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 Nine:
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 Nine
Slowly, Gúthwyn's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the throne room. She could barely see the dais at the end, so dark was it. Immediately, her eyes flicked to the shadows on either side of her; amongst the pillars lurked small companies of black-clad men, glaring at them menacingly. Not one of them looked familiar, but brought unpleasantly to mind the guards that had tormented her and Chalibeth so long ago.
There was an ominous creaking noise, and Gúthwyn turned around to see the doors closing. There was now even less light than before, and she trembled nervously. This was not right. She had never felt this afraid, this edgy, in her own home before.
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King!" Gandalf called. He began moving forward, and Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gúthwyn followed him. To her, it seemed as if they were an advancing army, about to lay siege on Théoden.
Her uncle… Squinting, she peered at the end of the hall. Gradually, as they drew closer, she could make out the throne. At first, she did not see the figure that sat on the seat, hunched over with years unnumbered, but when she did she nearly gasped. Seven years ago, Théoden had been a healthy man, admittedly a bit larger than most, but fit and able to wield a sword with the best. Now, she did not even recognize the person who ruled her lands.
His hair was grey and long, falling in tangles past his shoulders. Every inch of his skin was sagging with age, wrinkles and creases leaving no area smooth. The robes that he wore hung loosely about him, looking as though they had not been washed for months; he appeared to be drowning in them. His small eyes were dazed, and focused not on them, but on the man who was stooping beside the throne.
Gúthwyn felt the bile rising in her throat as she saw Gríma Wormtongue hovering over her uncle, whispering words to him that were no doubt laced with cunning and deceit. Unlike Théoden, the years had not changed him at all. He was still as crooked and bent as ever, his hair still greasy, one of his eyes still rounder and more diluted than the other. And as he straightened to glance at Gandalf, she saw a maniacal glee cross over his face. Hastily, he hissed something in Théoden's ear.
Her uncle stirred. "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"
Gúthwyn nearly gagged to hear his voice. Every word took him eternity to complete, draining the energy from him with each syllable. His speech was hoarse and rough, as if he had long lost the will to care about the authority he needed to exude.
All the while, she had been walking forward with Gandalf and the others. It did not escape her attention that the strange men were following them, their eyes heavy-lidded and not once looking in the direction of the king. Gríma noticed them as well, and said to Théoden, "A just question, my liege."
She had to repress the urge to slaughter the Serpent as he stood. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he called, stepping down off of the dais and starting to move towards Gandalf. "Láthspell I name him! Ill news is an ill guest."
As he spoke, he halted, not a foot away from the wizard. His wild eyes searched his opponent's back and forth, like a wolf examining the wounded deer.
"Be silent!" Gandalf barked, and the illusion was broken. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crude words with a witless worm."
Before Gríma could respond, Gandalf had thrust his staff between the two of them. Gúthwyn watched Wormtongue panic, his eyes darting to the men on either side of the hall as he started backing away. "His staff!" he groaned, sending a sharp glare to Háma. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"
By an unspoken command, the silent men raced forward, running for the visitors. Gúthwyn whirled around as one of them rushed to her, and delivered such a swift punch that he never saw it coming. He crashed to the ground, pressing his hands over his face; they were turning red.
Another man tried to attack her, but she fended him off after a few seconds. When he, too, had fallen, she had a few seconds' respite. More of the men were swarming out, attacking Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Some were trying to get to Gandalf, who was continuing forward to the throne, his staff raised and his arms spread out, but every time they were thwarted by one of the Hunters.
Unexpectedly, she was grabbed from behind, and two arms were wrapped around her upper torso. With a cry, she reached up and took hold of their hands. Pulling downwards, she slithered under their arms at the same time, getting out of the grip before they were aware of what was happening. Due to the maneuver, her assailant had ended up doubled over, and before he could regain a more favorable stance she drove her knee up into his skull. He groaned and fell over; she kicked his head once more, just to make sure he could not get up again.
Her breathing slightly more ragged, Gúthwyn turned and looked around. All of Gríma's men were on the ground, with neither Aragorn, Legolas, nor Gimli hurt in any way. She started advancing forward with them, drawing close to Gandalf. The wizard was now before Théoden, who was pressed as far back into his chair as was possible.
"Théoden, son of Thengel," Gandalf boomed, his voice echoing even into the farthest reaches of the hall. "Too long have you sat in the shadows."
As her uncle grimaced, Gúthwyn saw Gimli lunge forward and stomp a heavy foot onto Gríma, who had been trying to get up from the floor.
"I would stay still if I were you," she heard him growl, and for a moment she wished that she had been in his place. She would have given the Serpent a lot more to think about than a boot on his chest.
Then her gaze went back to the wizard. "Harken to me," he was saying, holding his staff a little off the ground and extending a palm out to the king. "I release you from this spell."
When the words had left his lips, Gúthwyn felt a small wave of energy traveling through the hall, as though it, too, were being released from something. But for all the good it did Théoden, whom she could not believe was so rundown as he was, Gandalf might as well have not spoken.
For a long time, he simply laughed. The sound echoed terribly off the walls, and she nearly put her hands over her ears. Now, more than ever she was glad of her decision to remain in disguise.
"You have no power here," Théoden wheezed at last. She winced to hear his hoarse voice. "Gandalf the Grey!"
A split second later, Gúthwyn's eyes were dazzled as Gandalf removed the dark cloak he had been wearing. A burst of light spilled forth, brimming from its bonds, and Théoden's face contorted into shock; he let out a gasp.
"I will draw you, Saruman," Gandalf declared, drawing closer and raising his staff, "as poison is drawn from a wound."
He lifted the staff, and Théoden was slammed into the back of his throne. Despite her hatred for her uncle, who had abandoned her so carelessly to the mercy of the hunter, and thus Saruman—he had even suspected that she would be taken there, but had done nothing to stop it—Gúthwyn felt a trace of worry pass over her. What exactly was the wizard going to do?
Suddenly, a blur of white bolted into the hall, running for Théoden. Aragorn caught the woman and held her back. Long, golden hair flashed into Gúthwyn's eyes, and this time she did gasp as she watched Éowyn struggle against the Ranger's hold.
"Wait," Aragorn whispered, and her sister was quelled, staring anxiously up at Théoden. Please… Gúthwyn found herself praying, ignoring the curious glance Legolas had sent her, turn around. Let me see your face!
But everyone in the room was watching Théoden as Gandalf advanced upon him. "If I go," the king hissed, clutching at the armrests of the throne, "Théoden dies!"
Once more, Gandalf sent him backwards with a wave of his staff. "You could not kill me, you will not kill him," he responded, his voice loud and clear.
"Rohan is mine!" her uncle growled. Gúthwyn watched him in shock, her mouth opening slightly. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined this.
"Be gone!" Gandalf retorted.
With a terrible roar, Théoden lunged forward. Gúthwyn stepped back in horror as the wizard reacted just as swiftly, raising his staff and thrusting it towards the king. An invisible power seemed to hit her uncle, and he froze. Then, he started sliding down in his chair.
Éowyn raced to him, her breathing uneven, and caught him just as he was about to fall. Gúthwyn watched her intently. Her sister was thin; the white gown clung to a small waist, though the arms were more muscular. She wondered if Éowyn had continued training, and become one of the shieldmaidens that were unique to the Rohirric culture. It was not unlikely.
Just then, before their very eyes Théoden appeared to change. His hair shortened, and the golden color she remembered came back to it. The wrinkled skin smoothed out, along with a simultaneous straightening of his posture. Looking somewhat bewildered, he glanced around him, and his eyes first fell upon Éowyn.
"I know your face," he murmured. Gúthwyn shifted impatiently. "Éowyn… Éowyn…"
"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf said.
Théoden gazed at him in surprise. "Gandalf?" he asked, sounding like someone who has just awoken from a dream. Gúthwyn watched her uncle, feeling a familiar, bitter hatred rising over her. This was the same man who had abandoned her to the hunter, who had let that man take her to Isengard without sending so much as a search party after her.
She saw the King look at his hands, flexing and curling the fingers.
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf suggested.
At that, Éowyn turned to face the rest of the hall. Gúthwyn did not move, but she was awestruck by how beautiful her sister had become. With the wide grin adorning her face at the healthy return of Théoden, she could not have been prettier. No envy came over Gúthwyn at the sight of her—yet now, she desperately wanted to be reunited with her. Remember what is at stake, she sternly told herself.
To keep herself from staring, she glanced over at Gríma. The Serpent's eyes were fixated on her sister, and she saw a lustful gleam in them. Fury boiled within her; she started moving towards him. He did not see her, and as Gimli was preoccupied with the scene by the throne, he decided to attempt to escape. Slowly, he began sliding away from the Dwarf, even then still watching Éowyn relentlessly.
Gúthwyn bore down on him and sent a swift kick to his skull, causing him to crash back to the ground. Before he could do anything, she stomped her foot on his throat. He choked, vainly scrabbling at her boot; in punishment, she lifted her foot and slammed it down on his stomach. All of the air was taken from him, and she leaned in close to whisper, "If you move again, I shall kill you—and at this point, it will not take much to provoke me."
He stared up at her with wide, panicked eyes, and revulsion came over her. This man, who had mercilessly raped a twelve-year-old, and who had tried to do the same to her, was now writhing like a baby beneath her. "You disgust me," she snarled.
At that moment, a shadow fell over her. Gúthwyn glanced up, and nearly fainted.
"Stand aside," Théoden bade her, without showing the slightest sense of recognition.
Silently, she complied, noticing the long sword that Théoden now carried: Herugrim. This blade he now pointed at Gríma, who started scrambling to his feet.
"Get up!" Théoden ordered, a fiery tone in his voice that she had never heard before. As Gúthwyn gave him more room, she saw Gandalf, who was not far behind the king, and Éowyn, who was just after him. For a brief second, her sister glanced at her as she moved, and Gúthwyn was looking into dark blue eyes that were even then shadowed by sadness. Hastily, she broke the gaze, not wishing her emotions to betray her.
Turning her attention back to Gríma, she saw that the Serpent had gotten to his feet. Théoden did not hesitate before giving a second command. "Guards!" he called.
Háma and another man, whom Gúthwyn knew as Gamling, came forth. The faint glimpses of a grin were on both of their faces as they grabbed Wormtongue, starting to drag him through the hall.
"No, please!" Gúthwyn heard him cry pathetically as they went. "My lord, I am your most faithful servant—"
"Exile him from Rohan!" Théoden yelled, his booming voice easily overriding that of Gríma's. The crowd that had gathered in the hall was murmuring; like a funeral procession, they were trailing after Háma and Gamling. All of them made way for Théoden as he strode towards the doors, his sword firmly clenched in his left hand.
Gúthwyn followed him as well. Éowyn was right behind her, she knew, as were Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn was some ways ahead of them.
The doors were opened, sending a bright light streaming into the hall. Gúthwyn blinked, for a moment raising her hands protectively over her eyes. They were still clearing as she went outside and stood on the landing, looking down upon a scene that she thought she would never see the likes of.
Gríma was crawling down the stone steps, backing away from her uncle, who was moving toward him. The sunlight glinted off of his sword, and the glare went right into Wormtongue's eyes.
"I have only ever served you, my lord!" the Serpent was now saying, his greasy hair whipping at his face in the wind. She did not doubt there would be wet stains on it soon.
Beside her, Éowyn was standing, her body tense with loathing and hatred. Gúthwyn could read it as easily in her as she could read a letter; to be in such close proximity to her sister, and not even be able to reveal herself, was almost more than she could stand.
The village people were gathering in a crowd as Théoden scathingly replied, "Your witchcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"
"Send me not from your sight!" Gríma pleaded, the terror smothering him plainly written across his pale features.
With a great roar, Théoden raised his sword. Gríma squeezed his eyes shut, but just then Aragorn leaped forward.
"No, my lord!" he exclaimed as he took hold of her uncle's sword-arm. Gúthwyn gaped in open astonishment as he continued. "No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."
Gúthwyn heard a slight hiss from Éowyn, but no one said anything as Aragorn extended a hand to the Gríma. The eyes of the Ranger and the Serpent met for a brief instant, and then Wormtongue spat.
Aragorn withdrew his hand, and Gríma scrambled to his feet. "Get away from me!" he yelled as he plunged into the crowd of Rohirrim. They parted for him, and so Gríma Wormtongue left Rohan: In disgrace, humiliation, and failure. He was given a horse, which was far too good from him, and departed almost immediately. Few in the Mark ever saw him again.
Gúthwyn watched him go, her eyes narrowed. Do not come back here, she warned him silently. I, for one, will be far less lenient if you do.
"Hail Théoden King!"
The unexpected cry shook her out of her thoughts, and Gúthwyn blinked to see that it was Aragorn who had spoken. The people were already sinking to their knees, their heads bowed—yet still, no one rejoiced to see their king returned to full health. She wondered at this, for it seemed as if bottomless sorrow still covered Edoras like a relentless storm cloud.
It seemed Théoden was puzzled, as well. After Aragorn had kneeled down before him, he turned to gaze at Meduseld, his eyes scanning the people watching him from the battlements.
"Where is Théodred?" he asked suddenly. Gúthwyn started, looking all around her. Now she realized that she had not seen her cousin since she entered Edoras; he had not been with Éomer, so he should have been at the Golden Hall. Was he at the stables, unaware of what had happened to his father? "Where is my son?" Théoden continued, his eyes still searching.
"My lord," Éowyn spoke, and then she was walking down the stairs, going to where the King stood in confusion. "My lord, your son…"
Her voice lowered so that Gúthwyn could not hear it. But she saw the tears forming in her sister's eyes as she leaned forward to murmur the news gently into Théoden's ear. A sickening feeling started forming in her stomach. No, she thought wildly. No, it cannot be. It cannot be!
Yet then, Théoden let out an agonized cry. "No!" he roared, such horror and wretchedness in his voice that Gúthwyn nearly felt sick. "No! My son!"
Tears were sliding down Éowyn's face as she stepped away and inclined her head. "It was six days ago, my lord," she said quietly.
Trembling, Gúthwyn turned to Legolas. He was watching the scene with a grim expression, but when he felt her eyes on him, he glanced at her. "Legolas," she whispered, unable to stop her voice from shaking. "Legolas, what happened?"
His gaze was filled with pity as he replied, "There was an ambush at the River Isen. The king's son was wounded, and when they brought him back, he only lasted a day before perishing."
All of the air left her lungs. She stepped backwards, her horrified eyes moving between a moaning Théoden and a somber Legolas. "No…"
Théodred. Théodred, the one who had taught her defense when no one else would, who had done so much for her, who had made time for his little cousin even in a whirlwind of training and politics, who had always treated her as an adult. Now he was dead, his body pale and cold like Borogor's, and she had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.
As the terrible realization came over her, she swayed, and felt her world go black.