The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Part Two: Reunions

Book Two

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 Twenty-Two:
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. Also, I know nothing of sword fighting, so some of the upcoming scenes may seem ludicrous to experts. Feel free to point out any blatant errors. Finally, just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Outside, it was dawn, but inside it was as bleak as the darkest hour of the night. Gúthwyn and about ten others, including Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the king, were besieged in the Keep, struggling to hold off Saruman's army. The White Hand still guided thousands of Uruks against them, and even while the guards planted beams and benches as barricades on the doors, they knew the battle would be over soon. Periodic booms were shaking the doors; the Uruks had taken a battering ram to it.

Surprisingly, she was rather calm about her imminent death. It was not as frightening as it could have been. Borogor would be up there, along with the children. Théodred and her parents would be awaiting her, as well. And when the Uruks took the Keep, as was inevitable, she would not surrender and receive whichever fate they chose to deal her. She would fight to the end, and go down with honor.

So Gúthwyn felt a surge of disgust when her uncle, who had been standing away from his warriors alongside Gamling, called out to them:

"The fortress is taken. It is over."

You fool, she found herself seething. You would roll over and let the enemy trample you, as you allowed Gríma to bewitch your mind with his soft whispers!

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defended it!" Aragorn exclaimed, moving over to the king. Legolas was just behind him. Together, the two of them picked up a bench; the Elf returned to the doors with it, while Aragorn continued with the king. "They still defend it! They have died defending it!"

All of Gúthwyn's attention was fixed on them, so that she only flinched a little as Legolas passed her by with the bench.

"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" Aragorn demanded, glancing at the entrance to them and then looking back and forth between Théoden and Gamling. Legolas came over and upturned a table. When neither of them answered, seemingly in a daze, he all but shouted, "Is there no other way?"

Gamling nodded, and Gúthwyn breathed a sigh of relief. "There is one passage," he replied. "It leads into the mountains."

Whatever befell her in the last few moments of her life, Gúthwyn prayed that Éowyn would be able to escape the doom that now lay over the Deeping-coomb. Her sister had probably discovered her absence by now; she wished she had not caused her so much grief, but there was nothing to be done about it.

"But they will not get far," Gamling added, looking miserable. "The Uruk-hai are too many!"

There was another boom from outside. This time, it took the men longer to return to their positions. Gúthwyn pressed forward with them, not liking at all what she was hearing. One of her eyes was still on Théoden and the Ranger.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass," Aragorn ordered, his hand gripping Gamling's shoulder tightly. "And barricade the entrance!"

"So much death," Théoden suddenly spoke. His voice was low, but it echoed throughout the nearly empty Keep. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?"

Once more, the Uruks tried to break down the doors. Dust filtered downwards, and some of the beams wobbled. Yet still the Rohirrim pushed at the doors, refusing to let them yield while there was still breath in their bodies. It will not be long now, Gúthwyn thought, clenching and unclenching her fists.

For a moment, Aragorn was silent. Finally he said, so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear him, "Ride out with me." Then his voice grew stronger, and filled with determination. "Ride out and meet them."

Gúthwyn's pulse quickened. The last charge of the Eorlingas, in which Théoden the King rode out with the last men standing, into the pale grey dawn to face an honorable death in a hopeless battle. If they were to perish here, she could not have chosen a better ending herself.

Théoden was in agreement. "For death and glory," he murmured, a small smile coming over his face.

"For Rohan," Aragorn said, approaching Théoden. "For your people."

Excitement was beginning to take over her. She wanted this to be—she wanted to ride out with the last remnants of her people, and die so gloriously that songs were sung about it afterwards.

"The sun is rising," Gimli spoke then, leaning on his axe. She glanced at one of the windows, set high up in the Keep, and saw that he was correct: Soft sunlight was streaming in, heralding the beginning of a new day. The defenders of Helm's Deep had lasted the night, which was more than anyone had expected.

"Yes," Théoden murmured. "Yes." Gúthwyn could feel the anticipation radiating off of him as keenly as if it were her own. Slowly, he turned to his guard. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand," he declared, "shall sound in the Deep one last time."

"Yes!" Gimli growled. Without another word, he began sprinting to the passage leading to the last tower, in which a large horn was kept to signal advances and retreats. No one had been manning it for the battle, as all the help that they could get was needed.

The door quivered again. This time, several of the barricades fell down. Not two feet away from her, Legolas withdrew his bow, nocking it and preparing to shoot the invading Uruk-hai. Other men reached for their swords, but Gúthwyn kept hers in its sheathe. Soon, Framwine, she told it silently, soon you will shine with new blood.

"Men!" Théoden called, and everyone turned to look at him. Gamling, who had left the main room of the Keep, now returned with a great brown mare in tow. The other warhorses were trotting out after him, one for each of the Eorlingas. Hasufel and Arod followed shortly after. "Mount your horses! Let no fear hold you now, not when there are Uruks to feel the bite of our blades!"

Gúthwyn was one of the first to reach the horses. She chose one of the smaller mares, knowing that she was the lightest of all the defenders, and soon was sitting atop him. Within a minute, all but one man had gotten on their horses. The last guard who remained on the ground was single-handedly holding the gates against the Uruks. His horse came near him, ready to be mounted at a second's notice.

"Fell deeds, awake," Théoden breathed. The door was struck, but still held. "Now for wrath," the king continued, and Aragorn unsheathed Andúril, "now for ruin, and a red dawn!" He put on his helmet.

Gúthwyn withdrew Framwine just as a low, loud horn call sounded throughout the Deeping-coomb. In one great push, the door burst open, revealing a mass of Uruk-hai. They were outnumbered by those that held the battering ram. Yet it mattered not.

"Forth Eorlingas!" Théoden yelled, and the other men took up his call. Gúthwyn did not shout—she did not want her uncle to know that his niece was perishing alongside him. But for that concern, she would have cried louder than the rest.

With Théoden leading them, the defenders raced out to meet Saruman's army. The Uruks tried to attack them, but it was to no avail. Gúthwyn could have sung as, one by one, they were cut down, slaughtered in the midst of their triumph. Her heart was beating with wild exhilaration as she beheaded one of the creatures, then gave Framwine the delicious taste of another one.

Unstoppable, they rode through the fortress. None could withstand them. Not a single Rider fell as they tore apart the ranks of the Uruks, leaving few behind to tell the tale. And then the sunlight hit their faces as Théoden charged out into the bright morning, riding only for death and no hope for himself. A wide grin stretched across Gúthwyn's face as she smelt the blood and felt the black flesh ripping under the brutal caress of her blade. She could not remember a time when she had been happier.

Through it all, the horn was still ringing. It gave Gúthwyn strength as the cavalry stormed down the causeway, casting Uruks from it left and right. She could feel each note trembling in her heart, causing it to nearly burst with delight. The morning was beautiful, she was with her people, and she had a sword in her hands. For the first time since Mordor, she was Gúthwyn of Rohan, the proud niece of Théoden King.

They had thrown themselves into the hordes of Uruk-hai, whose numbers were still in the thousands, when all of a sudden a great whinnying echoed throughout the entire valley, covering even the sonorous horn of Helm Hammerhand. Even the Uruks turned to look and gape in awe at the sight before them. A single white horse, at the head of the steep slope leading into the gorge, had reared up on its two feet, heedless of the peril below. It was Shadowfax. Gandalf had returned to them in the hour of doom.

"Gandalf," Gúthwyn whispered, and she was not the only one. Others mouthed his name in astonishment as they beheld him, a shining star above a sea of darkness. Many of the Uruks held their hands over their eyes, seemingly unable to endure the brilliant white gleaming from his robes.

Yet Gandalf was not alone. Another Rider came up behind him. Gúthwyn's heart exploded in joy as she recognized her brother, Éomer son of Éomund, Second Marshal of the Mark. In full glory he now sat upon Firefoot, by the side of Gandalf the White, and held up his sword. It gleamed in the sun. "Rohirrim!" he called.

Thousands of hoofs pounded onto the ground as—her breath caught in her throat—the éored that Éomer had been leading, now swelled to a vast cavalry, filed up behind their leader. Against all odds, the tide had turned. The Uruks quailed, caught between the hammer and the anvil. No matter where they went, they were trapped. Rohan had been saved.

"To the King!" Éomer now shouted, and the Eorlingas lifted their voices in a great cry that smote the spirit of the Uruks. Gúthwyn watched in utter, complete bliss as the son of Éomund rode down to the aid of her people, bringing with him countless Riders. Even next to Gandalf he shone out amongst them all: Her brother, the people's savior… Éomer.

The Uruks tried to organize a hasty strategy, facing the oncoming cavalry with their pikes before them, but they were backing up as they went. Like a sword cuts through flesh the éored collided with the White Wizard's army; at the same time, Théoden gave a cry, and the defenders attacked with a fierce renewal. All pains and aches within Gúthwyn were long forgotten as she slashed and hacked a wide circle about her. She had expected death this morning, and there would be death—but not for her.

Now, the Uruk-hai were beginning to flee. Éomer's men were slaughtering them mercilessly, and their numbers were diminishing by the hundreds. Like dark ants they swarmed over the valley, trying to head out of it. All of the Riders pursued them, but when they saw what lay there they stopped, and stared in shock. For a moment, Gúthwyn wondered if she had lost too much blood.

A forest of trees had somehow planted itself in the gorge, effectively blocking off all hopes of escape for the Uruks. To Gúthwyn, it reminded her of Fangorn Forest, and a chill raced through her. The Uruk-hai who had plunged themselves into the woods, choosing a menacing line of trees over the cold bite of the Rider's swords, would never live to see another sunrise.

The Rohirrim approached the forest in wonder, but Éomer rode before them all. Gúthwyn was farther down the line, yet she heard every word that he said. "Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!"

She did not need to be told twice. As Éomer checked Firefoot, and wheeled around to face the woods, something strange happened. The last of the Uruks disappeared into the forest, and all was quiet. But then the air became filled with shrieks and cries; the trees were moving of their own accord, as if they were finishing off the last of Saruman's army. Watching them in amazement, Gúthwyn realized that they were doing exactly that.

Wild cheers of exultation arose from the Riders. The Battle of Helm's Deep had been won. Rohan was free. The wound on Gúthwyn's stomach bled.