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. Terms will be divided into two books.
About Chapter Ten:
As always, I'm using a crazy blend of movie and book canon, and it may at times get confusing. Please bear with me. Let me know if anything is uncanonical, implausible, etc.
Chapter Ten
"Gúthwyn, wake up!"
Someone was urgently shaking at her shoulders, pulling her abruptly from her sleep. Gúthwyn groaned, trying to move away. She had just closed her eyes a few seconds ago…
"Gúthwyn, hurry, we have no time to waste!"
Realizing that it was Éowyn, she blinked in rapid confusion. Her sister's face came into focus above her, harried and evidently in a rush.
"Éowyn, it cannot be six," she grumbled, struggling to push herself up into a sitting position.
"It is almost nine!" her sister exclaimed, whipping the bedcovers off of Gúthwyn with frightening speed. "Come on, get dressed!"
Now Gúthwyn was fully awake. "What is happening?" she asked, sliding off of the bed and crossing over to the set of drawers.
"The beacons have been lit—Théoden has ordered all able-bodied men in Edoras to be ready to ride within the hour!"
The dress that Gúthwyn had been reaching for slipped out of her hands. "The beacons?" she gasped, staring at her sister in horror. She noticed that Éowyn was wearing one of her brown riding outfits. With her golden hair tumbling loose down her back, she looked as beautiful as always.
"Yes!" her sister cried in exasperation, impatient at Gúthwyn's delay. "Come! You need to eat breakfast, assemble your things, and get Heorot saddled—yet you are not even dressed!"
"Sorry," Gúthwyn mumbled, now trying to find a riding dress. Behind her, Éowyn sighed.
"No, I am sorry," she said, sounding regretful. "I did not mean to snap at you like that. It has just been a long day already, and it is not even noon."
As the oldest niece of the king, Gúthwyn could only imagine the kind of duties her sister was given in a time like this. "I understand," she replied softly, and withdrew a pair of leggings from the drawers.
Éowyn turned around, and she swiftly changed, pulling on the grey riding dress over her pants. She also strapped Framwine around her waist, though she did not expect combat. "Done," she said; Éowyn was already speaking as she faced her again.
"Now, let us go and get you some breakfast—"
"I am not hungry," Gúthwyn interjected hastily. With the nerves running through her, she would not be able to eat anything. Her hands were already shaking.
"Are you sure?" Éowyn asked concernedly, looking worried.
Gúthwyn nodded, and started gathering her things. She was shouldering Borogor's pack when she stopped. "Éowyn?"
"Yes?"
"When Éomer goes to war…" Gúthwyn paused for a moment, struggling to keep her voice from trembling. "Do you think he will return?"
Aragorn might as well have told her no. But she needed to hear it from her sister—whatever Éowyn said, she would believe.
Her sister's face seemed to harden. "I do not know," she replied; "yet the Enemy's numbers are bound to be far greater than our own."
At that moment, a bell rang from outside, shrill even to their ears. Éowyn jumped, and opened the door so fast that it nearly bounced off of the wall back into place. "Come," she urged Gúthwyn. "We must be going. Are you sure you do not want anything to eat?"
"I am sure," Gúthwyn answered, and followed her sister out the door. "Where are the Riders to muster?" she asked as they strode down the passage.
"Dunharrow," Éowyn called over her shoulder, almost stopping Gúthwyn in her tracks.
Dunharrow. It was a stronghold about twenty miles away from Edoras, as the crow flies, though the road to it ran alongside the curving River Snowbourn. Gúthwyn had never been to this place, but she knew much of it from old maps and drawings of it that she used to stare at. In order to reach the encampment, they would have to pass through Harrowdale, the Snowbourn valley, which led them to a series of steps carven in the stone. This feature was known as the Stair of the Hold, and wound its way up a plateau to the Firienfeld. Here, the main strength of the men would be gathered.
But perhaps the most remarkable thing about Dunharrow, which was near impossible for any foe to take, was not a part of its defense. When one entered the Firienfeld, two lines of stones formed a path that went all the way to the Dimholt, a small forest of dark trees. Beyond this feature was a place where no one dared to go: the foot of the Dwimorberg, the Haunted Mountain. Its shadow hung over the Firienfeld, quieting the men's chatter and the horses' whinnying. There, it was said, were the Paths of the Dead, though none knew what lay behind their entrance. The last person to go down the Paths was Baldor, son of the former king Brego; he had never been seen again.
"Gúthwyn!"
The voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she realized that she was standing in the doorway to the throne room. It was near empty, as most of the men were outside. Glancing up, she saw Cobryn making his way over to her. For the past two nights he had been sleeping off to the side, on the floor, as guests were accustomed to do.
"This is the third time I have called you," Cobryn said, standing beside her. "Is something wrong?"
Gúthwyn shook her head. "I was just thinking," she replied, and then frowned. "Are you to ride with us?" she asked.
Cobryn grinned. "Unfortunately for my legs, yes," he answered. "Lebryn as well." The bell sounded again. "Let us go! I am ready; have you had anything to eat?"
"I am not hungry," Gúthwyn said for the second time in five minutes.
"You should eat at least something," Cobryn urged her as they started making their way towards the doors after Éowyn. "You are too thin."
"I am fine," Gúthwyn insisted. Her friend opened his mouth to argue, but they came to the doors then, and she determinedly pushed them open. Bright sunlight streamed down upon them; above, the sky was a gorgeous blue, with hardly a cloud to mar it. As Gúthwyn's eyes adjusted to the light, she found herself looking down upon that which she had never seen before.
It seemed as if all the people in Edoras were gathered before Meduseld, but geared up for war and on horseback. The guards were foremost of the enormous group, wearing their shining armor and the traditional green cloaks of service. She could not identify a single one of them, for their faces were obscured by their proud helmets with the horses' manes trailing down the back.
Behind them were all the people. Their armor and weapons were not of as good a make as the guards, and some of them were going to battle in only their mail shirts and leggings, but they were ready to fight all the same. As far as her eye could see they stretched backwards, filling nearly all of Edoras. Not one of them looked afraid of what was to come; they faced it stoically. A surge of pride swept through her, such as she had not felt for years.
"This is amazing," she breathed, glowing with happiness.
Cobryn smiled to see her face. "Are you ready to get your horse?" he asked.
Gúthwyn nodded, and the two of them began walking down the stairs. "Have you seen my brother or the king?" she inquired as they went.
"I saw them earlier this morning, when Aragorn ran inside and told them about the beacons. Éomer left shortly after; Théoden went outside about half an hour before you woke up."
"It seems I missed a lot," she said, waving as they passed by Anborn.
"You slept too late, as usual," Cobryn replied, a grin on his face. "I see you have still not gotten rid of the habit."
Shrugging, Gúthwyn said, "I do not get much sleep at night." A small frown tugged at her lips as she remembered last night's disturbing conversation with Aragorn and Legolas. She had not been able to close her eyes for at least an hour after she had left them, mostly because she was terrified of what would happen to Éomer if the beacons were lit.
But part of the reason had been because she was thinking about her decision to apologize to the Elf: How could she do so after treating him so wrongly over the past few months? Would he even accept such an overdue thing? She was still afraid of him, and fearful of what he might do if she approached him, yet she had to try. No matter how grudgingly, she had to admit that she owed her life to him—he had helped her into the Hornburg during the battle of Helm's Deep when she could barely walk, and later had sewn up her wound. She had despised him on both accounts, and indeed still trembled at the thought of his hands touching her stomach, but he had not intended her any harm. At the very least, he deserved her thanks.
The door of the stables loomed up before her then, and Gúthwyn realized with a start that her musings had carried her all the way to her destination. Cobryn was still at her side. A guilty twinge came over her as she realized that she must have ignored him for the entire walk. "Do you have a horse?" she asked as they entered the building, in an attempt to redeem herself.
He nodded. "Gamling ended up giving Lebryn and I an impromptu riding lesson earlier, but I think we will manage."
Gúthwyn looked at him. "Had Lebryn ridden a horse before we left Isengard?" The young man was from the southern reaches of Gondor, where some of the people resembled those of Harad. It was not as civilized as Minas Tirith, that was for sure. She did not know much about Lebryn's home, except for that it was extremely hot.
"Once or twice," Cobryn replied. "He certainly did well enough today, and if worse comes to worse he can always ride with me."
Gúthwyn went over to Heorot then, and saw that one of the stableboys had readied him for the journey. She led him out, not mounting for the time being. There were many people she desired to find before the Rohirrim left Edoras. Tun, for one; he had returned too late last night for her to see him. Cobryn also wished to locate Lebryn, as the younger man was one of the few that he knew here.
Together, she and Cobryn made their way into the throng of Riders and their horses. They remained close to the Golden Hall, and as they searched for Lebryn she saw her sister. Éowyn was speaking with Aragorn, both of them preparing their horses. As she watched, the Ranger reached for a blanket covering much of Windfola's saddle. He lifted it up, and Gúthwyn caught the briefest glimpse of a sheathed sword before Éowyn pulled the blanket back over it.
"Ah, there he is!" Cobryn's exclamation drew her attention away from her sister, and Gúthwyn looked over to see Lebryn leading a dark horse towards them. He seemed none too comfortable with an animal following him, and kept casting suspicious glances at it. Unless it was her imagination, she thought she saw the tiniest gleam of amusement in the horse's eye.
At that moment, however, she saw someone over Lebryn's shoulder: Legolas. He was lightly stroking Arod's mane, talking to Gimli. The Dwarf was already seated upon the horse, and was far more at ease than she would have thought one of his people to be. Yet all too soon, her eyes fell back on Legolas, accompanied by the nervous clenching of her stomach. It was now or never—she had not been able to apologize to him last night, and she could not bear to shy away from him like a coward again.
"Excuse me," she said to Cobryn, and departed without another word, leading Heorot over to the Elf. Her hands trembled on the reins; Heorot snorted.
Gimli noticed her before Legolas did, and shouted a glad greeting. She returned it, though her words faltered when the Elf turned around and saw her. Steeling herself not to back down, she moved towards the friends, now twisting Heorot's reins in anxiety.
"Hello," Legolas said quietly, inclining his head. His eyes were guarded, and Gúthwyn could not read the expression in them. Instead she nodded, giving herself a second to calm down. She would have to say her apology in front of Gimli, but there was nothing to be done about that.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she opened her mouth. "I just… I-I just wanted…"
It was harder than she had thought to get the words out. Her cheeks turned red as she stuttered under Legolas' puzzled gaze. "I… I w-wanted to say—"
"Are you feeling all right?" Legolas inquired concernedly.
"I am sorry."
There. She had said it. Holding her breath, she watched him for his reaction, unsure of what it would be. Above them, Gimli looked confused, but for a moment Legolas' face did not change.
"Sorry?" he at last repeated, and Gúthwyn thought she saw a strange light flicker in his eyes. For the first time, it did not remind her of Haldor. This startled her, and then gave her courage. She nodded, swallowing her fears.
"F-For the way I have treated you," she said softly, and looked down, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "I… It was wrong, a-and you did not deserve it. I-I am sorry."
The only sounds around them were those of whinnying horses and assembling Riders. Gúthwyn stared at a patch of dirt by her feet, nervous about what he might think of her now. Maybe she had been wrong in coming to him. Maybe this whole conversation was foolish, and nothing that she could say would make a difference. Her eyes traveled to Legolas' boots, less than a yard from hers. An entire nest of butterflies sprang up within her stomach, not all of them unburdened with fear.
"Thank you, Gúthwyn of Rohan."
His gentle voice entered her ears; at first, she thought she had not heard him correctly. Her breathing shallow, she dared to glance up at him. She felt her eyes widen in surprise. He was smiling, the only time he had ever truly done so in her memory. And it struck her that she had never seen Haldor pleased before—not the kind of happiness that did not make her afraid.
In spite of herself, the corners of Gúthwyn's lips tugged upwards in a small mirror of his own. "I-I should be going," she managed, bowing her head. "But… thank you."
Having nothing else to do, she turned away, leading Heorot to where she had last seen Cobryn and Lebryn. Her entire body was trembling with nerves, still half unable to believe that she had approached the Elf in the first place. When she unclenched her right fist, it was covered in sweat.
"Gúthwyn!"
Startled, she looked around. A broad grin stretched over her face as she saw Tun navigating his horse over towards her. He wore his helmet, but she could tell it was him by his voice, and by the sling that he still used. Hastily, she mounted Heorot so that she might speak to him easier. "I missed you," she said as they neared each other, their horses barely five inches apart. "I wish I could have seen you off."
"Yet now we are together," Tun replied, "and that is compensation enough."
She blushed at the earnestness of his speech. No other woman in Middle-earth could hope for a better champion—Tun played the part perfectly, giving her so many sweet compliments that she often felt guilty for not having enough education to respond properly, at the same time watching over her closely.
As he was now. "Were you just speaking with Legolas?" he asked, frowning slightly.
Gúthwyn nodded, unintentionally shuddering: When she glanced over at the Elf, once again his profile had reminded her of Haldor's.
"I hope he was not bothering you," Tun said, narrowing his eyes at Legolas. His jaw tightened.
"No," Gúthwyn reassured him, her face coloring. "I-I was actually apologizing to him."
Tun glanced at her in surprise. "Whatever for, my lady?" he asked.
She sighed, trying to keep her true thoughts from her face. "I have not been too kind to him, I fear." Her mind was struggling with conflicting emotions, tearing her every which way until she surely thought she would burst in confusion. Legolas had not harmed her, and thus her fear and loathing of him was unreasonable. Yet whenever she looked at him, she could not help but cringe. He was a painful reminder of the one who had broken her, who had used her so cruelly and ruthlessly that she was never rid of his shadow.
"Are you all right?" Tun asked, reaching over and placing a hand on her arm to get her attention. For an instant, her carefully constructed mask of lady-like indifference wavered, and she felt strangely lonesome. She took her champion's hand, needing companionship; a sad smile came over her.
"I am fine," she answered quietly, lifting her troubled gaze over the mustering Riders. The bell had stopped sounding. It would not be long now.
Tun let go of her hand then, and when she looked at him he said, "Your brother is watching. It would not do for him to receive the wrong impression."
Gúthwyn followed his eyes and saw that Éomer was, indeed, scrutinizing the two of them. To her, he bore a sudden resemblance to a hawk; she said so in an undertone to Tun, who chuckled.
"Then I suppose that makes me the rabbit," he replied, bringing a small measure of happiness back to Gúthwyn.
"He knows that you are trustworthy," she said. "I would not worry overmuch."
Tun sighed then, seeming abashed. "As a matter of fact, my lady," he murmured, "I am afraid he does have a reason to be wary of me."
She knitted her eyebrows in puzzlement. "Why?"
"The party," Tun said, and she felt a cold chill creep over her stomach. That had been the night that she had dreamed of Haldor, memories of which had been triggered by Legolas. She had seen the Elf because she was trying to calm herself from…
Tun bowed his head. "I was too bold," he spoke, his voice hard with anger at himself. "I should not have… I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me."
"Tun, there is nothing to forgive," Gúthwyn said firmly. If anything, it was her own fault for overreacting—he was an honest man, and had been her best friend for years. He would have died before harming her. "Indeed, you hold your liquor remarkably well."
Her friend still looked upset. "You left afterwards," he reminded her, absent-mindedly swirling his thumb over the reins. "Was it because of that?"
"No," she hastened to tell him. "I was simply tired."
"Are you sure?" he asked, studying her carefully to make sure she was not lying.
Gúthwyn opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment a voice rose up above all others, proud and ringing in the cold morning. Her heart leaped as she saw Éomer, turning Firefoot around to face the gates, urging the men forward. "Now is the hour!" he called. "Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken! Now, fulfill them all! To lord and land!"
His words were as the opening of a dam, and at them Théoden led his men forth like the surging of a river. Gúthwyn joined her sister then behind Éomer, and the three siblings rode from Edoras with their king. Long after they passed from the city, she looked back and saw a line still making its way through the gates. Her heart sang in that hour, for a brief time free of all toil and fear. It was in Gondor that the fate of her people would be decided, but it was in Rohan that she placed her love.
Author's Note: In case anyone didn't notice, last chapter I made the stupidest mistake ever. If you will recall, in chapter eight I specifically stated that Gandalf had left with Pippin for Gondor. Yet in the chapter before this one, I had a conversation that took place between him and Gúthwyn, which would of course not be possible.
In order to remedy this, I changed the conversation to chapter five, and altered some of the events in chapter nine. If you wish to check these out, please feel free to do so.
I honestly don't know how I could have been that stupid, other than this: I had been planning on inserting that conversation on the ride back from Isengard, and I completely forgot about it until I was writing chapter nine. Being smart like that, I didn't remember that I had already sent Gandalf away, and just stuck the scene in. That's what I get for being absent-minded.
Thanks to GwenevieveGreenleaf for pointing my idiocy out, hehe.