The Rohan Pride Trilogy
Part Two: Reunions
Book One
By: WhiteLadyOfTroy
Summary:
Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.
About the Trilogy:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started. Reunions will be divided into two books.
About Chapter Three:
As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.
Chapter Three
"I wish I did not have to do that," Aragorn muttered, putting his face in his hands. Legolas watched his friend sympathetically.
"You needed to get information," he said in reminder.
"She deserved it," Gimli growled, half-asleep. He was already lying on his pallet, covered by a thick blanket.
"Maybe, maybe not," Aragorn replied, but he groaned in frustration seconds after the words left him.
Legolas shook his head. "You did what was right, my friend, but it was harsh and cruel. For what reasons, we do not know, yet I for one will not soon forget her face when she tried to read the poem."
"Now I pity her," Aragorn said, sighing. "To me, it seems that Sauron wished to be rid of her. Maybe he sent the Elf after her in hopes that they would both kill each other off. But whatever the case may be, I fear the children that she speaks of are long dead, though I did not have the heart to tell her."
Legolas glanced over at Gúthwyn then. Her chest was rising and falling erratically, and she trembled; he wondered what she was dreaming of. "Perhaps she knows it herself," he suggested.
"Perhaps," Aragorn said, yawning a little as he did so. "To me, she has a naïve quality about her, even as I look into her eyes and see that they are both hardened and wounded by what befell her in Mordor."
"She is a mystery to me," Legolas murmured, running his hand through his hair. "As is Haldor."
Aragorn's eyes suddenly focused on him. "How did you know that was his name?"
Legolas sighed, but there was nothing to be done. "She is afraid of me," he answered, inhaling and exhaling heavily. "I can see it in her eyes every single conversation we have. I did not tell you this, for I did not wish to bring attention to it, but several times she has called me Haldor."
"She said that she thought he was you, when she spoke to him in the woods."
Legolas could remember the sudden panic with which she had leapt to her feet, staring wildly into the trees and gasping for breath. He was barely able to imagine how she had felt, especially since she had kept it to herself, telling no one of her fears.
"And when we ran into the clearing," he continued, "I saw myself pinning her to my chest, and there was no doubt in my mind that I was looking upon Haldor."
He did not voice aloud the absolute terror and horror he had seen in her eyes, greater by far than what had been there when she spoke with him. It was raw, wild, and unequaled by anything he had ever seen before. With every word the Elf spoke, she had cringed; her body had been trembling the entire time he held her. Even when she was challenging him to a duel, she was afraid of him.
"For a moment, I thought it was you," Aragorn said then, jolting him out of his thoughts. "To the human eye, many Elves may look alike, but there are no differences between you and him."
He nodded, frowning. Haldor's eyes had flickered onto him several times during the confrontation, and he uneasily recalled the amused gleam in them. The Elf had clearly taken pleasure in tormenting Gúthwyn—and all too well, he had succeeded.
"I think I am going to get some rest. Perhaps new council will be brought by morning."
Legolas looked over at Aragorn, then at Gimli. The Dwarf was sound asleep. "Goodnight, my friend," he said, turning back to the Dúnadan. "Sleep well."
Aragorn nodded, then moved off of the rock and lay down on the ground. Without even a blanket to keep him warm, he stretched out and was soon far away from the camp. Legolas wondered if his dreams took him back to Rivendell or Gondor, or whether he was still puzzling out the mystery of Gúthwyn as he slept.
Legolas knew that his own thoughts remained with the woman. He took another glance at her. She was still shivering, her thin arms wrapped around herself. It was not the first time he had noticed how small her body was; Aragorn had mentioned to him that she barely weighed more than a child, and he was hard-pressed to remember when he had last seen her eat.
Sighing, he replayed her duel with Haldor in his mind. The display of skill had been fantastic—he had seen few clashes like it. Gúthwyn had fought desperately, putting forth all her strength… Yet it unnerved him to think of how effortlessly Haldor had deflected her attacks, never once coming up short of breath. Though a well-experienced warrior, he would have been unable to defend himself from Gúthwyn's fury; but the Elf barely seemed as if he were trying.
And then he had managed to catch her off guard, so that he was able to deliver a painful-looking slash down her back. The wound had been shallow—he could tell just by looking at the strike—but Gúthwyn's screams had echoed throughout the entire forest. It was then that Legolas truly thought she would die. To his surprise, however, and obviously the Elf's, she had attacked once more, and risen to her feet as Haldor fell to his knees.
His head now tilting back to gaze up at the stars, Legolas felt a chill coming over him as he remembered the Elf's reaction when Gúthwyn had turned away from him. The sheer power and authority exuded from his voice had drastically overwhelmed the frail will of his opponent. When Gúthwyn had faced him once more, crestfallen resignation was the expression Legolas had observed from not twenty feet away.
And when Haldor had yelled at her… Involuntarily, he shuddered, and looked at Gúthwyn's sleeping form. If there had been any doubt before, there was none now as to why she lived in constant dread of him. The pure rage he had seen was like nothing he could describe.
But what made no sense was that Haldor was an Elf. How was it possible for one of the Firstborn to be so calculatingly cruel, so horrible to a human being? In the days of old, Morgoth had taken many of the Elves and perverted them into the foul Orcs that infested Middle-earth now, but Haldor bore no resemblance to the black creatures. The fact that he was even in Mordor in the first place was shocking. If he had been captured, how had Sauron managed to do so? And if he had come of his own will… Yet that could not be.
Legolas was interrupted from his troubled musings by a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. Gúthwyn had turned over abruptly, and he found himself able to see her face. Her lips were opened slightly; short, rough breaths were escaping them. She was quivering violently, small beads of sweat forming on her brow.
He found himself moving over to her, wondering if she was alright. As he drew closer, she turned over once more, but then just as quickly turned back. Her breathing was growing rapider by the second.
"Gúthwyn?" he asked uncertainly, reaching a hand out. Then he stopped, keenly aware of what he would be doing.
It was not until she began kicking at the blankets in a blind frenzy that he abandoned his hesitation.
She was back in the Warg stables. Three years it had been since she walked down the rows, but here she was, and it was no less sharp in her memory. Trembling, she moved unwillingly, her feet drawn irresistibly to the corner. The corner where the shadows lay. She wanted more than anything to stop, but she could not.
Slowly she went forward. The darkness was swallowing her, mercilessly, and she wrapped her arms about herself in dread. Every fiber of her body was screaming at her to run away, yet then she was before the cage and still had not done so. The door was swinging open, beckoning her with its cold arm. So paralyzing was the sight of the blackness beyond that she almost fainted.
Keep going… The voices were back. They whispered ceaselessly to her, crowding at the edges of her mind, forcing her to go on. She was powerless against them, and had no choice but to obey.
As she stepped into the cage, recoiling at the reek that engulfed her senses, a row of torches lit themselves. She nearly vomited at the sight of the corpses, now so many that they were piled on top of each other. All of them were women and children; she wondered at this, but did not think of it any more as her feet carried her to where one certain body lay.
It was all alone, no longer clutching at the hand of another unidentified victim. For some reason, it was whole again, with all of its limbs in place. Yet it was not to examine the legs or arms, which were covered in blood, that she crouched down beside the body. As she reached out for the eyes, the only part of the face that was not scarlet red, her fingers slipped on the blood. For a moment, she paused.
The maggots were not there. Instead, the eyes were closed. A sense of warning came over her. I should not be doing this, she thought to herself.
Touch them. Feel them.
Shivering, she extended her hands further. Gently, they brushed over the eyelids.
Suddenly, they flared open, cold and blue and endless. She gasped, scrambling backwards, but Haldor flung himself at her. His hands closed around her throat and squeezed tightly.
"You will never be rid of me," he snarled as she choked and squirmed. "No matter where you are, no matter what you are doing, you will never be rid of me!"
As he spoke, blood started pouring from his eyes, streaming down onto her. She screamed, but all that came out was a muffled groan. Frantically, she started kicking and slapping him… all the while, the voices were circling her, converging… Haldor's grip was hardening, and he slowly lowered his bleeding mouth to hers…
"Gúthwyn!"
"No!" Her strangled cry echoed in the air as her eyes opened, wildly looking around her. There was a hand on each of her shoulders; she looked up, and saw Haldor.
She whimpered, trying to move away from him, but he would not let go. Panic overwhelmed her, and she began twisting and writhing against his grasp.
"Gúthwyn, what are you doing?" he demanded, tightening his hold.
"No, please, let go!" she begged, still struggling. All around her was dark, and she could barely breathe.
"Gúthwyn, it is Legolas!"
She froze. Deep blue eyes met her own.
"L-Legolas?" she asked, trembling under his gaze. How could this be? Haldor had been with her not a moment before…
"Yes," he replied, and let go of her.
As if released from a spell, she thrust herself away from him, grabbing her tangled blanket and attempting to wrap it around her arms. "What are you doing?" she demanded harshly, such a feeling of hatred rushing through her veins that she had to restrain herself from attacking him. "Why were you touching me?" Despite her mortification at him seeing her so weak, she could not stop her breath from coming in short gasps.
"I am sorry," he apologized, but her eyes remained narrowed. "You were having a nightmare, and kicking at the blanket. I thought—"
"You thought wrong," she snarled, spotting Beregil's book on her pallet and snatching the precious item before he could take it. "Leave me alone! Is it not enough that Aragorn humiliated me?"
"Gúthwyn, I thought you were in trouble," he said quietly. "I did not mean to upset you."
"Leave me alone," she repeated, a note of hysteria entering her voice. "I do not want your help!"
"I am not Haldor." Legolas' eyes were boring into hers. "Never would I dream of causing you harm. You have nothing to fear from me."
Borogor had told her those words, once, long ago, but now they had the opposite effect. "I care not!" she exclaimed, then pointed with a thin, bony finger to where Aragorn and Gimli slept. "Go back to your friends, and do not trouble me anymore!"
He was frowning. "Have you eaten today?" he asked. The concerned expression on his face was twisted into that of Haldor's mocking one, and with a shudder she pushed herself even farther away from him.
"What do you want?" she whispered, her voice both fearful and hostile at the same time.
"Have you eaten today?" Legolas repeated, watching her with the mystified eyes that he often laid upon her.
"No," she responded warily, unsure of his intent. "Why does it matter to you?"
"You have been exhausted ever since the sun rose," he explained, and instinctively she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "If you were to fall, it would grievously slow the chase."
"I am fine," she answered, shifting so that she moved some more inches away from him. She was beginning to tremble from the keenness of his gaze.
"That is irrelevant, for all must eat," Legolas said, withdrawing something from a small pack he wore. Gúthwyn glanced at it apprehensively and saw that it was some of the strange Elven food. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"What is that?" she asked cautiously.
"It is lembas, the waybread of the Elves," Legolas told her, offering her a piece. "I noticed that you did not take any when we began the hunt. I do not need as much as mortals."
"Nor do I," Gúthwyn replied, still not taking the bread. Though she felt the hunger gnawing at her insides, she was not about to accept anything from this Elf. Already, the memories of Haldor forcing her to eat were resurfacing, accompanied by an uneasy turning of her stomach.
"Please, eat this," Legolas requested. "Aragorn will be relieved if you do so."
"Aragorn?" Gúthwyn frowned, glancing at the sleeping figure. "Why are my habits of any importance to him?"
"Because you are, relatively speaking, his prisoner."
"I may be his prisoner, but I am not his slave!" she hissed, standing up abruptly and letting the blanket fall back to the ground. "Nor am I yours! I will not eat."
Legolas stood up as well. Gimli, Gúthwyn saw over his shoulder, was fast asleep. "I am only trying to ease your suffering," he spoke gently. "If you do not have anything, you will die of starvation."
"I am a servant of the Enemy," she argued in anger. "I do not understand your concern for my well being."
"Yet you are not evil," Legolas countered, "and you may be able to help us rescue the Halflings."
To that, Gúthwyn could think of nothing to say. If she had not been so concerned with Hammel and Haiweth, she would have been eager to find Merry and Pippin, but now the Halflings were yet two more obstacles between her and the children's freedom.
"Gúthwyn, please eat it," Legolas said, holding out the lembas once more. She recoiled, taking another step away.
"No."
For a long time, Legolas studied her, his gaze confused and troubled. "Who was he?" he asked softly.
Her breath caught in her throat, a myriad of complex emotions running through her senses. "That is none of your business," she choked out, and sat down once more. In hopes that he would leave her alone, she turned her back on him.
After a minute, however, he sank down, and when she glanced over she saw that he was not three feet away. Instantly she shrank backwards; memories of Haldor, much closer than she was to Legolas, clouded her mind and made her shiver like a leaf in the cool morning breeze.
Through all of this, Legolas had observed her every movement, but she was surprised to see not a trace of laughter behind his eyes. When he offered the lembas bread once more, out of confusion and gratitude she took it. Only when she held the wafer in her hand did she remember the troubles that had become associated with eating. Please, she prayed, let me at least keep down some of this.
Carefully, Gúthwyn raised it to her nose and sniffed it. She could not smell anything, yet unbidden the rancid reek of Mordor food came to her mind. A sudden misgiving came upon her; she lowered the lembas and glanced at Legolas suspiciously, expecting his eyes to be lit with silent amusement.
What she did not expect was the utter seriousness in his gaze, and it served only to raise her guard. "What is it?" she demanded harshly, glaring at him from narrowed eyes.
"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, his tone curious and somewhat saddened.
Gúthwyn felt the blood rush to her face. "Is it not enough that I am your prisoner?" she managed, struggling to keep her voice level. She could not let him know how much his words were affecting her. "Or do you wish to mock me, as well?"
"My lady, if you ever feel as though I have insulted you, I apologize," Legolas responded quietly.
"Why do you call me a lady?" Gúthwyn cried, her hands shaking. "I am not worthy of the title you taunt me with." A burning, sick feeling of shame surged within her as she heard herself begging Haldor frantically to please her. With Borogor's body hardly cold, no less… You pathetic, wretched whore! she yelled miserably.
Knowing not what horrible things she had done, Legolas replied to her, "I would be polite to you, though the favor will not be returned."
The words slapped at Gúthwyn sharply, like the sting of a whip across her back. The pain from Haldor's wound, which she had not even looked at yet, doubled. "There you are," she snarled, moving away from him, "casting haughty words upon me because of your higher rank. I will have none of it!"
Legolas' eyes widened slightly. "Why are you afraid of me?" he repeated. "I have done nothing."
"I am not afraid of you," she insisted, but then became aware that her shoulders were quaking.
"Then why will you not accept my offering, and why do you ever seek to avoid me?" he pressed.
If looks could kill, the Elf would have been traversing the paths to the Halls of Mandos. In order to escape the necessity of answering the second question, she defiantly broke off a piece of the lembas and stuffed it into her mouth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she swallowed.
"You know nothing of me," she declared.
Behind her carefully constructed mask of triumph, though, Gúthwyn wondered how long she would be able to keep the substance down. Already her stomach was pitching back and forth. Perhaps I will be lucky, she hoped, but luck had abandoned her mission the moment Haldor had shown himself.
When nothing happened after a couple of seconds, she pulled her canteen out of her bag and brought it to her mouth, pretending to take no heed of Legolas. But when she was about to swallow, her stomach turned over, and in a panic she began choking on her water. The lembas that she had consumed came roaring up her throat, and when it was unable to get out she found herself keeling over the ground, gagging uncontrollably. An instant later, the vomit forced itself out, and she saw the liquid spew upon the grass.
As her body heaved and shook, she felt two steadying hands placed on her shoulders. Horror filled her, and she retched even more. "Let go of me!" she tried to scream, but her voice failed and she began coughing. Terrified, she clutched at her stomach with one hand, begging silently for it to stop.
At length, it did. Her breathing ragged and shallow, Gúthwyn at last raised her head, and saw Legolas' worried eyes. His hands were still on her.
A wild hatred coursed through her veins as she leapt to her feet, taking her bag and Beregil's book with her. "Stay away from me!" she cried, dropping the remaining lembas bread on the ground beside him. Without another word, she turned around and all but fled from him, moving as far away as she could without raising suspicion. Her face was hot with a mixture of fury, humility, and terror; her wound blazed with fire. Drawing breath sharply, Gúthwyn ran her hand over her back, but felt through her cloak nothing more than the raised welts that had come from the brutal caress of Haldor's knife.
A lump rose in her throat as she thought of poor, innocent Beregil, who had perished rather than torture her, then became harder as his face melted into Borogor's. She missed him so much that she nearly crumbled to her knees in despair. How this journey would have been easier, if only she had the knowledge that he would be in Mordor when she returned!
Coming to a stop, she sank down on the softest patch of grass she could find, glancing as she did so back at the Elf to make sure he had not followed her. But he had remained where he was, and now sang softly to himself, gazing upward at the stars. Every quiet, Elvish word he spoke grated on her nerves, as though it were Haldor's harsh jeers she were listening to rather than a melodious song.
Breathing deeply, Gúthwyn stretched out upon the ground, inhaling and exhaling in order to calm her shattered nerves. It was no use: Whenever she closed her eyes, Haldor's face was above her, his arms pinning her down to his bed and his taunts ringing in her ears. Her breaths grew shorter as he leaned closer, and then he had entered her…
With a gasp, she flung herself up, then got to her feet. She would not get any sleep tonight, of that she was certain. Stubbornly ignoring Legolas' presence, she began pacing back and forth, now and then glancing to where she knew the fields of Rohan lay. They were almost upon them…
Her expression became fouler as she thought of what that would entail. It was next to unthinkable that they should travel through the land without encountering an éored. Though she had been gone for seven years, someone would recognize her. Éoreds were always lead by great captains; all of the leaders she had seen in and out of Meduseld, as they often came to consult with Théoden.
All it took was one person… if they found out who she was, they would insist on bringing her back to the king. Yet Théoden would not be able to look upon her without disgust in his features. And when she had told all she had done, he would denounce her before all of Edoras, telling them how pathetic she was, and that she was not fit to call herself his relative.
That could not happen. Anger propelling her movements, she reached down for her bag and took out the scarves. Swiftly, she wrapped them about her, burying the sliver of regret she felt as the world around her turned darker. So what if the air seemed less fresh, the grass less pure, when she had the fabric covering her eyes and mouth? She could not afford to have anyone see her.
As she continued pacing, never once breaking her stride, a jumble of confused thoughts raced through her mind. Clearer than all of them was a voice crying:
Where is the horn that was blowing?
Over and over it repeated itself, but soon it was not alone. Other calls sprung up. You have failed us… You are worthless… Gúthwyn recognized them from her dream, and from the dreams she used to have when she was at Isengard, in the days of her sickening naivety. She was just as powerless to stop them now as she ever had been.
And then Haldor's insults, worse by far than any she had endured, obscured all of the other voices until they were silenced. You pathetic, foul, useless little whore! You were begging for my touch!
No! Gúthwyn told his voice, a lurching ashamed feeling destroying her stomach. I did not know what I was doing… I do not want you!
Oh, but you were certainly willing enough when Borogor died, he tormented her, a fiery spark of amusement in his eyes.
"No!" Gúthwyn cried out, wrenching herself out of her thoughts. Her voice had been a mere whisper, a false denial of a wrongdoing. A hot, burning shame came upon her, as it ever did when she remembered Haldor. Even after his death, she was not granted release.
Once more, her breathing became uneven, especially as she realized that Legolas might have been watching her. Carefully, she glanced over at him, but he was sitting with his back to her, still watching the stars. A sigh of relief escaped her.
It is time to go to bed, she thought abruptly. It had to be well past midnight, and she had barely gotten a wink of sleep. Yet between Aragorn's interrogation, her nightmare, speaking with Legolas, and her recent thoughts, she was suddenly so emotionally drained that she felt she could fall over where she stood.
Lowering herself onto the ground, she rolled over onto her back to stare at the stars. The night was quiet, and the evening air was pleasantly cool. The long grasses were gently rustling in the balmy breeze, whispering soothing sounds of rest and sleep. She felt herself becoming drowsy, and her eyelids grew heavier. Meanwhile, her chest became lighter, as though a weight of some sorts was being lifted off of her. And at last, overcome by the weariness of a hard chase on poor sustenance, she felt the world slipping away from her, disappearing into a calming blankness.