Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to JRR Tolkien. I am merely borrowing his toys for a while, and promise to put them back when I'm finished.
Dedications: To Evendim, who gave me my start in this fandom and has graciously supplied me with permission to play in her playground any time I like. Thanks, sweetie… it means a great deal to me. To Ithil-valon, for tireless beta-reading and the occasional kick in the pants I need to keep writing. And last, but not least, to AJ, who is helping me write this one which started so innocently with a game of "What if…"
Author's Note: This story is set in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE of my own creation. That means that some facts, faces, and features found in canon might not exactly fit. All constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms; flames will be read, laughed over, and then tossed out the window for Dogzilla to eat.
Author's Note #2: This was just supposed to be an innocent little way to pass the time… AJ and I were playing "What if" games and came up with the idea that perhaps Théodred hadn't been killed at the Fords of Isen. It quickly spiraled from there, grabbed a couple more innocent-looking little bunnies, and guess what? We're off and running on another story! I beg your indulgence; all works in progress are intended to be updated and completed as time allows. This is mostly movie-verse, though there will be a few elements of book-verse involved later. Enjoy!
Chapter One
Saruman looked down at the bloody gift that had been sent to him in the night by his trusted vassal in Rohan. The note that came with it stated merely that it was a royal toy for his amusement. He pulled wrapping off the gift and smiled grimly, touching the young man's shoulder lightly. "Well it looks as if you will be staying a while, Prince Théodred. I hope to make your visit especially pleasant." The smile on his face became more vulturine as he placed a hand over one of the boy's wounds. "But first, let us make you more comfortable, that you might enjoy your stay with us." He motioned one of the Orc healers. "Make certain that he lives and will be available to discuss his future soon."
Théodred woke, disoriented and wracked with pain. The silk of the sheets confused him further; there were no such things in his éored. They lived rough and hard, protecting Rohan from the forces of Sauron's darkness.
Isen, he had been at the Fords of Isen, near Isengard. The Orcs that had ambushed them, they weren't Mordor Orcs. They bore the White Hand of Saruman.
The White Wizard had turned on them. It was a grievous blow, but not unexpected. Did Saruman's little toady still reside at Meduseld, keeping Théodred's father in their thrall? Oh, yes, it was all clear to him now.
He shifted and stifled a hiss of pain, though it was far less than it should have been. How long had he been here? Where was he? And what was happening in his home? He would have been reported lost, had any of his men survived. He had gone down hard, wounded with what he was certain should have been a mortal blow. So how was he still breathing?
He saw Orcs enter the room and dove off the bed, no longer concerned with the pain. He was a Rohirrim, a warrior born, a son of kings, and they would not take him without suffering severe losses of their own. He grabbed up the poker from the fireplace, intending to use it as a weapon. "Come on then!" he snarled as they came closer.
The lead Orc grunted and motioned for the servant behind him to bring a tray of food and drink. "If you are so hungry for battle, whelp, perhaps you should wait for your wounds to heal. Then you and I shall dance." His cruel little piggy eyes promised a world of pain for the Marshall.
A small dark haired woman came forward with the tray and cringed as she neared Théodred, but she continued to the table. She paused as she set her burden down and then waited for the next order.
"I will leave this servant with you so that you might appease all your hungers," the Orc laughed as he motioned the other Orcs out and closed and locked the door behind him.
Théodred felt himself slumping forward. He caught himself on the post of the bed, the poker clattering to the floor as he did so, and regarded the woman with veiled eyes. "Where is this place?" he demanded, though he made a conscious effort to keep his voice civil. His voice was ragged from the effort it had cost him to stay upright.
He found a pair of leather breeches and donned them quickly, feeling much bolder once he was decently covered. "I'll not harm you, girl," he said firmly as he tried the door. Locked, and tightly. This was enemy territory! He had to get free! "Help me," he murmured as he held her eyes. "I must return to Edoras, and quickly!"
She shook her head as she ducked to hide her eyes behind a thatch of dark hair. "You should eat to regain your strength, lord. There is no escape from Isengard." She watched him with her hidden eyes and felt like weeping as she realized who had become the latest victim of Saruman's lust for power.
Théodred cursed, long and viciously. "I'll not touch food from Orcs, no matter that it looks safe." Isengard. He had been right, then, and Saruman had betrayed them. Mordor was gathering all strength; Rohan would need him, his father would need him! He must find some way of escaping! "Deliver that message to your master, and tell him also that I'll not aid whatever mad scheme he has in mind. Rohan will never fall to him! Not so long as there is breath left in me!"
Brave words, from a man who could barely stand, but a meaningless threat. He was as weak as a kitten from blood loss and he knew it. But as a warrior of Rohan, a Rohirrim, one of the Riders, he could not and would not bend to the darkness.
She shook her head, "My lord, you must eat. I swear that neither the Orcs nor Saruman had a hand in the making of your meal. The Orcs prefer rarer meats and Saruman doesn't know his way to the kitchens." She bowed her head suddenly realizing that if Saruman was listening that she was surely in for more torment from him and his creatures.
Théodred shook his heavy mane of dark hair out of his eyes and regarded her again, his dark eyes searching for signs of deception in her face and finding none. She looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't place the resemblance. "I'll not touch it. Saruman has betrayed my people to darkness and to ruin, and I'll not help him in any way. And I will find a way to escape." He prowled the room, seeking some unseen exit.
She sighed and shook her head. "My lord Théodred, if you do not eat, you will not regain your strength, and then what will happen to your beloved Rohan? If you are not strong enough to walk when you do find a way then how will you leave? I swear by horses of Rohan that I have placed nothing in your food or drink." She shivered in fear knowing that even if Saruman was not listening, his Orcs outside the door were. She had spoken in Rohirrim but there was no guarantee that one of the Orcs had not been forced to learn the tongue of the horse lords for just such a purpose.
Théodred held her eyes for a moment more, and then nodded in agreement. Mutely he took a sip of the wine, noting its rich, full flavor and wondering where Saruman was getting such goods. This was no local vintage.
It still wasn't to his taste; like most Riders, he preferred the heady ale of his people. He made do and sat down to the meal, noting idly as he did so that Saruman had won this round. But the girl was right. He couldn't escape without first building his strength, and her oath had been heartfelt. No one of Rohan would make such an oath if it had no meaning. Again he was struck by a fleeting sense of familiarity. She reminded him most forcefully of someone but he couldn't place who it was.
He made to rise from the table, only to drop back in the chair with a soft exclamation of surprise. He just couldn't seem to focus his thoughts, and his limbs would not respond to his commands for movement. "What have you done to me?" he murmured as he passed a shaking hand before his brow.
She looked at him in surprise, "I did nothing to you." She moved forward to take a closer look into his eyes and then moaned softly. "Forgive me, my lord Théodred, if I had known that my cooking would do this to you, I would have found a way to bring you the makings of a meal that you could ensure would not cause you this weakness. Please let me assist you to your bed." She helped him to put an arm on her shoulder and then walked with him unsteadily to his bed. She grunted as she settled him among the hides on the bed. "
He managed to snake an arm out and catch her wrist. "It was not the food," he murmured. "The wine. It must have been the wine. I do not normally drink wine; it would have hidden the taste of the drug." He knew he was rambling, but laid it firmly on the drug he had been given. He did not feel quite rational.
"I will return shortly with water for you." She detached herself firmly and went to the door with the dishes, knocking for the Orcs to open the door and let her out. And while she waited, she paused to study him for a moment. He should not be here, she mused sadly.
Théodred fought the drug with all his will, but it simply wasn't enough. He felt the darkness reach up and fold him into its embrace.