(What Passed Before)
The tall grass that covered the plains waved in the breeze. The silver seed heads swirled and shimmered like roiling water about the knees of the party's mounts. The white wizard led the group, tall and unbent, confident and powerful as a young lord. His white beard fell to the withers of his regal steed. His staff held before him like a banner, he and Shadowfax flew through the rolling ocean of grass. And though the magnificent animal's large hooves and broad chest cut a swath both deep and wide before them, the trail behind closed as though his thundering strides were but a child's finger skimmed lazily through water. Arod and Hasufel could not keep pace with the king of their kind, but they ran as fast as their great legs would carry them. Frothing white gouts of sweat ran down their graceful necks and muscular flanks. But the spring in their stride told that they galloped not for fear or pain of whip, but for joy. Even Gimli, who at first had ridden, bouncing grumpily behind Legolas, could not help being transported by the thrill of the run.
The four of them had been riding hard for more than a day, and all but Gandalf were more than a little saddle sore—even Legolas, who was the first to spy a glint of gold on a distant heath.
"Meduseld!" he cried. Hasufel and Arod tossed their heads and whinnied thinly through their heaving breaths at the mention of their home.
"But a long way off yet, Legolas," yelled Aragorn over the din of a dozen pounding hooves, "I cannot see it."
"Aye, nor I," grumbled the dwarf to himself after he had strained his eyes to the horizon.
"Have you not learned to trust my eyes where yours are inferior, Gimli?" called the elf over his shoulder.
"Your eyes may be sharp, but not as sharp as your tongue. And even that, elf, is not as sharp as my axe," retorted Gimli. Legolas answered with a bark of laughter.
"I shall make you a bargain. If we do not arrive by sunset, I will carry you on my own back the rest of the way and we will give this poor, overburdened animal a well deserved rest. Will that do?" smirked the prince of Mirkwood.
"And a fine pack pony you'll make, I'm sure."
One by one, the other members of the group sighted the Golden Hall. Then, the only sounds they heard for a great distance after that were those of their horses' hooves drumming rhythmically and the whishing of the wind as it blustered over the plain. And for a long time it seemed that Theoden's hall grew no larger on the horizon.
"Does this flat blasted landscape never end?" grumbled Gimli after more than an hour of what was rapidly becoming a monotonous, numbing, thudding trek. Legolas laughed heartily.
"It is only barely midday. Are your mithril britches at last beginning to chafe?"
"Humph."
"It would be truly miraculous if your nethers had escaped callouses until now, I suppose."
"I'll not have a beardless pup speculating on the condition of my nethers, thank you very much," growled the dwarf. He slapped the elf genially on the side and both barked a few short laughs before relative silence was restored.
At last, they reached the steep sides of the tall hill that Meduseld was situated atop. The heavy gates, hewn from a single, centuries old Fangorn oak and laced over with substantial, yet intricate ironwork, were closed. Two mighty iron horses reared in contest. Their great hooves seemed poised to crush any unwelcome visitors who approached. All visitors, it seemed, were equally unwelcome. The effect was ominous.
A cry went up from the tower guard as the three horses approached the gate.
"Who begs entrance into the King Theoden's city?" called the watchman.
"I do not beg entrance," called Gandalf, his voice booming impressively. "I request an audience with the king."
"State your name and business," said the guard down from on high.
"My name is Gandalf, and my business is none of yours," answered the wizard shortly. Shadowfax snorted once, as if in assent.
"Move along, then. If you will not tell me your business, then you shall not enter," barked the guard
Shadowfax took a few slow, deliberate steps forward and pressed his velvet muzzle against the proud gates. They swung inward easily before the great silver beast. The lord of the Mearas could not be denied entrance into a city where his ancestor Felaróf galloped on the breeze, flying proudly on the green field of Rohan's pennant.
The party moved slowly, cautiously into the city. The gatemen protested no more. Along the road that climbed steadily upward toward the great hall, pallid faces peeked out at them, severe and unsmiling.
Again their way was barred at the doors of the hall. Gandalf gave a weary sigh. He had been renewed by the Valar after his defeat of the balrog, but still the trials presented by the ignorant and mislead exhausted, exasperated and saddened him. The wizard dismounted. The others did likewise.
"If you would have audience with the King, then you must surrender your weapons here Gandalf Greyhame," said one of the lieutenants. Quietly, the wizard handed over Glamdring as the others removed their various weapons. The other three relinquished their arms more reluctantly with words of warning to any who would mishandle them.
"You cannot know the power you hold in your hands," said Aragorn as he handed Anduril to one of the guards. "If that sword is so much as unsheathed I shall know it, and you will have me to answer to," he growled. The guard nodded solemnly. Any temptation he might have felt to examine the mighty blade more closely was squelched by the other man's dark glare. Gimli and Legolas grumbled similar threats.
"I must have your staff also, Gandalf," said the captain.
"Do you propose to carry me before the king yourself or shall I crawl? I will give you my arms, but you will have to take my dignity by force," scowled the wizard, leaning heavily on the white staff.
"Very well," muttered the captain, not wishing to anger the old wizard or challenge his passage further.
The great golden doors swung creakily inward before them. Meduseld was cold and dreary within. Stark rays of white sunlight slashed down through the dusty air. Shards of light fell sharply across the grime dulled stone floor. In the grate was naught but cold ashes, but all the walls, the tall wooden columns, the bright banners were greyed and blotched with soot. It looked as though no one had lifted a hand to stave off the filth in weeks.
A shaft of light illuminated a figure seated in the heavy, finely carved golden throne which stood on a dais at the head of the hall. That cannot be the king—thought Aragorn. But the gold that adorned the old man's wizened brow glinted in the sun and told them that it was indeed Theoden who gazed blearily at them as they advanced. No entourage, no court surrounded him. And until the party came close, the aged king appeared quite alone.
Gandalf was the first to notice the second figure who skulked in the shadows behind the throne. The skulking man was pallid and black robed. His oily black hair hung lank in his shrewd, silver-blue eyes. Grima's cold eyes never left Gandalf as he leaned into the light a little to whisper into the king's ear. His words did not carry across the dust dampened room, but his tone was unctuous. Contempt was scrawled across his face as he withdrew into the shadows again.
Aragorn thought it unnatural the way Wormtongue watched them. He had not blinked once, nor had his eyes left Gandalf. But just then, his gaze flickered to one side of the dingy hall. Only a fool…, thought Aragorn. He glanced around, looking for the attackers. The guards held their places around the hall, but the thing that had caught Grima's eye was immediately evident.
A young woman came slowly and quietly into the room. She was clad all in white. Her honey colored hair fell in loose waves down to her waist. Aragorn knew that she must be of Theoden's kin. Her features were strong and sharp, her complexion ruddy, but it was her eyes that held his attention. Eowyn watched her uncle with an exquisite sadness which sparkled in her pale blue eyes. It was this sadness that reminded Aragorn so forcibly of his beloved who was so far away in Rivendell. Her eyes, too, shone with the sorrow of her kind.
Eowyn surveyed the strangers warily. She met Aragorn's gaze unabashedly and in his surprise, he looked away. But even as he brought his attention back to the happenings of that fateful visit to Meduseld, she haunted him.
Though her beauty paled in compare to that of his Evenstar, he had seen nothing so beautiful as this fresh, young, flaxen maiden for several months. All his days, it seemed, had been consumed with the ugliness of the world, but this woman stood out in stark, white, lovely contrast to that.
Aragorn did not know how far she would test his resolve before their paths parted, but for the moment she intrigued him.
AN: I know. I suck. I'm sorry it's been such a long time. I'm almost finished with the next chapter as well, but I promise nothing. Good call, Wren ( I had that one spelled wrong in my little mental file of dorkiness. Thanks J.
P.S. I'm amazed no one's called me on having left out the hobbits. In fact, I just noticed it. Suffice it to say, every tall person has a shorter passenger…they're mostly just scenery at this point anyway. And besides which, the story isn't about them. So yeah. They're supposed to be there, but I'm going to ignore them. If I try to fit them in now I'll just screw it all up. If you want to add the little fellers to your mental pictures, be my guest…they're probably trying to stay out from underfoot and snarfling around for something to munch…little stoners that they are…Longbottom Leaf indeed…