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 Six:
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.
Chapter Six
"Éowyn, really, is all this necessary?" Gúthwyn grumbled, craning her neck to look over at her sister. Éowyn was tying up the final laces on her dress, making sure to do them up tightly.
"Unfortunately, it is," Éowyn replied, finishing the last knot.
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. Her sister was wearing a light blue gown, one that made her blond hair appear to be pure gold. She looked stunning, and Gúthwyn would not be surprised if the eyes of many men followed her that night. Not to mention that there were no laces.
"I cannot believe this fits you," Éowyn said in response, moving in front of Gúthwyn so she could see how the dress suited her. "I wore it when I was sixteen."
Gúthwyn glanced down at it. She had wanted to wear the grey one, which at least she could walk around in somewhat comfortably, but her sister would have none of it. Instead, she was now wearing a light green gown of Éowyn's, tied up the back with brown lacing. Her curves were definitely not large enough to look good in the outfit, and she hated it.
"Well, sometime we will have dresses that are made for you," Éowyn said then, sighing. "You are too thin, sister."
"There is nothing that can be done about that now," Gúthwyn replied, and sought to distract her sister from the topic. The last thing she wanted was for Éowyn to find out how little she ate—she did not want to have to have her appetite "cured" again.
"Let us go, then," Éowyn said. "We do not want to be late."
They hurried out of the bedroom, Gúthwyn fidgeting with the sleeves of her gown until Éowyn forbid her from touching it for the rest of the night. Soon they arrived at the throne room, which was packed with people. Théoden had declared that all of Edoras was to come to Meduseld for a victory feast, and she doubted that a single person remained outside of the Golden Hall.
"Go stand on the dais," Éowyn told her, leaning close to be heard over the noise. "I will be bringing the cup to Théoden."
It was an old custom of Rohan for the feasting cup to be passed around. Nothing was special about the actual vessel itself, for though it was silver it was small, and its design was simple, but the people drank out of it for luck and health. Both Éowyn and Gúthwyn had been teased mercilessly by Éomer in their younger, clumsier days, as he despaired of them ever being able to even hold it long enough to present it to the king. Yet she did not doubt that Éowyn would perform the task admirably.
She swiftly climbed the stairs, rather nervous at being in front of all these people. Théoden was sitting on his throne, and he smiled at her. "That dress looks beautiful on you," he complimented her.
Gúthwyn blushed. "Thank you," she said, giving a short curtsy. She wobbled slightly, and her uncle chuckled.
"It has been too long since you have been at court," he said.
The grin on her face lessened somewhat, but she refused to let memories of her past haunt the night. "Yes, far too long," she agreed, and then surveyed the rest of the dais. Éomer was already there, standing on the other side of the throne. Crossing over to him, she whispered, "You look good tonight, brother."
It was true. His hair, normally kept in place by his helmet or partially tied back, was resting loosely on his shoulders. He had abandoned his armor in favor of a more comfortable, full-length tunic, which had slits below the belt for him to move about freely. Only once or twice did she look into the crowd, but each time she saw several of the maids watching him.
Éomer smiled, and glanced at her dress. "I remember Éowyn wearing that," he said. "I had to blackmail her into it."
She laughed, then asked, "What did you blackmail her with?"
He was about to answer when a sudden hush fell over the room. Théoden had stood up, causing everyone to abandon their conversations. Éowyn, who had been standing at the foot of the platform, now began ascending it. As she did, Gúthwyn gazed out over the crowd. She saw Aragorn and Gamling at the table right behind Éowyn, watching her sister as she held the cup out to Théoden.
Next to them was Tun. He met her eyes as she glanced at him, and they smiled at each other briefly. Then she looked at the other side of the room, where the two Halflings were. Their feet did not even touch the ground, though the benches were low. Next to them was Gimli, whose hand was clenched firmly around a tall mug. Her eyes moved past them, and fell upon Legolas. He was leaning against a pillar, observing the ceremony, but he felt her gaze on him and glanced at her.
Hastily, she looked away, fearing those blue eyes that were Haldor's, no matter what anyone said. To keep her mind off of them, she scanned the crowd for Cobryn and Lebryn. At length, she found them, sitting next to each other in the far back. Cobryn nodded at her, but Lebryn was too busy silently entertaining the equally quiet overtures of several flirtatious females. She repressed a giggle, and settled for sighing softly in amusement.
Yet everyone stopped what they were doing when Théoden began to speak. His voice echoed through the Golden Hall as he welcomed them to his home. "We have gathered here for several reasons," he said, holding the cup before him. "First, to a victory well-fought!"
Loud cheers rang out, nearly shaking Meduseld with their volume. The men who had defended the Keep found their backs being slapped by just about everyone surrounding them.
"Second of all," Théoden continued when the noise had died down, "it is already known to Rohan, but the return of my niece merits a celebration!"
The applause and gleeful shouts were thunderous. Gúthwyn's grin stretched from ear to ear as the people yelled her name over and over, delighted to have her back in Edoras after nearly eight years' exile. Beside her, Éomer was clapping the hardest, so that she could hear his strong hands coming together even above the din in Meduseld.
Eventually, a semblance of quiet returned. Théoden smiled at her, then turned back to the Rohirrim. When he next spoke, however, his words were somber. "I wish that were all that we are here for, but with any triumph in battle there must be a loss of life. Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country."
Gúthwyn bowed her head, thinking of all the poor mothers whose sons had been cruelly torn away by the Uruks' steel swords, or the wives who no longer had husbands to love. The image of Haleth, sobbing quietly for his father, who had perished even before the fight began, flooded her mind.
"Hail the victorious dead!" Théoden declared then, and raised his cup.
"Hail!" the people echoed, and lifted their own mugs to honor the courageous warriors. Gúthwyn did not have one of her own, but she shouted along with them all the same.
When they had drained their cups, the festivities began. The royal family left the dais, Éowyn weaving her way through the crowd to offer the cup to various people. Théoden went to find Gandalf, but Éomer said to Gúthwyn, "Will you try some of the mead tonight, sister? It is good, and will cheer even the most gloomy of souls."
Although most children were raised on ale, this was a finer brew, one that was used especially for celebrations. It was far stronger, and as a result Théoden had never allowed her to try any. Now she beamed, and replied, "Of course! Why ever not?"
"That is what I like to hear," Éomer declared, laughing. He led her over to where a giant still had been erected, which already had a great crowd of people clustered around it. When it was their turn, Éomer seized two mugs from a nearby table and handed them to the man operating the still.
"Is the second one for you or young Gúthwyn?" the man asked, chuckling as he filled the first mug.
"For Gúthwyn," Éomer replied. "But be sparing with the drink, Fealu, as it is her first time—I would not want to have to carry her to her room!"
"I would not want you to carry me," Gúthwyn snorted, giving him a light shove.
Fealu gave a gap-toothed grin and handed them their mugs. Hers was halfway empty, but when she took a sip she was glad he had not filled it to the brim.
"How is it?" Éomer asked her as they made their way to one of the tables.
Nearly choking on its potency, she managed, "It is different."
Éomer put his arm around her shoulders and, lifting the mug to his mouth, almost drained the contents in one long swig. Gúthwyn giggled. "You will be passed out on the floor soon," she told him as they sat down amidst several guards.
"My lady," Gamling said, leaning over to talk to her, "it takes far more than a single mug to get your brother drunk."
"Really?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Éomer just as he was swallowing the last drops of his cup. "How many, would you say?"
"Ten," one of the younger guards suggested.
"No, no, more than that," Gamling disagreed, taking a sip from his own mug. "Fifteen is my wager."
"And tonight, it shall be twenty," Éomer vowed, eliciting gales of approving laughter from them all. Standing up, he said, "Gúthwyn, do you want any more?"
She showed him her mug, out of which she had only had a small sip. "No, thank you," she replied, smiling. "Please, Éomer, do not make a disgrace of yourself. I shall not be very happy."
"Yes, let us not have a repeat of that drinking game," Gamling added, and Éomer coughed slightly.
"Drinking game?" Gúthwyn asked, glancing back and forth between the two men. "Do I want to know?"
"No," Gamling said, and drained his mug.
At that moment, Tun came over, taking Éomer's empty seat. Gamling left then, returning to the still for some more mead. "You look wonderful," her champion complimented her, grinning. "Giving your sister a run for her money, are we?"
"Please," Gúthwyn said, rolling her eyes. "I would be more comfortable in a sack than this thing."
"I think I prefer you in the dress," he teased her, drinking deeply from his mug.
"Oh, stop it," she retorted, but could not help laughing.
Tun's eyes wandered across the room. "Your friend seems to be having fun," he commented.
Gúthwyn followed his gaze to see Lebryn, arm in arm with a pretty blond, whom she recognized to be Gamling's niece. "That did not take him very long," she said in amusement. She scanned the room for Cobryn, but saw no sign of him.
"He had better hope that Gamling does not see him," Tun replied, finishing half of his ale in one gulp.
Craning her neck, Gúthwyn looked for the captain of the guard. She spotted him beside Éomer at the still, watching something in front of him. It was only when he shifted that she could see what had captured his interest. Legolas and Gimli were facing each other on opposite ends of a table, surrounded by a horde of cheering men, each with several empty mugs piled before them.
So that is a drinking game, she thought to herself.
Tun saw what she was gazing at, and chuckled. "Last one standing wins," he explained.
"Has Éomer ever done one of those?" she inquired, remembering Gamling's words from earlier.
Tun nearly choked on the last bit of his mead. "Yes," he replied, once he had recovered. "Against Théodred."
"Oh," she said, thinking sadly of her cousin. In an effort to bring the lightheartedness back, she asked, "Who won?"
"Théodred," Tun said, observing her reaction carefully. "Éomer could not get out of bed for close to three days."
Normally, such a tale would have made her laugh, but the image of her cousin's still body was haunting her. Sighing, she took a sip of the ale, and winced as it burned down her throat. Tun looked as though he regretted telling her the story.
"I am sorry," she said, glancing down into the swirling depths of her mug. "Please, do not pay attention to my mood."
He was about to respond when the unexpected sounds of a fiddle rose into the air. One of the men had gotten to his feet and was playing the instrument, drawing a large crowd of admirers. Several of the people began dancing, whirling around and clapping in time to the music. Requests for old favorites were given, and soon two more fiddles had been added to the first.
Gúthwyn would have been content to watch them—indeed, she could already feel her spirits rising—but Tun leaped to his feet. Before she knew what was happening, he had taken her hands and pulled her up. "Come!" he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Let us dance!"
"No, no, I really do not know how…" Vainly, she tried to protest as he dragged her over to where the crowd had gathered. Her heart was not in refusing him, however, and she soon ceased her objections.
"Now, what is this I hear of my lady not knowing how to dance?" he asked, once they stood amongst the people.
She blushed. "I never learned," she answered, slightly abashed.
"Then we shall take care of that," he said, lifting her hands above her head. Gúthwyn blinked, but then realized that those around them were doing so.
Having Tun teach her was not so bad. Even when she stepped on his feet several times, he did not wince. In fact, he seemed to be having the time of his life. She herself was grinning ear to ear, giggling with each misstep of hers. "I do not think you should be calling me a lady anymore," she said at one point, after she had clumsily twirled under his arm. "I have less coordination than a child learning to walk!"
"Yet you smile in spite of everything, and I am all the more delighted for it, my lady," he said.
"Tun!" Both of them glanced over to see one of the younger guards approaching them. He bowed to Gúthwyn, then turned to her champion. "I have been looking for you since the party began, and now I learn that you have been bothering this poor woman all night! Excuse me, my lady," he said to her. "I do hope his company has been somewhat tolerable."
All three of them chuckled, and Gúthwyn replied, "He was been wonderful. Rather, I fear it is my company that is near unbearable."
"Never," Tun immediately said. "What do you want?" he asked his friend, though not unkindly.
"I was sent by Erkenbrand to see if his favorite nephew could not be parted from his lady friend for a few moments."
"I am his only nephew," Tun grumbled, but nodded all the same. "Farewell," he said to Gúthwyn, bowing deeply. "It was a pleasure."
"Thank you," Gúthwyn responded. When Tun and his friend had left, she decided to find Cobryn and Lebryn. That is, if she could draw Lebryn away from the women.
Nearly pushing her way out of the crowd, she went to the back of the room, where she had last seen them. Cobryn was sitting on one of the benches, a half-full mug of ale before him. Lebryn was nowhere in sight.
"Are you having fun?" she asked her friend, easing herself onto the bench beside him.
He nodded, smiling. She was pleased to see that he was not just saying that to alleviate her concerns: His eyes were sparkling. "The ale is good, and your people are lively. They lighten my heart."
Gúthwyn beamed. "I am glad to hear it!"
Cobryn looked at her. "I have been watching you," he said. "Never before have I seen you so happy."
She blushed, but her grin did not dim. "You would be hard-pressed to find something that puts me in higher spirits than being with my people," she replied.
"Speaking of people," Cobryn said, gazing at her keenly, "you are spending much time with that guard Tun. Is there anything I should know?"
Giggling, she said, "No. He is my champion, and was my best friend before I was taken from Rohan."
"Your champion?" Cobryn repeated, arching an eyebrow.
Nodding, she explained, "He swore his service to me when I returned."
Cobryn took a drink, smirking. "Your words would make me vow to observe him carefully, but for the fact that if Éomer is not already doing so, then I am a Dwarf."
"And both of you trouble yourselves too much," Gúthwyn answered, shaking her head. "I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs."
When Cobryn looked at her, she burst out laughing. "I did not mean it like that!" she insisted. "Really!"
"I know, I know," he conceded, smiling.
"Now," she began, looking around, "where is Lebryn? Has he gone to get more ale, or do I have to prize him away from Gamling's niece?"
"I fear it is the latter," Cobryn said, yet he chuckled all the same. "Though it may very well be the other way around."
Gúthwyn stood up, and patted him on the shoulder. "I go now to see if I might steal a dance from him, but do not feel like you have to stay here. I am sure my brother would be more than happy to entertain you."
"Subject me to an interrogation, more likely," Cobryn snorted. "Do not get me wrong: I am sure he is wonderful, but he still does not trust me with you."
"Aye, that is what happens when you have a protective brother. Even when you are five years old, all of your male friends are frowned down upon." Gúthwyn sighed, but contentedly. She loved Éomer to death, and in all actuality did not begrudge him of his watchfulness. "Well, goodbye for now!"
"Farewell," he called after her as she disappeared into the crowd.
It did not take her long to find Lebryn. She merely had to locate the largest group of giggling girls; from there, it was a small matter of working her way into the center. Her friend was wrapping up a tale about some ludicrous topic or other when she saw him. Gamling's niece was nowhere in sight, though he was certainly not lacking for company.
"Gúthwyn!" he cried when he saw her, grinning and raising his mug in a toast. "I would have sought you out earlier, yet I was all too aware that your guard has a sword and I do not."
All around him, the girls burst into laughter. She did not recognize most of them, but smiled nonetheless. "He does not carry it with him tonight, my friend," she said, "and I have come to see if you might spare a little of your time for a dance."
"Certainly!" he exclaimed, setting down his tankard. "My good ladies, I shall return," he promised, giving a mock bow.
"Do you know any of their names?" Gúthwyn muttered, once they had departed the circle. He firmly shook his head.
They danced for awhile, during which she saw Éowyn pass her by. Her sister looked surprised, but smiled and called a greeting to her all the same. It was not until far later that Gúthwyn learned that women of her social status did not dance with such abandonment; yet now, she happily returned Éowyn's salutation, and brought her attentions back to Lebryn.
He was a far better dancer than she, which admittedly did not take much; yet they had both learned the same footwork this night. Many a taunt did she earn from her friend, who mercilessly teased her whenever she accidentally stepped on his toes. "You will never find a husband at this rate," he said, laughing as she almost lost her footing on a turn.
Ignoring the twist in her stomach, Gúthwyn replied, "And you will never find a wife, if only for the fact that you will never be able to choose!"
"It is better to keep your options open," Lebryn countered, nodding his head wisely. She stepped on his foot again, and this time it was on purpose.
"What was that for?" he demanded, whirling her around more forcefully than he had before.
Giggling, Gúthwyn advised, "You had better watch what women you consort with. My brother is not the only powerful man in the city, nor is he the only one who protects his sister. And that is to say nothing of fathers—or husbands."
He frowned. "Whose wife have I been dancing with?"
"When I find out, I will tell you," she said, grinning. "But I do not doubt that there are some women who have taken advantage of their man's excessive drinking." It was not deemed too unfaithful; it was a fact of life.
As the song ended, Lebryn asked if she would like to dance again, but she shook her head. "I cannot long stand the envious gazes of your friends," she explained, chuckling. Indeed, most of the girls had been watching them intently from a corner. "They may soon try to murder me if I do not return you."
He flashed her a cheeky grin. "I would not want blood on my hands tonight," he smirked, and with a small bow he had departed. Immediately, Gúthwyn felt about seven pairs of eyes leave her.
Sighing in relief, she was about to find Tun or Éomer when two loud voices met her ears. Glancing over, she saw that a great crowd had gathered before one of the tables, upon which two small figures were dancing and singing: the Hobbits. Eagerly she went towards them. The people made room for her, and as she drew closer she could clearly hear the last words of their song.
You can drink your fancy ales,
You can drink 'em by the flagon!
But the only brew for the brave and true,
Comes from the Green Dragon!
For a moment, it seemed to Gúthwyn that Pippin faltered, his attention caught by something beyond the table. But just as quickly, he recovered and finished the song with Merry, then bowed to the resounding applause. Gúthwyn looked to where the Halfling's gaze had been, and saw Gandalf and Aragorn standing together. She would have gone over to speak with them, yet they seemed deeply absorbed in a conversation.
Instead, she went over to the Hobbits as they jumped off of the table. "My lady!" Merry cried, catching sight of her. "Did you enjoy our dance?"
"It was excellent," Gúthwyn replied, grinning enthusiastically. "I hope you have not used all of your songs!"
"Never," Pippin declared, appearing aghast at the idea. "We have hundreds more."
"I look forward to hearing them, then," Gúthwyn said. It had cheered her heart to see the Hobbits so carefree, and she thought that the Shire must have been a wonderful place to live. She would ask them more about their land later.
"Well, we're off!" Merry exclaimed. "My mug is nearly empty." Pippin glanced at his, and turned it upside down. Not a single drop fell out.
"Mine, too," he said sadly, but then brightened. "To the still!"
Gúthwyn laughed as they hurried away. For a moment she watched them; when they were out of sight, she decided to find Éomer.
Her brother was sitting at a table with some of the guards, including Tun. All of them had tankards that were brimming with ale clenched in their hands. Some of them, she did not doubt, were on their seventh or eighth mug. Yet she went over to them anyway, smiling when they spotted her and raised their cups in a toast.
"Welcome back!" Tun greeted her as she sat down next to him at the end of the bench. Made boisterous by the drink, he put an arm around her shoulders. Gúthwyn's own heart was lightened by the atmosphere, and she did not even cringe from the contact.
"Well, sister, where have you been?" Éomer asked, narrowing his eyes slightly at Tun's arm. Of all the men, his wits had been the least addled. "I was looking for you."
"I was with Cobryn and Lebryn," she explained, smiling.
"Lebryn, the dark-haired one?" Gamling asked, taking a large gulp of his drink. When she nodded, wondering if he had seen his niece with her friend, he said, "That is a handsome piece of flesh—I do not doubt he will find himself with a maid behind the stables tonight!"
Uproarious laughter broke out along the table. Gúthwyn blushed, and was grateful that both Éomer and Tun did not partake much in the jest. Indeed, Éomer said to Gamling: "Curb your tongue, good friend; there is a lady present."
"My apologies," Gamling hastily told her, swallowing the last of his mirth and ale.
She waved them away with her hand, but was relieved when the talk turned to ridiculous conquests and unbelievable tales of battle. For awhile, she was content to listen and scoff at them. Tun offered her some mead from his nearly empty tankard, but she refused him politely.
"It is not to your taste?" he asked, smiling.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I would rather have you enjoy it."
"Oh, I have," he snickered, and she grinned.
"I do not doubt it," she said as he drained his mug with the hand that was not on her shoulder. His motions were awkward, because he still had his sling on.
After she had been at the table for a few minutes, she glanced over and saw Éowyn speaking with the Hobbits. She had not seen her sister nearly all night, and said to Tun, "I will be back soon."
She made to stand up, but Tun's arm caught her by the waist and gently pulled her down. His movement was unsteady, and Gúthwyn wound up half-sitting on his lap. "Are you going to leave me all alone with these barbarous men?" he asked, grinning mischievously.
Giggling, she lightly slapped him. Had the party not made her so happy, she would have tried to get off of him. "Tun, you are drunk!" she instead exclaimed.
"Not so drunk that I do not know a beautiful lady when I see her," he murmured in her ear.
At this, she laughed even harder, saying, "How much mead have you had?" Yet he was starting to make her uncomfortable; she began inching away from him.
Tun was about to respond when Éomer's voice called across the table, "Tun, my friend, be careful with my sister! You are not her only protector."
Her brother's words were light, but there was a warning tone underlying them. When Gúthwyn glanced at him, she saw an amused face, though his eyes were dark and forbidding.
Tun took the hint immediately, and let go of Gúthwyn so that she could slide onto the bench. "No harm intended, my lord," he apologized, inclining his head. "Forgive me, my lady," he added to her.
"I-It is fine," she said, and got to her feet. She had completely forgotten what her earlier reason for leaving had been, and made up something quickly. "I am going to get some ale."
She met Éomer's eyes for a brief instant, but then turned away so he did not have to see how much her face had paled. As she walked towards the still, having no choice but to follow through on her word, she felt her hands shaking. It had nothing to do with Tun and everything to do with Haldor. Tun's grip on her waist had brought back a sudden rush of terrifying memories, ones that made her quiver in fear.
Stay calm, she told herself, trying to keep her breathing even as she approached the still. The man who had been there was no longer operating it, but it was not difficult to figure out how to use. She took one of the last mugs from the nearby table and started filling it, nearly missing the cup because her hands were trembling so violently. Haldor is not here; he cannot touch you.
Perhaps she would have made it through the rest of the party if she had not turned around and seen Legolas right behind her.
"Greetings," he said, lifting his empty tankard in explanation. "How have you been?"
A wild terror seized her with an iron grip, and she stepped back, bumping into the table. Her heart was pounding furiously as she stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. Haldor Haldor Haldor! her mind screamed at her.
"Are you all right?" he inquired concernedly, his blue eyes holding hers. Gúthwyn looked at him and saw only Haldor, his cruel gaze pinning her to where she stood. She could not breathe. "Gúthwyn?"
He was everywhere. Surrounding her, touching her, choking her… She would never be rid of him…
Then her vision cleared, and Legolas was looking at her with pity-filled eyes. "Is it him?" he asked quietly.
Something snapped in her. With a furious motion, she slammed her mug down on the table, so forcefully that half of it spilled out. You had to ruin everything! she wanted to scream at him, but no words came out. Instead, she stormed past him, struggling to conceal the tears that had welled up in her eyes.
No one at the party saw her afterwards.