continued. "Perhaps you look for welcome? Do not expect it here. For when have you ever given us cause to welcome you?" Slowly he sank back down into the throne.
"The king speaks wisely," said Wormtongue. "Gandalf comes on the wingtips of doom, and all fear his presence. And so it seems this time. For it is not five days since my lord Théodred fell at the fords of Isen, and news comes from Gondor that the Dark Lord rises again. _Láthspell_ I name you, 'Ill-news.' Why should we welcome you, Gandalf? Go away, and take your news with you.
"You speak of aid, but I do not see it. Do you bring swords, spears, and riders? For that is our need. Last time it was you who sought our aid. You begged a horse, and when my king graciously granted you one, any one, so long as you went quickly, you took Shadowfax! That was a sore price to pay, but some among us thought Shadowfax was not too great a price to speed you on your way. But now you return. I ask you again, what aid do you bring? We have no need for these ragged wanderers who follow at your tail --"
"Be silent!" Gandalf said. "Do not speak of what you know little." Then, he addressed the king. "The courtesy of your hall has greatly lessened of late, Théoden king. Did your guards not announce these 'ragged wanderers,' as your councilor puts it? Seldom have you or your fathers, even back to Éorl the Young, welcomed three greater lords, and they have left weapons at your doors worth companies of riders.
"Three swords and a quiver of arrows make not a great armoury --" Gríma began but again Gandalf interrupted him.
"Silence!" He threw his grey cloak aside and revealed his white robes, and his eyes burned with a clear fire. "Keep your tongue behind your forked tooth, Master Snake! I have not passed through fire and water to battle words with you, O master of shadows and lies." He pounded his staff on the floor, then raised it in the air. Almost immediately the clouds thickened and the fire burned low; Gandalf alone could be seen clearly, a queer white light emanating from him. A side door opened and Éowyn ran in, wanting to see what all the noise was about.
"His staff!" Wormtongue hissed. "Did I not warn you, my lord, to forbid the wizard's staff?" A flash of light filled the room and when it subsided Wormtongue was sprawled on his face.
He turned to Théoden. "Now, my lord, will you hear me?" Great he seemed, and perilous. Théoden did not object, so Gandalf continued. He slowly lifted his staff toward the roof and, high above, the clouds parted and a single ray of light penetrated the windows. "All is not dark. Hope yet for tomorrow, for you will find no better help than what I bring with me. Counsel I would give you, yet it is not for all ears. Will you not walk out with me? Let us speak more in private." Slowly, Théoden nodded. He pulled himself up from his chair, and Éowyn ran to his side. She offered him her arm, and, leaning on her and his staff, he made his way down the dais and across the hall. When they reached the great doors Gandalf knocked.
"Open!" he commanded. "The Lord of the Mark wishes to walk abroad."
Quickly the doors opened, and all save Mellamir and Aragorn walked out. Mellamir had started to follow, but Aragorn stopped her. "May I have a word, my lady?" he asked.
She nodded and led him out a side door into the courtyard. They stood looking out over the city for what seemed like a long time, until at last Aragorn broke the silence. "I knew your brother. We met in Rivendell, at a council held by the elf-lord Elrond. There a Halfling came bearing, well, the source of all our dooms. It was the decision of the council that that Halfling should travel to Mordor to destroy the ring, and that he be accompanied by eight, including myself and your brother Boromir.
"We passed through many dangerous lands," he said. "We tried the Redhorn Gate in the Misty Mountains, but snow stopped us, and we had to turn back. Then Gandalf suggested we try Moria, an underground region that was a mine of the dwarves long ago but has long since fallen into disuse. There two of our company were injured in a skirmish with the orcs, but we passed through. Most of us, that is. One of the Halflings, Pippin, tossed a pebble into a well, and that woke a balrog, a demon of the ancient world. Gandalf fought it on the last bridge, and he fell into the great chasm beneath to let us escape. We thought he had died.
"But there was no time for weeping. The orcs surely would have pursued us for many miles, as soon as darkness fell, so we had to be far away by that time. We made for the Elvish lands of Lothlórien. There we stayed for many weeks, but at last we had to press on. We sailed down the Great River, until at last we reached the Argonath. We camped near Amon Hen, and that night we were attacked by orcs and uruk-hai, evil servants of both Sauron and Saruman." Here he paused, and as he looked on Mellamir, sadness filled his eyes. "Your bro -- I'm afraid, Mellamir, that your brother -- there were so many -- " He stopped, and Mellamir looked at him, not sure at first what he was saying. At last understanding dawned in her eyes.
"Boromir? No, he was too strong. It couldn't be -- " she looked at Aragorn, begging him to tell her she was mistaken, but he just looked back, that same pained expression on his face. "But -- but, he was so strong -- " A tear rolled down her throat, followed by one and then another, until at last she could not hold back any longer. She weeped uncontrollably and started to fall forward, but Aragorn caught her. He led her back to a stone bench against Meduseld, and the two of them sat down.
He took off the glove he wore at his right wrist, and Mellamir noticed he didn't have a matching one at his other wrist. He gave it to her and said, "This belonged to your brother. I have carried it many miles, but I think he would like for you to have it." Mellamir took the glove and looked at it. Slowly she regained her composure and wiped away her tears.
"It's j-just," she said at last, "every -- everything is falling apart. First Th-Théodred dying, then É-Éomer in jail, and now Bo-Boro -- "
But she couldn't even say the name properly. It was too much, and a fresh tear rolled down her cheek. Aragorn took her hand, caressing it. "Your brother died nobly. He died protecting two of the Halflings, and while they were captured, they escaped and are now in Fangorn, with Treebeard. A great man, your brother."
Mellamir looked up at the mention of Fangorn. "Treebeard?" she asked.
Aragorn smiled. "Then you are not afraid of the old legends, like most in this land?" he asked.
"And he -- he lived well," Mellamir said at last. "To die well, that is what he would have wanted. To die in battle."
Aragorn nodded. "Our own doom may not be far off. But Boromir may save us all." He looked at her earnestly. "I think, these uruks, they were after just one thing, well, four things: the Halflings. And Boromir held them off, he alerted us by blowing his horn, and he gave the other Halflings time to escape.
"Mellamir, you know that the shadows are growing. Boromir told me that you know. So I will not hide from you that one of those Halflings carries our greatest hope in this hour. Our only hope. Mellamir, your brother's bravery may someday rule the fate of all men."
With that glimmer of hope she stood up and strapped Boromir's glove around her own right hand.
"That's my girl," Aragorn said, patting her shoulder. "I know --"
But with that he was quiet. Háma ran by with three guards escorting Éomer to the patio where Théoden and Gandalf were talking.
"Come," Aragorn said, and the two ran after the guards. There Théoden and Gandalf stood in the high place, looking off toward the east, and Gimli and Legolas stood not far behind them. Théoden was looking down at his withered hand.
"Alas," he said, "my old age is not all feigned. Why are these evil days mine? The young die, and the old linger on, withering past their prime."
"You are not so old as Gríma would have you believe," Gandalf answered. "You would remember your old strength better if you grasped your sword."
Théoden reached down to his side, but no sword was there. "Now where has Háma stowed it?" he asked himself.
"Take this, my lord!" Théoden turned around and saw Éomer kneeling before him, holding out the hilt of his own sword. "It was ever at your service."
"Who gave you back your sword?" Théoden asked sternly. At first none answered, so amazed were they at the change in Théoden. It seemed that half his years had melted away; he stood now tall and proud.
At last Háma answered, "That was my doing, my lord. I heard that Éomer was to be set free, and when he asked for his sword, I saw no reason to refuse him."
"I asked for my sword," Éomer explained, "so that I might lay it at your feet."
For a long moment Théoden looked at his nephew, unsure of what to do. At last Gandalf asked, "Will you not take the sword?"
Slowly Théoden extended his hand. He took the sword and raised it high, gently touching the broad side to his forehead. He let it lower slowly and swung it quickly through the air. Those who watched thought that the very spirit of Éorl the Young descended on him, and he called:
_Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.
Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!
Forth Éorlingas!_
Almost at once a dozen guards appeared from around the corner. They held their swords drawn and looked around in amazement. They thought they had been called to handle some emergency but their lord now appeared capable of handling anything fate might demand of him.
Éomer smiled. "Never again, Gandalf, will it be said you bring only ill news!"
"Keep your sword," Théoden said, "for you shall soon have need of it. But I need my own sword. Go, see where Gríma has stowed it." Háma and two of his guards ran into Meduseld and returned a few minutes later, Háma carrying Théoden's sword, the others carrying Wormtongue between them.
Háma kneeled before Théoden, holding out the hilt of his sword. "Here, my lord, is your blade; I found it in Wormtongue's chest, with many other things that have of late been reported missing."
"Lies!" Wormtongue answered. "And as for the sword, my king commanded me to keep it safe for him."
"And now I need it," said Théoden, "for this very afternoon I will be riding forth with the Riders to the Westfold, where we are needed."
Gríma looked around, first at Théoden and Éomer, then at the guards, and finally at Gandalf and his companions. A panicked look entered his eye, like that in a cornered animal before he strikes. He licked his lips nervously, then said, "Such a decision might be expected of a Lord of the Mark, but those who truly love him would spare his last years. But I see I am too late. Yet if I cannot save you, let me at least help your people. One who knows your mind should be left behind to govern them and keep them until your return. For I hope you will, though I do not think it hopeful. But let me stay and keep your people safe."
Éomer laughed at that. "Anything to escape the war, I suppose?"
"No," Gandalf said, shaking his head. "Even now Wormtongue plays his dangerous game. He has long sought the rule of Rohan, but not for himself." Then Gandalf turned to Gríma. "How long, Master Worm, since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price?"
"You lie!" Wormtongue hissed. He looked around again, from cold face to cold face, until at last his eyes rested on Éowyn. Then Théoden remembered strange conversations he had heard between Éowyn and Wormtongue as they cared for him. Strange phantoms, they seemed, almost dreams themselves, but the look in Wormtongue's eyes as they rested on Éowyn confirmed Théoden's worst fears. Then Théoden remembered other things, news of attacks on hunters and orphans from the Westfold, and not least the cold stone door of his son's tomb. He took his sword and with a mighty yell lunged toward Wormtongue.
"No, my lord!" shouted Mellamir. She threw herself at Théoden's knees and grabbed his arms, stopping the sword's descent. "He is a snake, true, but even a snake may crawl where he will if he does not turn his fang to us."
Théoden looked down with surprise at the lady from Gondor. Where did she get this strength? Those were the arms of a warrior. His sword still raised, he asked, "What would you have me do with him, then?"
"Give him a horse," Mellamir said. "With safety you can neither take him with you nor leave him here, but he was once a great councilor, so I have heard. Do not slay him; send him on his way."
Théoden nodded. "So it will be." Two guards rushed to Wormtongue's side and held him up. "You have your horse," Théoden said, "and your freedom; but if I ever meet you again, I will not be merciful!"
Suddenly such malice filled Wormtongue's eyes that the guards holding him backed up. He hissed and cursed in his native tongue, then at last spat at the king's feet. He ran off for the stables and was never seen in Edoras again.
2-4 March 3018; Edoras
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Éomer was in the lock-houses almost a week. He did not suffer much because Mellamir personally saw to his meals, and the jail itself was not completely unpleasant, but for one used to the clean air of freedom and the feel of galloping horses any sort of imprisonment was torture. Yet he had pleasant enough company as Mellamir came to see him every day. She had brought a chess board from Minas Tirith and taught him how to play.
"The secret of the game," she said once, "is to realize that, just like the men under your control have different talents, a sage can do things a rider cannot."
"Ah," he replied as her rook took his knight. "And keeping them all straight. That's my problem at least, there are just too many types. And you have to sacrifice when you have to, if that's the only way to win."
"Just like in war."
Éomer moved his pawn up a row. Mellamir took it with her knight, then Éomer took her piece with his sage. "I think," he said at last with a chuckle, "that I'm beginning to understand this game."
They spent several hours each day together, talking about what had happened since Éomer left for the Westfold, playing chess, and generally passing the time. Mellamir had invited Éowyn to come but Éowyn refused: one of her patients had died, true, but she still had another, and Théoden still needed her.
It was Éowyn who first saw the Four Riders approaching Edoras. She was standing in the courtyard of Meduseld, looking out at the setting sun and daydreaming, when she saw them riding across the plains. One she recognized. It was gray, and powerful, the proudest of its kind: Shadowfax! He had returned several days earlier riderless, and the whisper had spread through Edoras that Gandalf was dead. Wormtongue had been all-too-happy to tell Éowyn of his fall, and Éowyn had relayed the news to Mellamir, but Mellamir wouldn't believe it. What of a horse? Gandalf escaped on eagles' wings; what did he need a horse for? She was concerned, yes, but Gandalf had been riding into dangers for long years. Besides, she hardly had time to dwell on rumours those days.
Shadowfax, though, seemed to have taken a new rider. He wore a gray cloak over white robes and had white flowing hair and a long, white beard. Yet somehow he seemed familiar. What if it _was_ Gandalf? No man had ever been able to tame Shadowfax before Gandalf, and by all accounts Shadowfax had rode off to the sound of a whistle in the air.
And what's more, two horses rode beside Shadowfax. On one rode a man, and on the other an elf and a dwarf. If it were just a man Éowyn wouldn't have thought any more of it, but the elf and the dwarf, that caught her attention. Éomer had told her of his meeting with an elf, a man, and a dwarf, and how he had lent them horses. These were clearly horses of Rohan. Could it be the three Éomer had seen? Éowyn ran to tell Mellamir of this strange news.
But Éowyn wasn't the only one to recognize Shadowfax. Wormtongue looked out from the window in Théoden's suite high above, noticing the four. "My lord," he said to Théoden. "Gandalf Stormcrow approaches. Come now, we must get you dressed and seated at your throne to extend a fitting welcome to our guest. He must know that his ill news is not welcome here." Théoden sat up and allowed Wormtongue to dress him.
~*~
The four riders rode across the plains and up the hill toward Edoras. They passed the mounds, seven to their left and nine to their right, where Théodred and so many of his fathers now lay forever under cold earth. As they approached the gates of Edoras they stopped in front of the guards blocking their way.
"Stay, stranger!" the first said in the tongue of the Rohirrim.
Gandalf answered him, "Well I know your tongue, but few strangers do. Why do you speak such if you want to be understood. Why not use the Common Speech of the West, as was your custom when last I traveled through Rohan?"
"Rohan has no welcome for the stranger in these days of love. Our king Théoden wishes that we not admit anyone to the city, save his own people and those from Gondor who bring us hope in the coming attack. Yet you ride horses like our own, and only those in service to Théoden are permitted to ride them. Where did you get them?"
"They were lent to us three days ago," Aragorn answered, "by the marshal Éomer. We now return them, as we promised. But has Éomer not brought word of our coming?"
"None that has reached guards such as us, yet we do not hear everything that passes at the Golden Hall. Give me your names, and I will ask the king if he will hear you."
"I am Gandalf, as you well know," Gandalf said. "With me ride lords of far-off lands, three of the greatest Théoden has ever kept waiting at his gate. Aragorn, a lord of men far to the North; Legolas, son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood; and Gimli, son of Glóin, dwarf-lord of the Lonely Mountain. But my name should be enough. Go, then!" So the guard left and a few minutes returned. The guards stood aside, and the four riders left their horses with the guards and made their way slowly up the winding streets toward the Golden Hall.
There was, of course, Gandalf, now Gandalf the White. He had fought a balrog in the mines of Moria and was thought to have died, but he had returned. With him was Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor, though this was not common knowledge yet. And also Legolas the elf and his friend Gimli the dwarf. At last the guard returned and opened the city gates, allowing them to pass. The four riders walked forward, yet they were hardly unnoticed. Women and children stopped their work to stare at them.
As they approached the great steps of Meduseld the guards held the hilts of their swords out in a sign of peace. One stepped forward and bowed formally. "_Haletan, gyst_*," he said in the native language of Rohan, then continued in the common tongue: "I am Háma, door-warden of Meduseld. Théoden --" But Háma stopped short, seeing Mellamir running up. He frowned; most unlady-like. But he did not say anything and let her approach.
"Gandalf!" she called as she climbed the stairs. "Is that you? Where have you been? We heard that you had died!"
"Wherever I have been," he answered, "I am back. Melllamir, excuse me; my business is urgent. I am glad to see you yet live, though."
"I know your business," she answered; "it is with Théoden. But can a lady of Gondor not watch?"
"Gondor?" asked Aragorn. "Who are you?"
Gandalf hastily answered him, "Strider, meet Mellamir, daughter of Denethor, steward of Gondor. Sister of Boromir."
A stranger who did not know the ranger of the North would think those words meant nothing to him, but his friends saw how deeply affected he was. Here was a daughter of Denethor, and thus a Númenorean, proud and true. But she was also sister of Boromir, and that meant he would have to tell her the truth, even though he knew it would hurt.
"Mellamir, I -- " he began, but Gandalf interrupted.
"Not now, Aragorn." He nodded toward Háma.
"Gentlemen, and my lady, the king awaits you. Yet first you must leave all your weapons at the door. Here they will be kept until your return." They reluctantly disarmed: seven short-knives, one sword, five axes of various sizes, two bows, and forty-seven arrows. The guards stared in amazement that four travelers should carry so many weapons but said nothing.
Háma nodded toward Aragorn. "And your sword, sir."
Aragorn unsheathed his blade and lay it across the palm of his hands, holding it out for the guards to inspect. Some of them whispered amongst themselves; others tried not to let their amazement show, with varying degrees of success.
"You recognize it, then," Aragorn said. "This is Andúril, which of old was called Narsil, Isildur's blade. It was reforged of late by the Elven-smiths at Rivendell, and I carry it now to war. Any lesser blade I would leave at any master's door, whether he be a shepherd or a king."
"Yet those are my orders," Háma answered, "and it is not clear to me that the wishes of Aragorn of the North should supercede those of Théoden King of the Mark, even if he carries the blade of kings. For even if Aragorn sat on Isildur's throne, still Rohan is its own country and is not subject to Gondor's decrees." Háma pointed his sword at Aragorn.
"Come now, Háma," Gandalf said, "put your sword away." Then he turned to Aragorn. "Needless are the demands of Théoden, yet a king may demand as he will. We do not have time for this idle banter."
"Very well," Aragorn said at last. "He replaced Andúril to his sheath, then loosened the sheath from his girdle. He stepped toward the wall of Meduseld, holding out his hand in a sign of peace, and rested his blade against the wall of the Golden Hall. "But the next man who touches Isildur's blade save myself shall die on it."
The look in the guards' eyes told Aragorn that, even if he had not threatened them, none of these men would dare touch so noble a blade. Háma, though, still did not move aside to let them enter. "And your staff," he said, nodding at Gandalf.
"Come now!" Gandalf exclaimed. "Foolishness is one thing, but courtesy is quite another. May an old man not have a stick to lean on?"
Háma frowned. "A staff in the hands of a wizard may be more than a prop for old age." But then he sighed. "Yet, in times such as these, a man must trust to friendship as much as wisdom. I know you, Gandalf, to be a friend, regardless of what others may say. Keep your staff. Now go; the king awaits." He stepped aside and opened the door, allowing the five to enter the hall. It clicked ominously behind them.
~*~
The throne room was dark, lit only by a small fire on the hearth in the middle of the hall; dark clouds blocked out the sun outside. Théoden sat, wrapped in his great cloak, the throne on his head, Wormtongue sitting at his right hand on a low stool. "My king," he said, "the four approach: Legolas the elf, Gimli the dwarf, Aragorn of the Dúnedain, and . . . ah, Gandalf, constant bringer of ill tidings!"
Mellamir stood near the back wall. She had intended to stand before the king beside Gandalf, but now that she was actually in Meduseld again, she doubted, after her last encounters with Wormtongue, that her presence would help Gandalf's case. Gandalf and his companions walked slowly up the hall until at last they stood before the great throne. "Hail, Théoden son of Thengel!" Gandalf announced. "I return at last. We have passed through many dangers, through cave and wood and plain, across rivers and through hordes of orcs, to bring you aid. Will you not hear us?"
"What do you have to say that you did not say on our last parting, Gandalf Stormcrow?" Théoden asked. "Is Saruman still our enemy, or has he since become our friend? Or perhaps you wish to unsay some things?"
The king took his black staff from beside the throne and pulled himself up. Stooped though he was, he seemed tall to those there, and they thought that as a young man he must have been tall indeed. "I admit you to my halls," Théoden continued. "Perhaps you look for welcome? Do not expect it here. For when have you ever given us cause to welcome you?" Slowly he sank back down into the throne.
"The king speaks wisely," said Wormtongue. "Gandalf comes on the wingtips of doom, and all fear his presence. And so it seems this time. For it is not five days since my lord Théodred fell at the fords of Isen, and news comes from Gondor that the Dark Lord rises again. _Láthspell_ I name you, 'Ill-news.' Why should we welcome you, Gandalf? Go away, and take your news with you.
"You speak of aid, but I do not see it. Do you bring swords, spears, and riders? For that is our need. Last time it was you who sought our aid. You begged a horse, and when my king graciously granted you one, any one, so long as you went quickly, you took Shadowfax! That was a sore price to pay, but some among us thought Shadowfax was not too great a price to speed you on your way. But now you return. I ask you again, what aid do you bring? We have no need for these ragged wanderers who follow at your tail --"
"Be silent!" Gandalf said. "Do not speak of what you know little." Then, he addressed the king. "The courtesy of your hall has greatly lessened of late, Théoden king. Did your guards not announce these 'ragged wanderers,' as your councilor puts it? Seldom have you or your fathers, even back to Éorl the Young, welcomed three greater lords, and they have left weapons at your doors worth companies of riders.
"Three swords and a quiver of arrows make not a great armoury --" Gríma began but again Gandalf interrupted him.
"Silence!" He threw his grey cloak aside and revealed his white robes, and his eyes burned with a clear fire. "Keep your tongue behind your forked tooth, Master Snake! I have not passed through fire and water to battle words with you, O master of shadows and lies." He pounded his staff on the floor, then raised it in the air. Almost immediately the clouds thickened and the fire burned low; Gandalf alone could be seen clearly, a queer white light emanating from him. A side door opened and Éowyn ran in, wanting to see what all the noise was about.
"His staff!" Wormtongue hissed. "Did I not warn you, my lord, to forbid the wizard's staff?" A flash of light filled the room and when it subsided Wormtongue was sprawled on his face.
He turned to Théoden. "Now, my lord, will you hear me?" Great he seemed, and perilous. Théoden did not object, so Gandalf continued. He slowly lifted his staff toward the roof and, high above, the clouds parted and a single ray of light penetrated the windows. "All is not dark. Hope yet for tomorrow, for you will find no better help than what I bring with me. Counsel I would give you, yet it is not for all ears. Will you not walk out with me? Let us speak more in private." Slowly, Théoden nodded. He pulled himself up from his chair, and Éowyn ran to his side. She offered him her arm, and, leaning on her and his staff, he made his way down the dais and across the hall. When they reached the great doors Gandalf knocked.
"Open!" he commanded. "The Lord of the Mark wishes to walk abroad."
Quickly the doors opened, and all save Mellamir and Aragorn walked out. Mellamir had started to follow, but Aragorn stopped her. "May I have a word, my lady?" he asked.
She nodded and led him out a side door into the courtyard. They stood looking out over the city for what seemed like a long time, until at last Aragorn broke the silence. "I knew your brother. We met in Rivendell, at a council held by the elf-lord Elrond. There a Halfling came bearing, well, the source of all our dooms. It was the decision of the council that that Halfling should travel to Mordor to destroy the ring, and that he be accompanied by eight, including myself and your brother Boromir.
"We passed through many dangerous lands," he said. "We tried the Redhorn Gate in the Misty Mountains, but snow stopped us, and we had to turn back. Then Gandalf suggested we try Moria, an underground region that was a mine of the dwarves long ago but has long since fallen into disuse. There two of our company were injured in a skirmish with the orcs, but we passed through. Most of us, that is. One of the Halflings, Pippin, tossed a pebble into a well, and that woke a balrog, a demon of the ancient world. Gandalf fought it on the last bridge, and he fell into the great chasm beneath to let us escape. We thought he had died.
"But there was no time for weeping. The orcs surely would have pursued us for many miles, as soon as darkness fell, so we had to be far away by that time. We made for the Elvish lands of Lothlórien. There we stayed for many weeks, but at last we had to press on. We sailed down the Great River, until at last we reached the Argonath. We camped near Amon Hen, and that night we were attacked by orcs and uruk-hai, evil servants of both Sauron and Saruman." Here he paused, and as he looked on Mellamir, sadness filled his eyes. "Your bro -- I'm afraid, Mellamir, that your brother -- there were so many -- " He stopped, and Mellamir looked at him, not sure at first what he was saying. At last understanding dawned in her eyes.
"Boromir? No, he was too strong. It couldn't be -- " she looked at Aragorn, begging him to tell her she was mistaken, but he just looked back, that same pained expression on his face. "But -- but, he was so strong -- " A tear rolled down her throat, followed by one and then another, until at last she could not hold back any longer. She weeped uncontrollably and started to fall forward, but Aragorn caught her. He led her back to a stone bench against Meduseld, and the two of them sat down.
He took off the glove he wore at his right wrist, and Mellamir noticed he didn't have a matching one at his other wrist. He gave it to her and said, "This belonged to your brother. I have carried it many miles, but I think he would like for you to have it." Mellamir took the glove and looked at it. Slowly she regained her composure and wiped away her tears.
"It's j-just," she said at last, "every -- everything is falling apart. First Th-Théodred dying, then É-Éomer in jail, and now Bo-Boro -- "
But she couldn't even say the name properly. It was too much, and a fresh tear rolled down her cheek. Aragorn took her hand, caressing it. "Your brother died nobly. He died protecting two of the Halflings, and while they were captured, they escaped and are now in Fangorn, with Treebeard. A great man, your brother."
Mellamir looked up at the mention of Fangorn. "Treebeard?" she asked.
Aragorn smiled. "Then you are not afraid of the old legends, like most in this land?" he asked.
"And he -- he lived well," Mellamir said at last. "To die well, that is what he would have wanted. To die in battle."
Aragorn nodded. "Our own doom may not be far off. But Boromir may save us all." He looked at her earnestly. "I think, these uruks, they were after just one thing, well, four things: the Halflings. And Boromir held them off, he alerted us by blowing his horn, and he gave the other Halflings time to escape.
"Mellamir, you know that the shadows are growing. Boromir told me that you know. So I will not hide from you that one of those Halflings carries our greatest hope in this hour. Our only hope. Mellamir, your brother's bravery may someday rule the fate of all men."
With that glimmer of hope she stood up and strapped Boromir's glove around her own right hand.
"That's my girl," Aragorn said, patting her shoulder. "I know --"
But with that he was quiet. Háma ran by with three guards escorting Éomer to the patio where Théoden and Gandalf were talking.
"Come," Aragorn said, and the two ran after the guards. There Théoden and Gandalf stood in the high place, looking off toward the east, and Gimli and Legolas stood not far behind them. Théoden was looking down at his withered hand.
"Alas," he said, "my old age is not all feigned. Why are these evil days mine? The young die, and the old linger on, withering past their prime."
"You are not so old as Gríma would have you believe," Gandalf answered. "You would remember your old strength better if you grasped your sword."
Théoden reached down to his side, but no sword was there. "Now where has Háma stowed it?" he asked himself.
"Take this, my lord!" Théoden turned around and saw Éomer kneeling before him, holding out the hilt of his own sword. "It was ever at your service."
"Who gave you back your sword?" Théoden asked sternly. At first none answered, so amazed were they at the change in Théoden. It seemed that half his years had melted away; he stood now tall and proud.
At last Háma answered, "That was my doing, my lord. I heard that Éomer was to be set free, and when he asked for his sword, I saw no reason to refuse him."
"I asked for my sword," Éomer explained, "so that I might lay it at your feet."
For a long moment Théoden looked at his nephew, unsure of what to do. At last Gandalf asked, "Will you not take the sword?"
Slowly Théoden extended his hand. He took the sword and raised it high, gently touching the broad side to his forehead. He let it lower slowly and swung it quickly through the air. Those who watched thought that the very spirit of Éorl the Young descended on him, and he called:
_Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.
Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!
Forth Éorlingas!_
Almost at once a dozen guards appeared from around the corner. They held their swords drawn and looked around in amazement. They thought they had been called to handle some emergency but their lord now appeared capable of handling anything fate might demand of him.
Éomer smiled. "Never again, Gandalf, will it be said you bring only ill news!"
"Keep your sword," Théoden said, "for you shall soon have need of it. But I need my own sword. Go, see where Gríma has stowed it." Háma and two of his guards ran into Meduseld and returned a few minutes later, Háma carrying Théoden's sword, the others carrying Wormtongue between them.
Háma kneeled before Théoden, holding out the hilt of his sword. "Here, my lord, is your blade; I found it in Wormtongue's chest, with many other things that have of late been reported missing."
"Lies!" Wormtongue answered. "And as for the sword, my king commanded me to keep it safe for him."
"And now I need it," said Théoden, "for this very afternoon I will be riding forth with the Riders to the Westfold, where we are needed."
Gríma looked around, first at Théoden and Éomer, then at the guards, and finally at Gandalf and his companions. A panicked look entered his eye, like that in a cornered animal before he strikes. He licked his lips nervously, then said, "Such a decision might be expected of a Lord of the Mark, but those who truly love him would spare his last years. But I see I am too late. Yet if I cannot save you, let me at least help your people. One who knows your mind should be left behind to govern them and keep them until your return. For I hope you will, though I do not think it hopeful. But let me stay and keep your people safe."
Éomer laughed at that. "Anything to escape the war, I suppose?"
"No," Gandalf said, shaking his head. "Even now Wormtongue plays his dangerous game. He has long sought the rule of Rohan, but not for himself." Then Gandalf turned to Gríma. "How long, Master Worm, since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price?"
"You lie!" Wormtongue hissed. He looked around again, from cold face to cold face, until at last his eyes rested on Éowyn. Then Théoden remembered strange conversations he had heard between Éowyn and Wormtongue as they cared for him. Strange phantoms, they seemed, almost dreams themselves, but the look in Wormtongue's eyes as they rested on Éowyn confirmed Théoden's worst fears. Then Théoden remembered other things, news of attacks on hunters and orphans from the Westfold, and not least the cold stone door of his son's tomb. He took his sword and with a mighty yell lunged toward Wormtongue.
"No, my lord!" shouted Mellamir. She threw herself at Théoden's knees and grabbed his arms, stopping the sword's descent. "He is a snake, true, but even a snake may crawl where he will if he does not turn his fang to us."
Théoden looked down with surprise at the lady from Gondor. Where did she get this strength? Those were the arms of a warrior. His sword still raised, he asked, "What would you have me do with him, then?"
"Give him a horse," Mellamir said. "With safety you can neither take him with you nor leave him here, but he was once a great councilor, so I have heard. Do not slay him; send him on his way."
Théoden nodded. "So it will be." Two guards rushed to Wormtongue's side and held him up. "You have your horse," Théoden said, "and your freedom; but if I ever meet you again, I will not be merciful!"
Suddenly such malice filled Wormtongue's eyes that the guards holding him backed up. He hissed and cursed in his native tongue, then at last spat at the king's feet. He ran off for the stables and was never seen in Edoras again.