Life After Death
NOTE: I don't own LOTR or any of the characters.
All I have to say is that all of you should be happy you are not writing this fic for it is emotionally draining to write. Yeah, now that I killed off Théodred, much to mine and others' disappointments, I now have to deal with the consequences. Anyways, on with the story!
If there had been one thing in my life that I would have changed as I was walking down that hallway to the hall where my Uncle dwelt it would have been being the sister's daughter of the King. One may think that an odd thing to not want but in being King Théoden's niece I held the responsibility of informing him of his son's death. In my emotional state of mind I could not emotionally handle the task but the stubbornness and sense of duty in my blood was more powerful than my state of being.
I did not wish to be the one to inform my Uncle of Théodred's death only because I fear that he will once again do nothing except sit there. How dare he call himself king when he will not listen or acknowledge anyone else existence-even his own son's-with the exception of Grima Wormtongue! He will listen and acknowledge his advisor but not his own kin! Why does that not sound correct?
Anyways, this was my state of mind for the most part until I reached the entrance of the hall, and it was there that I stopped to collect myself. What good would it be to go to my Uncle in an enraged condition such as the one I had been in? None that was what!
So, I took a few moments to take a few deep breathes to calm myself.
"Even if he does not behave in the manner that I wish he would, I must keep in mind that he has just recently lost his son and still needs to be comforted whether he wants to be or not," I told myself.
With this resolve in mind I pulled my shoulders back and entered the hall to find Uncle Théoden sitting upon his throne, still wearing the same clothes he has been in for the last many months. How can one man sit there for so long and not feel the need to get up to stretch his legs? I will never know the answer to that since I could never sit still for too long.
"My Lord, it is your sister's daughter, Éowyn," I announced to him, "I am afraid that I do not bring good tidings."
He did not move at all, just stared blankly at-or at least what appeared to be-at me. This truly did irritate me since I was trying to tell him that his son-my husband-was dead. If I sound angry at all then let me assure you, I was angry but not at my Uncle. No, I was not angry at Uncle Théoden-as much as I wish I could have been-I was angry at the sheer fact that Théodred was dead and I was still alive.
Keeping control of my emotions I approached my Uncle and took hold of his hand, it was cold to the touch but I still held it. Then with my other hand I rubbed his hand comforting, mainly to physically let him know that my news was going to bring him pain, and to warm his hand.
"My Lord, your son," I began again in a soft voice, "he is dead." I stopped by rubbing and place my hand on top of his, so his hand was squished between my two hands.
He did nothing, just as I had feared; he just sat there starring expressionlessly out at nothing. He had not even blinked! Did he not care that his only son was dead? I wanted to cry but I held back.
I must be persistent and break through to him somehow, I thought determinedly.
"My Lord?" I spoke again. Perhaps that is too formal to break through to him. "Uncle?"
I waited a few seconds, seconds that were well worth it since I finally got a reaction out of him! He turned his head slightly to me and he moved his eyes so that he could see me from the corner of them.
Despite the fact that I should have been happy to have received some form of acknowledgement, I was not. There were more pressing matters at hand than just gauging his attention.
"Will you not go to him?" I questioned bluntly. I had to know. "Will you do nothing?"
He just stared at him and muttered something under his breath so that I could not hear, but it sounded like a 'leave'.
Realizing that I was to be disappointed by my Lord-I will not refer to him as my Uncle unless he begins to act like one again-once more, I rose from my kneeling position and took my leave.
I needed privacy that much I knew for I could feel the tears that I had kept at bay for so long, brimming at my eyes. Naturally, I ran down the halls, straight to the sick room, which I found, thankfully, empty.
Unfortunately, not only did I find the room empty but my chair gone as well. Yes, my chair! I had slept in that chair, sat in that very chair as I watched and cared for Théodred, so, I believe that I have a right to that chair now.
Without my chair to sit upon I did the next best thing, knelt by Théodred's bedside and wept. It felt good to let all those tears just roll down my cheeks and into my arms that were folded under my head. The only problem was was that I knew that after I was done crying I would have a serious headache.
Still, I cried.
"You just could not have held on, not even one more day, could you?" I muttered into my arm. "You just could not have waited until we were married to get yourself killed, but I suppose that would have been worse, eh?"
Despite my weeping, I let out a wet sort of ironic laugh. "Is that not funny," I asked my cousin's lifeless form, "that I should speak of marriage after all those times I had passionately rejected the thought and had made you promise to wait another year." I quickly sobered up by then. "How I wish I had not forced you to promise me another year as a husbandless girl."
This made me cry harder for a moment, but I quickly wiped those tears away until I came to understand that by wiping them away those tears would be replaced by twice as many.
Lifting my head up from my arms I looked up at Théodred's face for a moment. He still had his youthful appearance but now it was tarnished with that purple-blue tone of a corpse.
"Oh, he must have died sometime in the night," observed Grima Wormtongue's voice from the doorway. I did not bother to turn around, why should I have when I knew who it was?
"What a tragedy for the king to lose his only son and heir," he continued as he approached me and Théodred.
A tragedy indeed but you cannot tell me that my Lord feels anything towards for he most certainly not showing it, I thought bitterly as I looked up to find Wormtongue looming over me.
"I understand," he stated, sitting down upon the bed. "His passing is hard to accept."
Whether he was being serious or not it did not matter to me, what mattered was that someone was saying those words of comfort to me when I needed to hear them most.
"Especially now that your brother has deserted you," Wormtongue told me, having placed his hand on my shoulder.
With a glance down at his hand on my shoulder I was pulled away from his trance.
"Leave me alone, snake!" I commanded, getting up and distancing myself from that awful man.
"Oh, but you are alone."
He was right, I was alone now. I had no one there to defend me but myself, no Éomer or Théodred could now protect me from Grima Wormtongue or anybody else. I was now completely and utterly alone.
"Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness," Wormtongue began again as he got up and started to circle me, "in the bitter watches of the night when all your life seems to shrink. The walls of your bower closing in about you. A hutch to trammel some wild thing in."
I do wish that he would have maintained his distance from me, but his words began to echo in my head. How did he know what it felt like to be me? Had he been watching me?
Turning to him, after he had finally stopped his circle, I stared hard at him. In that moment, Grima Wormtongue's countenance seemed to soften slightly and he gazed at me in a gentle way that I had rarely seen.
"So fair. So cold," he said as he touched my cheek with his hand. However, my thoughts were not on his hand but rather on his eyes as he continued to gaze at me.
"Like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill." His words enveloped around me more than his voice as I closed my eyes.
Théodred had once said something like that to me on my eighteenth birthday when we were alone sitting on the rafters of the stables. He had been touching my cheek then too, but this was not Théodred that was speaking to me, touching me in such an intimate way. It was Grima Wormtongue.
I opened my eyes as he moved his hand down to my throat. That desirous expression in his eyes was back, ruining whatever gentleness there had been in them before.
He stared back at him as though sensing that whatever moment that had happened between us was gone and I was going to leave.
"Your words are poison," I growled at him before exiting the room. There was no need for me to care that Wormtongue was in there alone with Théodred anymore, now that Théodred was dead.
Air, that was what I needed, to be outside, out of these walls that held many memories of Théodred and where I now felt that Wormtongue could be watching me. Opening the doors to the hall, I did not bother to acknowledge my Lord Théoden; I practically marched out the doors.
Once outside I stopped for a moment because I did not know where to go or what to do exactly. First, I took a couple of steps to my left but then decided that I ought to go to my right and stand by Edoras' flag.
Starring off into the distance between the strands of hair that now blew in my face; I took a deep breath to calm myself. That was when I first noticed them, three horses coming to Edoras. Whether it was a sign of good luck or just a chance encounter I do not know or care, all that I care about was the fact that there were riders coming and I felt that they were bringing help.
My thoughts of 'help' were abruptly dismissed for I could not afford to allow myself to hope for such a thing to come along. No, I had to harden myself for the tough road ahead that would not consist of 'help', at least that was what I had thought.
I heard the flag tear then watched as it flew away as though to meet the riders. Perhaps this was a good omen after all.