The Rohan Pride Trilogy
Part Three: Terms
Book One
By: WhiteLadyOfTroy
Summary:
The doom of Middle-earth is to be decided, and Gúthwyn's own fate is tangled up with it. Reunited with her people, her thoughts now turn to the children, and she would know what has befallen them—even if her life is the cost of such knowledge.
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 Four:
As always, I'm using a crazy blend of movie and book canon, and it may at times get confusing. Please bear with me. Those of you who are huge fans of the book will notice that I took much of the dialogue from The Two Towers—this is because the movie does not cover the journey between Helm's Deep and Isengard at all, so it was necessary. I tend to not like copying the books, but there you have it. This chapter actually uses a lot of book dialogue, and I absolutely despise it, though there is nothing I can do.
Chapter Four
Gúthwyn kept a comforting hand on Cobryn's arm as they made their way off of the rocks. She could only imagine the grief he was experiencing, and was determined to alleviate his sadness in any way possible. After all he had sacrificed for her, it was the least she could do. He did not say anything, but looked at her once or twice with gratitude in his eyes.
As they stepped off of the rocks, Théoden and his men came into view, halting when they saw the group. Gúthwyn glanced up and saw her brother's astonished face twist into a frown as he looked upon her and Cobryn. She became all too aware that she still had her hand on his arm.
"Who might you two be?" Éomer asked, before anyone could speak a word.
Everyone's eyes were on Cobryn as he pulled away from Gúthwyn and gave a low bow. "My name is Cobryn, my lord," he said, addressing Éomer. She could tell that he had identified her brother instantly. "My companion is Lebryn."
Théoden moved forward. "What are you doing in Isengard?" he inquired, looking back and forth between them and Gúthwyn.
"We are slaves, my lord," Cobryn replied with another bow. All of his previous mood seemed to have disappeared, and he was playing the role of a humble servant perfectly. He will do well in court, Gúthwyn thought.
"Were slaves," Lebryn could not resist correcting him.
"They were searching for their friends," Aragorn explained. Both Merry and Pippin nodded in agreement.
Éomer's keen eyes swept over the group. "You did not find them?" he asked.
Gúthwyn winced. "They lie buried, not too far from here," she told him.
Her brother looked abashed. "I am sorry," he muttered, nodding his head at Lebryn and Cobryn. "I did not know."
Eager to get off of the topic of Gwollyn and Regwyn's deaths, Gúthwyn turned to Théoden. "Please, uncle," she said, praying that she had not given her friends an empty offer, "will you let Cobryn and Lebryn return to Rohan with us?"
Théoden hesitated. She saw his gaze move over the stump of Lebryn's right arm. Éomer, too, was looking them over thoroughly. "What type of service can they offer?" her brother asked, neither kindly nor bluntly.
Cobryn bowed. "Lebryn is a formidable warrior," he began, "despite only having one arm. He is strong and swift."
"And yourself?" Théoden questioned. Behind the king, all of the guards were watching curiously. Anxiously, she scanned their faces, but did not see any signs of disapproval. Yet they often did not show emotion, so she was unable to truly tell what they were thinking.
"My fighting days, I fear, are passing me by," Cobryn said grimly. "My leg pains me often, and I cannot run, nor move at a fast pace."
Gúthwyn shot him a worried look, but he continued. "Crippled I may be, yet I will do anything it is you ask of me. Some say I am intelligent. Others"—he glanced at Gúthwyn—"say I would make a fair scribe. If you have no need of these things, then at the very least I can do labor, and you will be hard pressed to find a more experienced worker."
"Please, Théoden," Gúthwyn added. "They have nowhere to go, and I would not abandon my friends so shortly after our reunion."
Both her uncle and her brother were silent. Gúthwyn waited for a word from either of them, shifting anxiously on her feet. Adding to her nervousness was Legolas, who had been watching her and Cobryn.
At length, Théoden nodded. "You may ride with us," he told Cobryn and Lebryn, "to Edoras. There, something will be found for you to do."
"Thank you, my lord," Cobryn replied, bowing for the fourth time in the past five minutes. "You are most gracious."
Yes, he will do very well in court, Gúthwyn thought to herself.
Near her, Lebryn inclined her head, and said gruffly, "Thank you, as well."
Before Gúthwyn had a chance to voice her gratitude, Gandalf spoke up. He had been watching the affairs quietly, but now he said, "Time is pressing! Treebeard and I have had some interesting discussions, and made a few plans; and we have all had some much-needed rest. Now we must be going on again."
Saruman! Gúthwyn thought, a thrill of adrenaline running through her. She could not deny that it would give her much pleasure to see the wizard trapped in his tower, helpless as the slaves had been under his command. And as Aragorn's lips curled into a small smile, she knew that he was just as ready to confront Saruman as she.
"We will have to be wary of the road," Gamling cautioned, "for it is all underwater."
Though Cobryn and Lebryn had not known that the king was planning on seeing Saruman, both of their eyebrows now shot up at this—only those who had business with the wizard went down the road to Orthanc.
"Aye," Théoden said, "but I will go upon it, nonetheless."
"Am I to ride with you, my lord?" Gúthwyn asked immediately.
Her uncle sighed, but grudgingly said, "You have come this far."
A wide smile spread across her face as Gandalf then spoke. "I hope you companions have all rested, too, and refreshed yourselves?"
His question was directed towards the Three Hunters and the Hobbits. Merry nodded, and said, "We have. But our discussions began and ended in smoke."
Gúthwyn did not know what he meant by that, as she had not been there for most of the conversation.
"Still," Merry continued, "we feel less ill-disposed towards Saruman than we did."
Her hands curled into fists. After Cobryn and Lebryn's tale, she was not the least inclined to be lenient with him. Neither, it seemed, was Gandalf.
"Do you indeed?" he asked, puzzled. "Well, I do not. I now have a last task to do before I go: I must pay Saruman a farewell visit."
A grin came over Gúthwyn's face then, but when she looked at Cobryn she saw that his expression had not changed.
"Dangerous," the wizard continued, "and probably useless; but it must be done. Those of you who wish may come with me—but beware! And do not jest! This is not the time for it."
"Unless killing him is a jest," Lebryn growled, "then I shall remain quiet."
Gandalf shot him a piercing glance. "You speak of that which you know little," he reprimanded the former slave sternly. "Foolish is he who underestimates the power of Saruman."
"Still," Cobryn interjected, his tone level, "both of us would go with you, if it is permitted: He has done us many a grievance, and you have given us hope of seeing some of them amended."
"I will come," Gimli said then, staring darkly at Orthanc. "I wish to see him and learn if he really looks like you."
His words made Gúthwyn wonder. She had seen both of the wizards, and had to admit that while, on first glance, they appeared similar, there were in fact more differences between the two. It was mainly in the face: Saruman's was colder, and harsher, than Gandalf's. And of course, the robes—one was interwoven with many colors, while the other was a pure white.
"And how will you learn that, Master Dwarf?" Gandalf returned, a grim smile on his lips. "Saruman could look like me in your eyes, if it suited his purpose with you. And are you yet wise enough to detect all of his counterfeits?"
Gúthwyn doubted it was so. The White Wizard was cunning, full of deceit and trickery. She could not long endure even a glance from him, and had failed in many an attempt.
"Well, we shall see," Gandalf sighed, "perhaps. He may be shy of showing himself before many different eyes together."
For a moment, Gúthwyn wondered if she and Gandalf were thinking of the same wizard. She never would have used the word "shy" to describe Saruman. Both Cobryn and Lebryn also looked puzzled at the term.
"But I have ordered all the Ents to remove themselves from sight," Gandalf said, "so perhaps we shall persuade him to come out."
Pippin appeared just as confused as she, Cobryn, and Lebryn were. "What's the danger?" he inquired, gazing at the tower in wonder. "Will he shoot at us, and pour fire from the windows; or can he put a spell on us from a distance?"
"The last is more likely, if you ride to his door with a light heart," Gandalf answered. Gúthwyn's mind flashed back to a dream she had had, shortly after Cobryn had pulled her from the cage, in which Saruman had fixed her to the floor so that she could not move. But he would not be able to do such a thing in reality, she tried to convince herself; all the same, she shivered.
One more caution did Gandalf have to add. "But there is no knowing what he can do, or may choose to try. A wild beast cornered is not safe to approach. And Saruman has powers you do not guess. Beware of his voice!"
"I will not make the same mistake of listening to him twice," Théoden vowed, his face twisted in anger. "I wonder if we shall see that wretched councilor of mine."
"Gríma would be risking his foul limbs if he came into the open," Éomer snarled. Both Cobryn and Lebryn started at the mention of the Serpent.
"Now let us go!" Théoden cried. "I would not have us waste time."
"Wait!" Pippin exclaimed. "There are more people than there are horses. Are you to leave Merry and I behind? For we should like to come along."
"Pippin, you can come with me," Aragorn replied, gesturing to Brego. "You will not be left out of these matters, especially as you were his captives once."
"Firefoot will be able to bear the burden of another," Éomer added, looking at Merry.
"I can take Lebryn," Gamling decided, after assessing the young man's size. Lebryn seemed surprised at the guard's kindness.
"Cobryn, you can go with me," Gúthwyn said, smiling at her friend. He thanked her quietly.
Éomer's eyes narrowed at this, but even though Théoden shifted uncomfortably no one disputed her.
"So it is settled," Gimli declared, who himself would be riding behind Legolas on Arod. "What a strange group of people we shall look!"
"Strange," Gandalf conceded, "although Saruman will not dare to think us fools."
With that, they all mounted their horses. Cobryn offered his hands to Gúthwyn, in order to help her onto Heorot, but she shook her head. "It is I who should be aiding you," she told him, sitting astride Heorot. She leaned down and held her own hand out to him.
He accepted the gesture, though not without a word. "I am crippled," he said, "yet I do not wish to be treated as such."
Gúthwyn nodded, not liking the idea, but knowing fully well that she had been as stubborn numerous times in her life. "Then I shall push you off of Heorot," she teased, keeping light laughter in her threat, "and allow you to get back on yourself."
Cobryn settled himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Do not, I beg of you," he answered. "It has been long since I rode a horse, and I doubt I could mount one."
"We will change that," Gúthwyn vowed, though her heart was no longer in the jest. She was all too aware of Cobryn's hands on her stomach—they were there so he would not slide off of the horse, but memories of Haldor were pressing on the corners of her mind. Her fists, clenched around Heorot's reins, trembled.
"Is everyone ready?" Théoden asked, surveying the group. Assorted nods and grunts of acquiescence gave him his answer.
Out of the corner of her eye, Gúthwyn saw Éomer navigate Firefoot closer to her. A faint smile came over her face as she looked at him. He was clearly not happy about having his sister riding with a man he had never met before. Nothing was said to either her or Cobryn, but she felt the arms wrapped around her stomach loosen their hold, and knew that Cobryn was equally aware of her brother's disapproval.
Yet now was not the time to dwell on such things. Gandalf began leading them towards a large breach in the wall, one that would allow the entire company to pass through into Isengard. As they entered the ring, the water sloshed around the horses' legs, and Gúthwyn wondered with a chill how many more bodies lay beneath the murky surface. She prayed that Heorot would not accidentally stumble over a corpse.
They picked their way over to the main road, and started following it towards Orthanc. Gandalf was at the head of the group, Théoden at his side, with Aragorn and Legolas just behind them. She, Éomer, Gamling, and the rest of the guards brought up the rear. As they went, she found herself staring at what looked like a gigantic tree standing before the stairs into Orthanc. Is this one of the Ents? she wondered.
It must have been, for it moved, and Gúthwyn saw that it had two eyes. She gaped at them, as they were like nothing she had ever seen. They were brown, with an odd green light emanating from them. They were strange, and she could not even begin to describe the vast years lying within them, nor the way they also seemed to be fresh as a flower that has just sprung from the earth.
While she was gaping, the Ent shifted even more, and addressed Gandalf. "Young Master Gandalf," he murmured, his voice slow and sonorous. A beard of tangled twigs and leaves quivered as he spoke. "I am glad you have come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."
Gúthwyn tore her eyes away from whom she now perceived to be Treebeard, and glanced up at the ebony tower. She could see no sign of movement from any of the windows, and there was no one on the roof, where the slaves had never been allowed to go. Come out, she urged the wizard impatiently. Do not be a coward.
"Be careful," Gandalf cautioned. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."
"Well, let us just have his head and be done with it," Gimli suggested, echoing Lebryn's earlier sentiments.
Shaking his head, Gandalf replied, "No. We need him alive. We need him to talk."
At that moment, a voice resounded throughout the ring, though it was soft in tone. Gúthwyn started, recognizing it even after many years' absence from Isengard. Saruman was speaking to them, each word positively dripping in feigned pleasure at their appearance.
"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards."
Gúthwyn craned her neck, trying to see the White Wizard, but just then a figure emerged on top of Orthanc. Her breath caught in her throat. Saruman, even in the throes of certain ruin, stood imperialistically over them all, gazing down with piercing eyes. He held his ebony staff before him, but at the moment did not seem particularly inclined to use it. Rather, his voice was kind, as though he truly desired to make amends with her uncle.
"Can we not take counsel," Saruman began, smiling coldly down at the king, "together as we once did, my old friend?"
Gúthwyn's eyes flashed. How dare he speak to Théoden that way? she thought furiously. After all of the people he was killed in the Westfold, after the children without their fathers, and mothers without their sons or husbands?
"Can we not have peace, you and I?" Saruman pressed, until Gúthwyn was actually shaking in rage. Cobryn's hands tightened on her warningly.
"Beware," he whispered. "His enchantments are laid bare to those he does not speak to, but it is no good to say anything."
Gúthwyn looked at the king, waiting for him to respond. She could not see his face, but he appeared to be lost in thought. Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged glances.
At length, Théoden spoke, and his words were like feet dredging their way through thick mud. "We shall have peace," he said slowly, and Gúthwyn felt her heart drop. "We shall have peace," her uncle continued, "when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged!"
Bitterness and hatred poured from his speech such as Gúthwyn had never heard before. Even Saruman seemed taken aback by it: His eyes narrowed, and he clutched his staff tighter.
"When you hang from a gibbet," Théoden snapped, "for the sport of your own crows, then we shall have peace!"
"Gibbets and crows?" Saruman cried, and Gúthwyn shuddered to hear the change in his voice. No longer was it pleasant and kindly. Instead, it was filled with malice, each word hissed as a snake spits out its venom. "Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor amongst the dogs?"
At his words, Gúthwyn felt a terrible rage come over her. Unable to restrain herself, she nudged Heorot forward. "And what is the stronghold of Saruman now, with his slaves gone and his army defeated by the very House of Eorl that you ignorantly mock?" she demanded, glaring up at the wizard. Théoden and Éomer's heads whipped around to look at her.
For the first time, Saruman noticed that she was there. His eyes widened. "So, Gúthwyn of Rohan," he breathed, his lips curling into a smile. "Mordor has not made you less proud or foolish, I see. Have you not learned to respect your superiors?"
Cobryn's hold on her tightened considerably, but she ignored it. "I have no respect for you," she spat.
Saruman's face was not remotely amused anymore. "I would throw you in the cage again for your insolence," he hissed, "and I may, should you overstep your bounds!"
Gúthwyn blanched, but hastily overcame her emotions. "You hold no sway over me, Saruman!" she called, staring determinedly at the wizard. "You cannot harm me anymore, and I have seen worse in this world than you. So do not flatter yourself in thinking that I will listen to your empty threats!"
"Empty threats?" Saruman repeated. "So the slave seeks to disobey her master! Try, if you will, and I shall have you screaming for mercy, just as you did in the long dark hours of your imprisonment!"
He could not have humiliated her more if he had tried. All of the blood rushed to her face, and she very nearly stopped breathing. In front of the entire company, in front of her family, in front of Haldor—no, Legolas, he had exposed her shame and disgrace. A familiar nausea welled up within her.
"How dare you speak to her that way?" Éomer snarled. Miserably, embarrassed beyond belief, Gúthwyn glanced at him and saw that his face was red with fury. Merry was cringing from it. "She is not yours to do with as you will!"
"Restrain your crude tongue, Éomer son of Éomund," Saruman said. "Like brother, like sister! Neither of you have the wit to challenge me."
"Be quiet, Saruman!" Gandalf barked. "Your behavior is spiteful and petty."
The color was still burning Gúthwyn's cheeks as Saruman turned to his new opponent. "What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame?" he asked scornfully. "Let me guess: The Key of Orthanc. Or perhaps the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"
"Your treachery has already cost many lives," Gandalf replied. "Thousands more are at risk. But you can save them, Saruman. You were deep in the Enemy's counsel."
Saruman laughed, as one who at last sees the unraveling of a joke. "So you have come here for information," he said, the thin smile on his face not reaching his eyes. "I have some for you."
And then he withdrew something from the folds of his robes and held it aloft. Gúthwyn stared at it. The thing was a round ball, with no bumps or marks on its smooth surface, and utterly black. But as she gazed at it, it seemed to glow with a strange fire. She had never seen this object before.
Yet she could tell by the way Gandalf stiffened that this globe was important. Saruman's eyes were blazing with triumph as he said, "Something festers in the heart of Middle-earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it."
The wizard's words made no sense to Gúthwyn. In fact, with the exception of Aragorn and Gandalf, none of the company seemed to have the slightest clue as to what Saruman spoke of.
"Even now," Saruman continued, lowering the ball, "he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon." A cruel light was in his eyes as he crowed, "You are all going to die!"
Some of the Riders shifted uneasily at this, though Gandalf now approached the base of Orthanc. His gaze was calm; Saruman's speech clearly had no effect on him.
"But you know this, do you not, Gandalf?" Saruman asked, and then his eyes moved over to Aragorn. "You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king."
Like Gandalf, Aragorn remained silent. The wind whipped his dark hair around him, making his still frame look even sterner than before.
"Gandalf," Saruman sneered, "does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him, those he professes to love." The next thing he said was a calculating blow to their hearts. "Tell me," he asked softly, "what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have sent him on can only lead him to death."
Gimli growled. "I have heard enough!" He whispered something to Legolas; Gúthwyn did not catch it, but she thought she heard the Dwarf say "shoot."
"No," Gandalf said, making a motion with his hand. "Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared."
Gúthwyn gaped at Gandalf. How could he offer the traitorous wizard freedom, after all the harm he had brought to Rohan and the helpless slaves under his iron rule? What had bewitched him to do so?
"Save your pity and your mercy," Saruman spat, raising his staff. "I have no use for it!"
With that, a great ball of fire erupted from the end of the long staff, shooting down towards Gandalf before the others could do anything. In less than a second, both Gandalf and Shadowfax were engulfed in flames.
No! Gúthwyn thought in a panic. The faces of the others were horrorstruck.
Yet even in the moment of their fear, the fire was extinguished. Gandalf reappeared, with not a single burn marring his face. Saruman's eyes widened, and Gúthwyn felt as if the tables had turned. She could not explain why, but it was as if the White Wizard had lost a contest of some sorts—which had nothing to do with the flames.
"Saruman, your staff is broken," Gandalf decreed, raising his own. The others watched in shock as the wood in Saruman's hands splintered and shattered, raining down in fragments upon the stairs.
Then, something else caught Gúthwyn's attention. Another person had come out onto the roof, standing just behind Saruman. Her blood boiled as she realized it was Gríma Wormtongue, squinting at them with pale eyes.
Théoden started. "Gríma, you need not follow him," he said, his voice gentle. At those words, Gúthwyn actually stared at her uncle, wondering if he had gone mad. "You were not always as you are. You were once a man of Rohan. Come down."
Cobryn's grip on her tightened, and Gúthwyn privately thought to herself that if the Serpent paid heed to Théoden's advice, she would slaughter him for that which he had done to Chalibeth. He did not deserve freedom—he deserved a long, painful death.
"A man of Rohan?" Saruman repeated, snorting. Gríma looked down at his feet. "That is nothing to be proud of. The victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."
Gúthwyn's eyes flared as the wizard mocked her uncle. Théoden had his faults, and she still had not forgotten all that Haldor had whispered to her in his bed, but Saruman had to right to speak that way of her family. Her nails dug painfully into her hands.
"Gríma, come down," Théoden urged the Serpent, ignoring the words of the man's master. "Be free of him."
"Free?" Saruman chuckled. "He will never be free." As quick as a flash, he turned and dealt Gríma a blow across the face. "Get down, cur!" he snapped. Gúthwyn watched in disgust as Wormtongue crumpled to the ground, utterly helpless against the wizard. This is pathetic, she thought.
"Saruman!" Gandalf called. "You were deep in the Enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"
All eyes were fixed on the fallen wizard. "You withdraw your guard," he breathed, "and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here."
Suddenly, he gasped, and his mouth formed a small "o." Gríma appeared behind him, his expression murderous. To their astonishment, Saruman began pitching forward. Something bright and shiny gleamed in the afternoon sun: A dagger. Wormtongue had leaped up and stabbed the wizard in the back, taking them all at unawares.
As Saruman teetered on the edge of Orthanc, Legolas strung up his bow and shot. The arrow flew up and pierced Gríma in the shoulder. Gúthwyn's lips stretched in a grim smile as the Serpent gasped, choking and spluttering on the last moments of his life. He let go of Saruman, falling back onto the ground. And then, something remarkable happened, something that she had never imagined in her wildest dreams.
Saruman tumbled forwards, his feet losing their precious hold on the roof of Orthanc. His still body fell off of the tower, and with a sickening splat he was impaled upon a spiked wheel that had been in the water. Gúthwyn's eyes widened as a black spire pushed through his chest. Even as they all stared at the wizard in shock, the wheel began turning, so that Saruman was slowly rotated underneath the waters.
And so passed Saruman the White, former head of the Istari, in an ending that was as cowardly as his recent dealings. His spirit never returned again to Middle-earth, not as a shadow on the fringes of anyone's mind, nor as a hissing menace in the dark corners of the world. With him went his servant, Gríma son of Gálmód, and no one mourned his death.
"Send word to our allies," Gandalf spoke then, looking at Théoden, "and to every corner of Middle-earth that still stands free. The Enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."
"The filth of Saruman," Treebeard murmured—Gúthwyn gave a start, for she had forgotten that he was there—"is washing away." He did not appear to have a care for whatever was happening out East, and she supposed that the trials and wars of men troubled him little. "Trees will come back to live here; young trees, wild trees."
As the Ent talked, Gúthwyn watched Pippin lean over and gaze at something in the water. With a small splash he jumped off, sloshing towards whatever had captured his interest.
"Pippin!" Aragorn called, but the Halfling had already stooped to pick the thing up. When he stood, he held in his hands the queer object that Saruman had gazed into.
"Bless my bark!" Treebeard exclaimed. Gandalf hastily moved Shadowfax over to the Hobbit, who was standing as if transfixed by the globe.
"Peregrin Took!" he said, holding out his hand. "I will take that, my lad. Quickly now!"
Without a word, Pippin gave it to him, but Gúthwyn saw a strange look pass over his face—resentment? Annoyance?
Gandalf swiftly wrapped the ball in his robe, looking down at the Halfling keenly for a moment before turning to the others. A great weariness seemed to have laid itself upon him. "Well, let us depart," he said. "We have done all that can be done here."
"So it is farewell, then, Master Gandalf," Treebeard replied.
"As it must be," Gandalf said, and they parted.