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 Thirteen:
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. Regarding two names given in this chapter: Canonically, Anborn was one of the Ithilien Rangers, but the name is Rohirric in origin, and heaven knows how many name duplications there are in Middle-earth. Mearh is the singular form of Mearas, though it was never used in The Lord of the Rings.Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of her name being called was what awoke Gúthwyn the next morning. Groaning, she stirred, not knowing where she was. Something thick and soft was laid upon her, and she was not wearing her usual tunic and leggings—was it a shift?
"Gúthwyn?" A golden haze was above her, accompanied by a light female voice.
"What…?" Gúthwyn murmured in confusion, blinking and trying to banish the sleep from her eyes.
There was a rush of cold air that woke her up far more effectively. Shivering, she sat up, and realized that she was in a large bed, with fur comforters and luxurious sheets. Beside the nightstand stood Éowyn, carrying an armful of clothes and what looked like a brush. "Good morning," she said, smiling.
The memories of last night came flooding back to her. After she had regained control of herself, managing to push away the feeling of Borogor's arms wrapped around her, the sound of his voice murmuring that she had nothing to fear, and the sight of his lifeless body lying on the foliage, she had told Théoden nearly all that had transpired since then. Nearly all, for she said no more of Haldor, and the tale of the Fellowship—including Haldor's death—she had glossed over. It had been difficult, broaching the subject of her mission, though Gandalf had intervened then and said that she was sent to scout for the Enemy. Much to her relief, no one pressed her for more information. It was not much of an explanation, but it had satisfied their curiosity.
And then Éowyn had brought her back to her old room, insisting on changing the sheets: Gríma, she explained, had used the room while he was Théoden's advisor. Gúthwyn was extraordinarily glad that she had done so, for she did not think she would have gotten any sleep otherwise. As it was, for a long time she had lain awake, her mind racing over the day's events. It felt as if her eyes had only been closed for a few minutes.
"We will be leaving within a few hours," Éowyn said then, jolting her out of her thoughts. Gúthwyn glanced at her sister, and found herself being handed a pile of clothing. "This is all that I could find on such a short notice. You are smaller than me, so they might be a bit loose, but I am afraid we will not be having new garments made anytime soon."
"What, you have not learned to sew?" Gúthwyn asked, eliciting a smile from her sister.
"Yes, and you will find what I managed to complete stuffed in a dusty drawer somewhere," Éowyn replied, grimacing. "Before he fell under Gríma's enchantment, Théoden despaired of me ever finding a husband."
A sudden shadow crossed her face, and the lighthearted moment was lost. An awkward moment passed.
"Are you betrothed?" Gúthwyn eventually inquired, wanting to break the silence. Éowyn looked at her, and shook her head.
"Oh." Gúthwyn could think of nothing else to say, and started examining the clothes she had been given. They were all dresses. At length, she withdrew a small grey one from the pile, noting with some relief that there were slits up the side for riding.
Éowyn turned around to give her some privacy while she changed, then turned back and said, "Let me do something about your hair."
Gúthwyn hesitated. She could not even think of the last time her tangles had seen a brush.
Her sister knew what was going through her mind, and said, "Do not worry. Between Éomer and Théodred"—her voice cracked as she uttered their cousin's name—"I have seen everything."
With a small nod, Gúthwyn conceded, and sat on the bed. Several seconds later, Éowyn released her hair from its tie, and she winced as she felt the matted locks pressing against her cheek.
"Why did you not say anything?" Éowyn asked suddenly, running the brush through her hair. It could not go an inch without encountering a mass of knots. Gúthwyn cringed: If this kept up, they would be here all day.
"What do you mean?"
"When you arrived," her sister explained. Gúthwyn let out a small hiss as her hair was yanked. "Lord Aragorn said that you met Éomer, but you clearly hid yourself from him as well, because he would have found a way to at least send word to me."
She did not want to tell Éowyn that she had been afraid of him turning her away. "Why was he banished?" she asked instead, twisting around to look at her sister. Éowyn pushed her head back and attacked it with the brush once more, but there was also venom in her voice as she answered.
"Gríma thought Éomer was a threat." Hatred twisted Éowyn's words, and Gúthwyn felt it with every stroke of the brush. "Éomer could have killed him, if he wished, but his influence over the king was too strong. Before Théodred… died, Wormtongue made up some excuse to have him banished." She gave a ferocious tug as she spoke; Gúthwyn nearly cried out in pain.
"Did Gríma ever… do anything to you?" Gúthwyn wanted to know, her breathing slightly uneven now.
Éowyn stopped her motions, and when Gúthwyn looked at her, she did not turn her head back. "He followed me," Éowyn said at last, her pale face cold with anger. Gúthwyn suddenly found herself wondering when her sister had last seen the sun. "Always when he thought I was not aware. Sometimes when he knew I marked the falling of his feet. But he did not dare try anything, not while Éomer was at Meduseld."
Their eyes met, and Gúthwyn was unable to tell if her sister was concealing something from her, just as she kept Haldor's abuse a closely guarded secret.
"It does not matter now," Éowyn said, bringing an end to the quiet. "He is gone. And you have returned, beyond all hope! It is long since we had any."
"It is long since I had any as well," Gúthwyn replied, flinching as Éowyn once again took up the brush. She was not even halfway done. "I have said this before, but I thought you and Éomer were dead."
Éowyn shook her head. "We woke up nearly three days later. Théodred told us the news."
Gúthwyn shivered, remembering her cousin's hands, white as death, folded across his chest. "I miss him," she whispered.
"In his last words," Éowyn said, sounding as if she were struggling to hold back tears, "you were mentioned."
Straightening, Gúthwyn asked, "What did he say?"
"He was half delirious," Éowyn sighed. "He wanted the Fords to be held until Éomer came. He told me to look to the east, if I willed it, but only so far as Gondor, where he said my shadow would be lifted. Then he said that he saw you, and he asked me if I remembered him teaching you, years ago. I did not understand what he next told me: 'Even as she is before my eyes, I will not see her soon; nor shall I, though she has tried and may yet try still.'"
"What does the last part mean?" Gúthwyn wondered as Éowyn moved to the other side of her and started brushing there.
Her sister looked puzzled. "He somehow managed to foresee that you would not be waiting for him, though I cannot make sense of what he said after."
The two of them remained in silence as Éowyn finished the rest of Gúthwyn's hair. "We should be going," she said when she was done, handing the tie back. "Leave your hair down, if you will it, as it is a good look for you."
Gúthwyn conceded, too happy to have Éowyn back to be concerned with her hair. The two sisters moved out of the bedchamber, walking down the small, dim passage until they emerged into the throne room. It was bustling with activity. Guards were going to and fro, carrying both food and armor, disappearing out of the doors and down into the streets. Outside, Gúthwyn could see a great score of people preparing to make the journey to Helm's Deep; yet children were clinging to their parents, rather than playing with each other, and the faces of the villagers were grim.
She felt troubled as she watched them, too far away to discern individual faces, but then Éowyn took her hand. Starting, Gúthwyn realized that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were having a hurried breakfast at a nearby table.
"No," she tried to say to her sister, not wanting to face Legolas, but Éowyn was already walking towards them.
Gúthwyn followed slowly. When she got there, she was keenly aware of Legolas' eyes on her, and she flushed in embarrassment and anger. Now, more than ever, she regretted letting him hear her story.
"Gúthwyn," someone said gruffly, and she glanced down to see Gimli standing before her. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I want to beg your pardon for distrusting you. I was not too kind, I fear."
"You had every reason to be wary of me," Gúthwyn replied, though the knot in her heart lessened somewhat with his apology. "Do not worry about it—I hope we can be friends again."
Her words were not careless. She really did miss his company. He had provided her with many tales about his people, and even if she never could tell the names apart, it helped her keep her mind off of her troubles.
"I would like that," Gimli said, a grin coming to his face. As if he had read her thoughts, he continued. "You still have much to learn about the Dwarves!"
She smiled. "I am looking forward to it."
At that moment, a great horn blast sounded throughout the Golden Hall. Gúthwyn glanced up; Aragorn and Éowyn, who had been speaking together, were quiet. Théoden had entered the room. He wore almost a full suit of armor, with leather gloves covering his hands and a breastplate protecting his chest. She wondered if he expected combat.
"We shall leave in no less than an hour," he declared, and immediately all of the guards bowed and continued their tasks, though with haste marking their movements.
Théoden came over to where she stood. "Gúthwyn," he said, and now it was her turn to face him awkwardly. "Are you ready?"
He meant for her to be presented to the people. Already, rumor was bound to be spreading about the mysterious cloaked stranger that had come to Edoras with Gandalf; it was better to check the local gossip before went too far. She swallowed nervously, and nodded.
A broad smile spread across his face, and he hugged her once more. "I am so glad that you are here," he said, "even in these dark times when the hand of joy is sparing."
Gúthwyn returned the embrace, but she was happier when he let go. He may have spoken the truth, and really have been incapable of doing anything about her capture, but the lies of Haldor were rooted deeply in her mind. She could not just toss them away like soiled bandages.
Together, the two of them made their way to the open doors, Éowyn not two paces behind. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli followed them. She looked around for Gandalf, but did not see him—was he in the stables, getting Shadowfax ready for the trip? Somehow, she could not imagine the great horse ambling alongside a slow-traveling group of people.
These thoughts did not distract her for long, and soon she was blinking anxiously in the sunlight as she stood upon the landing. Before her lay the entire city of Edoras, filled with activity even in the early hour. At the sight of Théoden, however, many of the Rohirrim stopped what they were doing, and moved closer to the stairs. Not a few of them were squinting curiously up at Gúthwyn. She thought some of the men were familiar: They had been boys when she wrestled with them.
For a moment, Théoden merely stood there, gazing out at his people. As he did, Tun came up beside her. He was wearing the full suit of armor, along with his helmet. His chin had been reset, and she felt a twinge of guilt for harming him. "Has he announced you yet?" he muttered.
She shook her head. But just then, one of the men whom she had recognized spoke, his voice hesitant and unsure. "My lord?" he called, though he was staring at Gúthwyn as if he had seen a ghost.
Théoden glanced down at him. "Yes, Anborn?"
Anborn swayed uncertainly back and forth. "My lord, please, who is that woman whom stands next to you? With your permission, King Théoden, she looks like an older version of your niece, but that cannot be."
Théoden stepped toward him, and Anborn appeared to have regretted speaking. "I am sorry—" he began. Théoden cut him off with a raised hand.
"Your eye is sharp, Anborn," he replied, his voice loud so that everyone could hear it. "For what you say is indeed true. Good people of Edoras, know this: Last night, with Gandalf the Grey and Aragorn of the Dúnedain, came someone I thought I would never see again, except in the halls of eternal rest."
Gúthwyn moved forward, so that Théoden could place his hand on her shoulder. "My niece, Gúthwyn, has returned to us beyond all hope!"
It was Tun who started clapping, but the stunned cheers and shocked applause that rang through the city in that hour were deafening. Gúthwyn felt a broad grin spreading over her face as shouts of her name rose up to meet her. This was where she loved to be: With the Eorlingas, with her people. She could hardly believe that just a few days earlier, she had not wanted to come here.
The time that she had to mingle with the crowd afterwards was brief, as she needed to get to the stables to prepare Heorot for the journey, but in that short period she gave and received more hugs than she ever had in her entire life. A rush of familiar faces was before her. Most of the men she had played with in earlier days were now married, and not a few of them had children.
Women, she had a more difficult time connecting to their childhood presences, but that was simply because she had never had a single friend that was a girl until she was taken to Isengard. Yet she embraced them all the same, and took care to remember their names. At one point, she found herself before Tun's mother.
"You have grown so much!" the woman murmured before hugging her. Gúthwyn chuckled, for in reality, she was not that tall—at least a foot shorter than all of the men. "You made my boy so happy," Tun's mother continued when they separated, and Gúthwyn blushed. "But let us hope that you will not be engaging in another fight with him anytime in the near future!"
Gúthwyn laughed. "I will try to refrain myself," she promised.
A few minutes later, she was in the stables, opening Heorot's stall. The stableboys called out to her as they passed, their arms full of saddles, and she waved merrily at each of them. Théoden and Éowyn were no longer with her, as their own horses were already waiting outside. She did not see Arod or Hasufel, either. But what struck her as most conspicuous was the absence of Shadowfax. The Mearh was nowhere in sight, and neither he nor Gandalf she had seen before entering the stables.
As she stared at the empty stall, puzzling out this riddle and absentmindedly getting Heorot's saddle ready, a certain voice met her ears.
"He departed earlier this morning."
She jumped, and whirled around to face Legolas. "H-He did?" she asked, now fumbling with the saddle.
The Elf nodded. "He did not say why in any clear terms."
Gúthwyn was finding it increasingly harder to concentrate on Heorot under Legolas' gaze. Her hands were slipping on simple knots, and the horse was moving uncomfortably. This is an easy task! she yelled at herself, but to no avail. Try as she might, she could not get a steady grip on the last strap.
"Do you want help?" Legolas asked concernedly, taking a step forward. She blushed furiously.
"I know how to saddle a horse, thank you!"
Her voice was louder than she had intended, and some of the men glanced over at her.
"Gúthwyn," he said; however, when she glared at him, he seemed to think better of what he was going to say. "As you wish," he instead replied, and bowed courteously.
She blinked at the unexpected gesture, but then he had left the stables. Her heart was pounding unsteadily, and she had to take several deep breaths before returning her attentions to Heorot.
"Why does he have to look so much like him?" she whispered, and Heorot snorted.