Life After Death
NOTE: I don't own LOTR or any of the characters.
Black. Black, black, black, and more black was all I could see, which is typical for mourning but at the same time it depresses me further so one should be able to imagine my surprise to find that these riders did not wear only black when they rode in.
From my place I watched them as they rode through the village; Háma had certainly got word around fast since all the soldiers and common people were all in that depressing color.
"My Lady," spoke up Háma from the doorway, "Grima Wormtongue wishes you sent inside."
"Understood," I replied still observing the riders.
One of them saw me, I think, for he turned to but then looked away as though he was seeing some ghostly figure. When he turned away I left, if Grima Wormtongue-horrid man!-wished me to away when these riders, whomever they should be, arrived then I would stay out of sight.
I did not meet Wormtongue's or my Lord's eye when I entered the hall for I made my quick escape down the hall that led to the armory. May as well give off the appearance that I wish to work off some of my pent up grief, I thought, stopping half way down the hall.
Now all I had to do was wait until Grima and everyone else was distracted then I could return to the hall entrance and watch. Though it is not customary for the women to greet visitors upon arrival until called forth, I like to be the one who does the introduction. Besides, whether I like it or no, the King was still my Uncle and he was not in the best of health so I had to protect him from any danger that these strangers may poss.
I stood against the wall waiting for the familiar sound of the hall doors closing, but it seemed that I had to wait a few extra moments than normal before the doors closed.
At the sound of the doors closing and my curiosity growing, I began to creep down the hall towards the doorway.
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," I heard the sound of Gandalf the Grey's voice echo down the hallway.
I could not believe it, the last Gandalf had come to Rohan he had requested a horse and had taken the wild one, Shadow Fax. If my memory served me correctly, my Lord had not been pleased with that arrangement since the Wizard was the only being the horse would allow on its back.
Personally, I did not mind for that horse was best to be ridden by a rider that he was pleased with rather to have such a magnificent creature be broken, if that could ever be done.
"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" I had barely heard my Lord demand.
I was jealous instantly; the Wizard whom he was angered at was able to get my Lord to speak to him whereas I, his own kin, was not even worth a word? How ever was that fair?
"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear." Shivers were sent down my spine as Grima Wormtongue spoke. "Láthspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest," he continued, his voice getting softer.
"Be silent," commanded Gandalf the Grey's voice. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."
"I told you to take the Wizard's staff," was the next thing I heard before there was a lot of commotion.
Guessing that it was safe for me to at least be able to see what was happening, I approached the great hall while hearing Gandalf's voice saying, "Théoden, son of Thengel…"
I stopped before I reached the door way, I still did not wish my presence to be known but I did want to keep my ears alert for the Wizard was standing in the presence of my Lord and Grima Wormtongue was no where to be found, so now my Uncle was on his own.
"Hearken to me," commanded Gandalf. Then he began mumbling some words that did not reach my ears but whatever those words were caused my Uncle to laugh in a cold, sadistic manner that I would never have associated with him.
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey," laughed my Uncle in a voice that could be heard clearly.
He could speak this entire time? I felt so betrayed by the fact that my Uncle knew he could still speak loud and clear yet he subjected himself to mutterings.
By train of thought was lost upon me as I was momentarily blinded by an unnatural light.
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf declared as I blinked a few times to clear my eyes.
My eyes cleared as I heard a sharp THUD emanate from the hall. My senses caused me to dash out of the hall quickly to go to my Uncle's aid; he was still old and practically defenseless!
As I exited the hallway I paused for a second only to see my Uncle struggling against an invisible force on his throne. I made a run to his side but someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back against something solid.
"Wait," was the only instruction I received.
I whipped my head around to see who this person, who was keeping me from tending to my Uncle, was. He was a rugged man with defined features and dark hair, other than that I noticed nothing else, except for perhaps the tight grip on my arm.
Now, having a face to match the person I can later deal with this as I choose, but at that moment I still had my King to worry about so I turned back to him.
"If I go, Théoden dies," my Uncle spat.
What? Had what Gandalf the Grey-erm…white now I suppose-said earlier be true, that that person sitting there was not truly my Uncle but indeed a vessel of Saruman?
"You did not kill me, you will not kill him," Gandalf stated, advancing with his staff held outwards.
Struggling against Gandalf the White's power, my Lord's head pulled down from looking at the ceiling and he glared at the White Wizard. "Rohan is mine," he declared but that only made Gandalf advance further.
I could feel the man's grip tighten around my arm and I suppose that was from the tenseness of my body. I was worried, deathly worried because I couldn't lose my Uncle, not now! Not after I just lost both my brother and cousin! I could not bare to be left alone with all this grief that was still hidden in me.
My Uncle launched himself at Gandalf in a manner that I had never known and had scared me to the extent that I literally jumped a bit, which did cause the man's grip to loosen. Gandalf lunged his staff forward and made contact with my Uncle's head, which seemed to have pushed out any control of Saruman that was in my Lord for my Uncle fell back to his throne.
Satisfied with his work Gandalf put down his staff and watched as my Uncle began to slowly fall from his seat. I stood in shock as I realized that no one was going to catch him, so I wrenched myself from the man's grasp and raced to my Uncle.
Grabbing him by the shoulders I gently pushed him enough so that he would not fall, he was fairly light compared to most men that I have known. As I knelt beside him waiting for a sign that no harm was truly done to him, I saw all signs of drastic aging slowly melt away until he was the same Uncle Théoden that had welcomed me and Éomer to Idoras when our parents had died.
I could not help but smile because I had him back at last!
He stared at me searchingly as though trying to place my face with a name. "I know your face," he whispered to me as he continued to search my eyes for a name. He found it. "Éowyn." I smiled even more because I now knew that he still remembered me, he knew who I was. "Éowyn," he repeated as I touched his cheek tenderly.
My Uncle, my true Uncle, turned and looked upon Gandalf the White for the first time and I turned my head too. Was he going to do more?
"Gandalf?"
"Breath the free air again, my friend," was all the Wizard had to say and that pleased me to no end.
I turned my head back to my Uncle and I was so grateful to Gandalf for giving me back my Uncle. Sensing that he would wish to stand, I held his arm firmly and aided my Uncle to his feet then backed away so that he did not feel as though I was supporting him.
He stood tall, taller than I could ever recall him stand as he gazed upon the people who bore witness to the recent events.
"Dark have been my dreams of late," he simply said before he looked down at his dirty hands as though something was amiss.
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf offered as though reading my Uncle's mind. And just remarkably, Háma stepped forward baring my Uncle's sword, still sheathed.
My Uncle reached out a tentative hand and first brushed his finger tips to the tip, then his palm as though savoring the feeling of his old sword that had not been in his hand for many years. His fingers felt the hilt then as though remembering their place his hand moved and he grasped his sword, and then slowly unsheathed it from its cover.
I watched breathlessly and attentively.
The moment my Uncle held up his old sword before I face I felt a pride swell up in me that I had not felt in a long time. I was proud to be called the sister-daughter of King Théoden of Rohan in that moment and I smiled proudly at him so that if he glanced at me he would know just how proud I was of him.
He stared at the sword in his hands for a moment, then his eyes traveled up to the tip then back down. The feeling of the sword being back in his hands again must have felt extraordinary.
However, I knew that the moment when he glanced at Grima Wormtongue that this breathtaking moment was over with and could never be repeated ever again. It was gone forever.