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 Eleven:
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 Eleven
When Gúthwyn entered the Golden Hall, the royal guards cast odd glances at her, but did not say anything. She supposed that, since she had come with Aragorn, she was granted her privacy and not subject to interrogation—for that, she was relieved. It might have been possible to lie her way out of such a situation, but inevitably they would have asked her to remove her scarves, as the sentinel at Rivendell had.
Her eyes soon fell upon Aragorn, who was sitting at a table with Gimli and watching Gandalf and Théoden. The wizard and the king were speaking in low voices, and she could not hear the words, but she had another source of information. She went over to where the Ranger was, taking a seat next to him. "What is going on?" she asked, wondering if he would answer.
For a moment he looked at her, and then replied, "Gandalf and the king are debating what to do about Saruman."
Gúthwyn was about to say something when a shadow fell over her. Éowyn had come to the table, bringing with her a bowl of soup.
"Thank you," Gúthwyn said, accepting it from her.
"Your welcome," her sister responded, though she could not conceal the curiosity that crossed over her face. She did not speak of it, however, and soon turned away.
Gúthwyn watched her as she crossed the room to attend to another table. Her heart twisted when she saw two children, sitting on one of the benches and eagerly consuming their stew. She could tell that they were about the same ages as Hammel and Haiweth, or perhaps a little older—the boy looked to be nine or ten, while the girl seemed to be six or so.
Tearing her eyes away from them for a few seconds, she leaned closer to Aragorn and whispered, "Who are the children?"
He took his pipe out before he spoke. "They came here tonight, alone and on horse. Their village has just suffered a raid from the Dunlendings."
Gúthwyn's eyes widened. So now, it seemed, Saruman was in the league with the rustic folk that had long ago fled the Riddermark in the days when it was still known as Calenardhon. It was the Eorlingas who had driven them from the place, as the lands now belonged to them. The Dunlendings had resisted the law, attacking the 'Strawheads' whenever they had a chance. For years uncounted they had had a grudge against the Rohirrim, though with the exception of the Long Winter, in which they had seized Meduseld for a brief time, nothing had come out of it.
At that moment, the doors opened, and when Gúthwyn twisted around she saw Legolas striding in. She flushed; anger, embarrassment, and fear colored her face as she wondered whether he would say anything to her. But he merely stood behind her and Aragorn, leaning against a pillar, and though he glanced at her once and twice he remained silent. She could see the faint pink imprint of a hand across his cheek.
"They had no warning," Éowyn said then, her voice clear and traveling through the room to where Théoden sat. The king looked at his niece, lines creasing his face with weariness and grief. "They were unarmed. Now the wild men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot, and tree."
Gúthwyn felt a raw surge of anger as she imagined the homes of her people being destroyed, the crops being ravaged, innocent lives taken and ruined. Then her fists clenched as the little girl asked, her voice high-pitched and frightened, "Where is Mama?"
Éowyn gently shushed the child and put a blanket around her shoulders. A second later, Gúthwyn had to look away, nearly unable to think straight as memories of Hammel and Haiweth washed over her.
Instead, she focused her eyes on Gandalf, who was saying to Théoden, "This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash—all the more potent, for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron."
Gúthwyn shivered. Years ago, Saruman had driven her mad. The cage was no longer the thing that terrified her the most, but sometimes she still had nightmares of it.
"Ride out and meet him, head on," Gandalf advised now, placing a hand on the throne's armrest. His body was taut with seriousness. "Draw him away from your men and children. You must fight."
If there was to be a battle, Gúthwyn decided, she would take part in it, regardless of the circumstances or chance of survival. Now that she had come all the way from slavery and darkness, after seven years' exile returning to her home, there was no chance that she would miss defending her people.
"You have two thousand good men," Aragorn said, "riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for the king."
Gúthwyn started at the mention of her brother, but Théoden stood up, and began moving down the hall towards them. She twitched nervously as he drew nearer. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," her uncle replied, frowning. "Éomer cannot help us."
Aragorn looked as though he wished to say something, but Théoden continued. "I know what it is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."
Sighing, Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth, propping his elbows on the table and meeting Théoden's gaze evenly. "Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."
The king's eyes flashed dangerously, and he took another step closer. "When last I looked," he said, "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."
In order to prevent tensions rising any further, Gandalf interjected hastily, "Then what is the king's decision?"
For a long time, Gúthwyn watched her uncle silently weigh his options. It was beyond her to determine which course he would take. Perhaps they would go to one of the strongholds—Helm's Deep and Dunharrow could be easily defended. Or maybe Théoden would follow Gandalf's advice, and declare war on Saruman. Her soup was getting cold, long forgotten on the table.
At length, he sighed. The eyes of everyone in the Golden Hall were on him. Éowyn's were narrowed intently. "We shall evacuate the city," he declared, and a sudden muttering raced through Meduseld. Gúthwyn leaned towards the king, every fiber of her mind focused on her uncle's next words. "We will go to Helm's Deep, and perhaps Saruman will think twice before attacking us there. The Hornburg has never fallen to any invaders—there, we can wait in safety."
Háma, who had been near the doors, stepped forward. "When do you wish to leave, my lord?" he asked.
Théoden hesitated for a few seconds before answering, "Tomorrow morning."
Gandalf turned and left the Golden Hall. None of the guards questioned him as he passed through the doors, and he did not say anything to them. Théoden watched him go, looking apprehensive.
Gúthwyn straightened. "Are we going with them?" she whispered to Aragorn. He glanced at her, and nodded.
She stiffened in anticipation. The fortress of Hornburg she had never seen before; this would be something to look forward to. Although she would have to be even more careful to conceal her identity, it would be worth it to enter the famed stronghold. She took another look at her sister to see how she had reacted to the news. Éowyn was standing perfectly still, one hand on the girl's shoulder; her face was slightly surprised.
Knowing that it would be suspicious if she stared, Gúthwyn returned her attentions to her soup. She had not eaten since the day before, and despite the fact that she was not hungry, she did not want to become weak and collapse. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had already seen enough of her frailty.
Angrily, she dug her spoon into the stew, and had a mouthful. It was lukewarm, as she had not started it immediately, but it was better than most of what she had been living off of. Only a few swallows later, however, and she felt a familiar queasy feeling troubling her stomach. Taking the spoon out of her mouth, she was putting it down when the utensil slipped out of her hand, falling with a clattering sound to the floor.
Wincing, she bent to pick it up. On the way down, she saw a flash of gold. Her necklace was dangling out from beneath her shirt, where she normally kept it hidden from sight. Hastily, half in a panic, she stuffed it back in her tunic, praying that no one had seen her. She looked around carefully. Her heart plummeted when her eyes focused on Éowyn, who was gaping at her in utter shock and disbelief.
For a brief instant that seemed like eternity, the two sisters stared at each other. Éowyn broke it first, drawing a shaky breath and turning away. Gúthwyn watched in horror as she walked unsteadily to Théoden, put a hand on his shoulder, and started whispering in his ear.
Quiet, yet violent curses erupted from Gúthwyn's lips as she put the now forgotten spoon on the table. Both Gimli and Aragorn blinked, but neither noticed that anything else unusual was happening.
Of all the foolish, stupid things I could have done! Gúthwyn berated herself as Théoden's eyes narrowed in her direction, both stunned and guarded. She could not believe she had been so careless. Now she would be subject to an interrogation—her uncle was already making his way over, followed by Éowyn—and it would be near impossible to escape without revealing who she was.
But you have to, she told herself sternly. Théoden's shadow fell on the table, and both Aragorn and Gimli glanced at him. She did not turn around to see what Legolas was doing. If you do not, then all that you have done will come into the light. Both he and Éowyn will turn you away, and no one will be able to look you in the face again.
"Stranger," Théoden addressed her.
You are a pathetic, useless whore! Haldor's words echoed in her mind. Your uncle let that hunter take you! He sat on his throne while you cleaned Saruman's floors and fed his Wargs and forged his weapons; he sat on his throne while you were in the cage! And where do you think he was when you were taken to Mordor, when you slept in my bed, when Borogor died? He does not want you!
Gúthwyn felt a rush of hatred coursing through her veins. There was no way out of this situation, but she would give Théoden something to remember for the rest of his miserable life. She would let him know exactly what he had done to his niece.
"Do you wish to speak with me, my lord?" she inquired at last, barely managing to conceal the anger in her voice.
He nodded, and sat down on the bench beside Gimli. Éowyn hung back a few yards away, though her eyes were fixated on the two of them.
"May I see your necklace?" her uncle asked. Aragorn looked at her, though he did not say anything.
Slowly, Gúthwyn reached around her neck and undid the clasp of the chain, managing not to dislodge the hood of her cloak in the process. When the jewelry, inlaid with three sapphire spheres and identical in every way to that of Éowyn's, was in her hand, she put it on the table before Théoden.
Gimli leaned forward, but her uncle picked it up and examined it thoroughly. His eyes grew wide.
"Who are you?" His tone was harsh, and it grated on her nerves.
"You may call me Chalibeth, my lord," she replied. Puzzled politeness was the key—for now.
"Where did you get this?"
Gúthwyn paused, unsure of how to answer the question. The seconds passed.
"Do not make me repeat myself again. Where did you get this?"
"Why is it of any importance, my lord?" she questioned, her heart racing. Théoden slammed his fist down on the table, causing some of her soup to spill.
"Answer the question!" he barked. Some of the people nearby were beginning to stare.
"I did not steal it, if that is what you are implying," she retorted, allowing herself to become indignant.
Théoden's fist curled around the necklace. "This belonged to my niece," he said, his voice shaking. "Her name—"
Gúthwyn held up a hand to stop him. "I have seen her," she responded coldly.
Éowyn took a step forward, and Théoden's eyes became even wider.
"Where?" he demanded. Some of the guards were starting to look over at them now. Gúthwyn did not want this attention, but it was better if she was to humiliate her uncle thoroughly.
She pretended to think. "Dark hair," she said at last, "with blue eyes?"
Théoden nodded, his body tensing. Aragorn was watching her keenly.
"Small," she continued, "but strong, and fiery of spirit?" In the days of old she had been proud, but those were long gone.
Once again, her uncle nodded.
"That is well," Éowyn said suddenly, and they turned to look at her. She was closer than before, and Gúthwyn could almost feel the impatience radiating from her. "But where is she?"
Her voice rose through the hall, attracting the attention of the rest of the guards. Now, nearly everyone in Meduseld was listening to the conversation. Comprehension was dawning on some of their faces; they became straighter, and stiffer.
"I saw her," Gúthwyn said at length, "in Isengard."
For the second time that night, mutterings raced around the hall, though these were horrified and grief-filled. Théoden looked as though he could barely speak.
"I-Isengard?" he choked, his face turning pale.
"Isengard," she confirmed, enjoying the sight of him squirming at her words. "A slave she was. Foolish girl. Sickeningly naïve."
"Be careful what you say," Théoden hissed. "Your speech is not winning you my favor."
She snorted. "And what good is your favor anymore, my lord?" she asked scathingly. "What did it do for your niece?"
Gimli was watching their debate, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. He looked as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Aragorn's eyes were narrowed dangerously.
"Explain yourself," Théoden ordered, the fury in his eyes seeking to pin her to the table. She ignored it.
"You know of what I speak," she replied bitingly. "But if you would have your memory refreshed, let me ask you this: Where were you when your niece was being taken to Isengard? Where were the search parties? While the hunter dragged her through the lands like a beast, what were you doing?"
"How dare you?" Théoden leaped to his feet. He towered over her, his shadow darkening her vision. Out of the corners of her eyes, Gúthwyn saw the guards drawing nearer. "How dare you? You know nothing of what happened that day!"
Gúthwyn stood as well, a blind rage swallowing her. "You know nothing of your niece!" she retorted. "You sat idly on your throne, relying on the council of that serpent while she was on her hands and knees, washing the floors of your enemy!"
If the table had not been between them, she did not doubt that Théoden would have struck her. Aragorn appeared to have half a mind to; she was also aware that Legolas was only a few feet behind her.
"Where is she?" No one had to strain to hear their argument now—he was almost shouting. "What have you done with her?"
She could not help but laugh, though it was infused with loathing. "What have I done?" she asked. "The question you need to ask yourself is what you have done."
"Tell me now," Théoden commanded, "or I swear I shall have you killed!" To emphasize his point, the guards all took a step forward.
Gúthwyn stood her ground. "Having me killed," she replied, "will not give you any information about your niece."
Théoden's face was slowly turning red. "Where is she?" he spat, a hand curling around the hilt of his sword.
She eyed it for a moment, and though she doubted he could harm her after years of inactivity, she did not forget the guards now beginning to form a wide circle around them. Nor her own sister, whom she could not imagine as anything short of formidable with a blade. And that was to say nothing of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "After four years at Isengard," she said, "she was taken to Mordor."
A collective intake of breath was heard; Éowyn stumbled backwards, and had to lean heavily on a pillar for balance. Théoden reeled. "Mordor?" he gasped, taking a step away from her and swaying on his feet. Aragorn twisted around, and his gaze was more piercing than anything she had endured from him. She had a feeling that his mind was working to put two and two together. It would not be long now.
"Mordor," Gúthwyn said, and leaned forward. "Once again, Théoden, I ask you where you were while this happened to your niece!"
He started to say something, but she cut him off. "Where were you when the Uruks drove her across the lands, whipping her at their leisure? Where were you when the Black Gates opened and closed, shutting her in the Dark Lord's realm for eternity, never to see the light of day again?"
Her uncle opened his mouth, but she could not have him interrupt her. Slowly but surely, she felt control of her emotions slipping from her. "Where were you when she was tortured? Where were you when she watched innocent men die for causes beyond their understanding?"
Once more, Théoden tried to speak; she could not have stopped now even if she wanted to. "You were sitting on your throne!" she screamed at him, pounding a fist on the table. "Where were you when she begged for her own life? She is pathetic! She is less than that dog lying upon your hearth!" As she pointed to the animal, her arm shook violently. "She is dead to you! You might as well have killed her! Do you know how many years she waited for you to rescue her? How she stupidly thought that you cared enough about your own niece to try and find her?"
Everyone in the hall was staring at her in horror. Unbeknownst to them, her eyes were beginning to blur with tears. What are you doing? she yelled at herself. You are not supposed to be this weak!
"I—"
"You fool!" she shouted at him. "You abandoned her! You made her what she is now: Nothing more than a pathetic, disgusting, worthless whore!"
In her rage and fury, she used the exact same words Haldor had yelled at her on Amon Hen. Through the tears distorting her vision, she saw Aragorn stand up; at that moment, however, one of the guards ran at her.
She jumped over the bench and ducked as he went to punch her. Before he knew what was going on, she reached up, grabbed his arm, and delivered a solid strike to his chin—the only area that was not covered by his helmet. Such force did she deliver that he fell to the ground, several cracking noises emanating from his jaw. Though it was not her wish to harm the guards, she had no choice as the rest of them attacked her.
For almost a minute, she fought them. Two more were soon lying on the floor, as she knew all the weak spots in their armor and used the knowledge to her advantage. Fear that they would overwhelm her and reveal who she was propelled her every motion. But she could not hope to keep this up for long—there were other people closing in on them, including her sister.
Gúthwyn had just sent a third guard stumbling away from her when a steel fist slammed into her back. She cried out in agony, hardly able to move from the pain. All of her wounds were screaming. Sensing an advantage, the fist hit her again. This time, she crumbled to the ground, unable to do anything as two arms grabbed her own and pinned them behind her back.
She struggled uselessly in the guard's grasp. Above her, Háma's voice said, "My lord!"
As Théoden approached her, his face twisted in disgust and revulsion, she tried to twist away from Háma, but he held her tightly. "Let us now see who you are," her uncle snarled, crouching down before her.
He removed the hood of her cloak; as she squirmed futilely, he started on her scarves. The Golden Hall was silent, everyone staring at their king and the subdued stranger who had brought such terrible news to Meduseld. Gúthwyn shook in fear when the fabric covering her mouth was removed. So far, he had not recognized her, but it was only a matter of time… only a matter of time until he would know all that she had done.
And then the last scarf was off, and as the black fabric fluttered to the ground Gúthwyn could not look her uncle in the face. The shame that had been brought upon her, chasing away the Rohirric pride until it had buried itself, shredded and torn, in a dingy grave, overwhelmed her with self-hatred until she turned her head away from Théoden. She felt as though she would die of humiliation.
He was touching her face, moving his fingers over the scar; Gúthwyn cringed, and shrunk away from his hands. She despised herself for being so pathetic, and loathed Théoden even more for abandoning her.
"Shall we bring her to the dungeons, my lord?" Háma questioned.
Her uncle opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. His eyes were fixed on hers, and she winced: The damage had been done. The face looking at her was pale, accompanied by a chest that was heaving unsteadily up and down. Over Théoden's shoulder, she saw Éowyn take a step forward. A thousand emotions were threatening to swallow her at once, and she was certain that even the least of them were displayed in her expression.
"Gúthwyn?" her uncle gasped at last, anxiously scanning her face for confirmation.
"Are you proud of what you have done?" she whispered, but her words were covered by the deafening uproar that arose in the hall.