The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Part Three: Terms

Book Two

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 Sixteen:
As always, I'm using a crazy blend of movie and book canon, and it may at times get confusing. Please bear with me. Most of the scenes in this chapter are going to be based on the book. In addition, I recognize that some of the upcoming events will, to many, seem far-fetched. So it may be, but do recall that lots of strange things happen in Middle-earth. (Not to mention the fact that I came up with it in sixth grade, so cut me some slack, lol.) Let me know if anything is uncanonical, implausible, etc.

Chapter Sixteen

Night had fallen over the ruined city of Minas Tirith. A grey rain had doused the fires earlier in the day, and now all was shrouded in smoke. The streets were crowded with those bringing in the dead and wounded, and those attempting to find loved ones in the carnage. For battle had been brought into the city: The gates, long thought impregnable, had been breached, and the Orcs had ascended into the upper levels. They brought with them fire, and had scorched many of the ancient buildings.

In the midst of this, dozens wandered around aimlessly. Others went with a hurried purpose, perhaps to carry some message to a commander or to bring supplies to the Houses of Healing, which was where the wounded were being sent. Gúthwyn was one of the latter, though her mission was far different. She sought the stables where Shadowfax was being kept.

Alone and unheralded she had entered the city, picking her way over the dead bodies to pass through the gates. She saw biers being brought down the streets, but did not know that they were for her own uncle and sister. Instead, she was attempting to find her way around Minas Tirith. If she had seen this in better times, she thought, it would have been beautiful. Yet now she only felt lost and confused.

Whoever came up with the idea of having seven levels to this city deserves to be trampled by an Oliphaunt, she decided angrily, wiping some grime from her face. She had been trying to locate the stables for nearly an hour, and had had no luck. Nor could she figure out how to find the third level; there seemed to be no gates in sight. Frustrated beyond belief, at the same time refusing to let this tiny detail become another obstacle before her goal, she made up her mind to seek out the help of another.

The first person she saw afterwards was a young Gondorian man of perhaps eighteen or so, still adorned in his armor. Gúthwyn went over to him. "Excuse me," she said, trying to deepen her voice as much as possible. "Do you know where the stables are? I was sent to take care of my father's horse, but I cannot find him."

The man nodded. "I will lead you to them," he replied, "for it is easy to get lost, and with all the rubble the way is made even more difficult."

Gúthwyn thanked him, but afterwards did not say much for fear of giving herself away. Her heart was pounding with what she was about to do, yet she would not jeopardize it for the world. Instead, she followed him as he took her down the street, passing under a large bastion of rock. It extended from the seventh level all the way down to the first, and from its sharp peak one could gaze out over all the Pelennor Fields.

As they went, she looked grimly upon all of the bodies littering in the streets. It grieved her to see that some of them were women and children, cut down as they ran from the Orcs. Mercifully, as they went higher along the winding road, the carnage became less, until at one level the streets were nearly empty, with the exception of messengers hurrying back and forth.

"The stables," the man explained, "are on the seventh level. We are on the fifth."

They spoke no more as they passed into the sixth level. Gúthwyn's legs, though used to long journeys, were soon aching. The hill that Minas Tirith had been built upon was over seven hundred feet tall, and in some places steeper than others. She supposed one had to live in this city to grow accustomed to it, for the man leading her did not seem at all affected.

At length, they came to the last level of the city, where there was much activity. The Houses of Healing, she was told, were here, and scores of people were hastening towards them. Women bustled in and out of the doors, carrying armfuls of bandages and assorted herbs. Gúthwyn could not watch them for long, however, as the Gondorian led her across the street to where the stables were.

"Thank you," she said as he opened the door for her. He bowed, and left.

Mercifully, there was no one in the stables. Her face shrouded by darkness, she passed as a shadow across the courtyard and entered the building. It was nowhere near as magnificent as that of Rohan's, but it was adequate enough. She scanned the stalls, searching for Shadowfax. It did not take long to find him: Though she could barely see anything, a pair of haughty eyes, which could not have belonged to a lesser horse gleamed at her from the corner.

"Shadowfax," she whispered, and edged closer to him. Her heart was hammering. In order to get Hammel and Haiweth—if they were even alive—out of Mordor before Sauron noticed that they were gone, she needed a mare as swift as the wind, and one that would not tire on the journey to the Black Land. If the mearh permitted her to ride him, the children's transportation was certain. If not… She could always find Heorot, whom she had left on the first level, but he was already weary from battle. It would take almost a week, time which Hammel and Haiweth might not be guaranteed, to complete the trip from Mordor to Gondor. This was ignoring the fact that she did not have anything constituting a sufficient food supply.

As she thought of all this, she drew closer to Shadowfax. Like her previous encounters with him, the mighty horse let her approach, yet he kept a close watch on her. His eyes were daunting in themselves, to say nothing of his rippling muscles and gleaming coat.

"Shadowfax," she said again, swallowing nervously as she opened the door of his stall. "I need… I need you to let me ride you to the Black Land."

Even to herself, she sounded foolish. What did she expect? Horses certainly understood a few phrases, but not to the extent that she was speaking. Her words were likely falling on deaf ears as a mass of garbled mutterings. Shadowfax gazed at her unblinkingly, not appearing to take in the slightest thing she had said.

Gúthwyn sighed, and lowered Borogor's pack onto the ground. It had been with her during the battle, more of a hindrance than anything, though luckily she had not seen much fighting. Helm's Deep had been far more taxing—everywhere she turned, there had been an Uruk nearly twice her size attacking her. Carrying a pack into the fight would have been nothing short of inane then. As it was, she would not need it now.

Tenderly, she placed Framwine on top of her things. "Thank you, my friend," she murmured, running her fingers along the hilt one last time. With a wistful sigh, she straightened, and returned her attentions to Shadowfax. All this time he had watched her, not moving an inch.

Taking a deep breath, Gúthwyn drew nearer to the lord of horses. A shaking hand lowered onto his back. Please, let him consent to bear me, she prayed, and put more pressure on her hand.

Shadowfax jolted. His head whipped around, startling her, and he turned so that she lost her grip. At the same time, he stepped forward, so that she was forced to move away. When she tried to mount him once again, he repeated his actions. Try as Gúthwyn might, she was unable to achieve any type of success. He simply refused to let her ride him.

After what seemed like the hundredth attempt, she was close to tears. It would not be possible to do this without Shadowfax. She only had a small loaf of bread on her, and any other horse would take close to a week to reach the Black Land. The meager amount of food would be enough for her to survive on during that time, but not for two children. With Shadowfax, however, she could travel the distance in just over a day, and not even need to eat.

"Please, Shadowfax!" she begged, reaching a hand out towards him. He whinnied, the sound quiet; all the same, her heart nearly froze for fear of someone hearing them. The last thing she needed was for someone to enter the stables and see her attempting to ride off with Gandalf the Grey's horse.

Lowering her voice, Gúthwyn said urgently, "Shadowfax, please! I have no intent to hurt you!"

For all the good that did, she might as well have spoken to the hay. The proud horse stared at her menacingly, swishing his tail and keeping his head firmly facing her. He would not allow her to come any closer.

Something hot and wet burned in the corner of her eyes. Before she could stop them, the tears tumbled down her cheeks. Miserable sobs of frustration and defeat wracked her body as she slid to the ground, burying her face in her hands. She had come so far—a battle had been won, a battle that had been hopeless! The only thing now between her and the children was this horse, this proud animal. To have her hopes elevated, and then watch them come cruelly crashing down around her, was almost more than she could stand.

"Hammel, Haiweth," she choked out, gasping their names into the night air. "I have failed…"

She cried even harder, feeling pathetic for letting her emotions run away with her but even worse for letting the children down. Had she not promised that she would return? Had she not vowed to herself that she would rescue them? How much had she done for their safety, how much of herself had she given to Haldor and sworn to Sauron, only to see it all brought to naught? Her tears fell faster, spattering onto the straw.

At that moment, something nudged at her forehead, dislodging the hood of Chalibeth's cloak. A muffled moan escaped her, and then was stifled in astonishment as she looked up and saw Shadowfax. The horse had kneeled on the ground in front of her, waiting only for her to mount him.

She could barely speak for shock. Her tears dried, leaving streaks on her face. Breathing raggedly, she stared at Shadowfax. And then, slowly at first, but then more sure of herself, she rose to her feet and got on top of him. He straightened beneath her; there was no saddle between her and his hide. She had ridden bareback before, though on nowhere near as fine a horse as that which was now below her.

Shadowfax was still, and she leaned close to his ear. "To Mordor, my friend," she whispered, wondering if he knew what to do.

An instant later, her heart almost failed her as he sprung away at the speed of lightning. Shadowfax's pace was faster than anything she had ever experienced; all around them, those on the streets sprang to the sides to let him pass. In the dark of night, no one identified her, nor even the horse. So it was that the next morning, when an empty stall was discovered in the stables, the culprit remained a mystery.

And thus Gúthwyn Éomund's daughter departed from the White City of Gondor, unnoticed by its people and passing as just another shadow in the blackness. She rode towards doom and despair, having no hope for herself; she knew that she would not be returning. Her only regret was that she had not gotten a chance to bid those she loved a final farewell.

Gúthwyn squeezed her legs tightly, and Shadowfax came to an abrupt halt. She was flung forward somewhat, but recovered her balance as she gazed up at that which hindered any further progress.

"We have made it, my friend," she murmured, wearily patting the horse on the neck.

The Black Gate of Mordor lay before her, rearing its cold black iron far above her head. It had been a little over a day since she had left Gondor, yet her surroundings had changed so drastically that a part of her was still reeling from its suddenness. After nearly a year's absence from the Dark Lord's realm, the acrid scent of the air stung at her nostrils and made her choke on its pungency.

It came to her how ridiculous she must have looked, unarmed—with the exception of the dagger Galadriel had given her—and alone, a mere speck caught between the vast mountains and the iron structures. Shrill terror assailed her, yet she swallowed her nerves and reminded herself that Hammel and Haiweth were behind the Morannon. You are doing this for them, she thought. This is their safety that is in danger.

If they were still alive.

No. Do not think such things. Not now, not when you are so close.

Shadowfax whinnied, and Gúthwyn remembered that she had to give a password. All along the ramparts were Orcs and Men, gaping at her appearance. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she raised her voice and let loose a command in the Black Speech.

"Open the gates! I come here on orders of the Dark Lord!"

For a moment, there was no answer. Then there was a great creaking noise, and slowly the gates began to swing outwards, beckoning her with their dark arms. She gulped. "Do not worry," she told Shadowfax, more for her benefit than for his. "This will soon be over."

He snorted, tossing his proud head as if he had not a care in the world. His eyes, however, were narrowed into thin slits, and when she nudged him he hesitated before responding. Slowly he moved forwards, his muscles taut as he walked into the Black Land. Gúthwyn could scarcely contain her anxiety as the Morannon drew closer, yet she held her head high. The Orcs would sense her nervousness if she so much as imagined it, and she could not afford such perception.

As she entered the Dark Lord's realm, she glanced up and saw the Orcs preparing to signal the shutting of the Black Gate. Lifting up a hand, she yelled in the Common Tongue, "Leave it open! My errand will be brief, and I will not be pleased if there is a delay!" She injected just enough harshness in her voice so that she sounded like a commander. The Orcs, she suspected, remembered her well—remembered that she did, in fact, have a mission for the Dark Lord. They would not hinder her, and the gates did not close.

Some of them were making their way over to her cautiously. One of them approached her, extending his hand to lead Shadowfax away. The proud horse reared, kicking its legs threateningly at the creature. Gúthwyn managed to stay on; when Shadowfax had calmed, she snarled angrily, "Keep your filthy hands off of him, snaga." The term meant "slave" in the Black Speech. "He will be riding again soon, with the children on his back, and you will tell your friends not to slow their passing! Any disobedience will be reported to the Tower."

It was as if she had said the magic words. Immediately the Orc stiffened, and sent her such a look of hatred that it would have frozen her to the bone had she not endured far worse under the eyes of Haldor. However, she did not even blink under his gaze, and soon he glanced away. Smirking, she nudged Shadowfax forward, and gave the Orc a good kick in the head for his insolence. His companions muttered at this, but did not dare attempt anything.

As she did this, she saw a winged shadow passing overhead. It was one of the Nazgûl, and she watched as it wheeled away towards Barad-dûr. Her heart clenched. At best, she only had half an hour left to find the children—the Nazgûl had undoubtedly gone to inform his master of her arrival. A grim smile crossed over her face as she thought of how surprised Sauron would be, and the doubt that would fall upon him when no news came of Haldor.

Then she looked to Udûn. Unchanged it was, still the same countless rows of tents with the training grounds beyond them. A mass of men had gathered on them, though it did not seem as if they were doing much practicing. Her eyebrows knit in confusion: Rather, it appeared to her like the marshaling of an army.

She was about to ride Shadowfax towards the camp when she saw a man striding towards the Morannon, not twenty yards away from her. He had dark blonde hair, and walked with a familiar wary gait. Gúthwyn nearly fainted when she recognized Dîrbenn, all the more so as her eyes fell upon the child he held in his hands. A boy was moving alongside him. Hammel it was, and Haiweth was the girl in Dîrbenn's arms. The children were alive. They were safe.

Tears of unparalleled happiness streamed, unchecked, down her face. After all she had suffered, all she had withstood… All of it had been worth it.

At that moment, Dîrbenn glanced up, and saw her sitting atop Shadowfax. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he rubbed at his eyes as if he thought he were seeing a mirage. But it was then that the children noticed his diverted attention, and followed his gaze to where she was mounted on Shadowfax. They both shouted in delighted surprise.

Abandoning all thoughts of the dignity she had shown the Orcs, Gúthwyn urged the mearh forward. She was so impatient that she all but leaped off of him ten feet away from the children, and ran the rest of the distance towards them.

"Hammel!" she cried first, embracing the boy tightly. He returned the gesture, and she noted that his arms had grown muscular from his labor. Fervently she kissed the top of his head, over and over, just to make sure that it really was him. The tears were still running unabatedly down her cheeks.

Yet soon she had to pull away. Hammel's dark eyes were wide in shock; he did not speak, save this: "You have come."

Gúthwyn nodded, and turned to Haiweth. The young girl was straining to hug her; Dîrbenn let go of her, so that the next instant Gúthwyn had her arms wrapped around a squealing, wiggling child. Shifting the girl to her right hip, she murmured her name, stroking her hair and realizing that this was truly happening. The children were still alive. They were still untouched by the darkness.

Still holding Haiweth, she glanced up at Dîrbenn. He had been watching the reunion with a smile on his face—it looked strange there, because she had not seen him do so for years—but the moment their eyes met he frowned. All too well he remembered what she had done after Borogor's death; all too well he remembered how she had betrayed his best friend and commander.

Yet he did not say anything of the old grudge now. "I was told to bring them to the Tower today," he instead told her, and she paled. "If you had come half an hour later…"

Gúthwyn clutched Haiweth tighter to her. Sauron's patience, it seemed, had run out at last. If he had ordered the children to the Tower, it was likely to throw them in some windowless pit, or torture them so that he might punish her for her delay.

But there was no time to dwell on such things. "Haiweth," she said, putting down the girl. Haiweth's grey eyes gazed dolefully up at her, so adorable that she very nearly did not have the strength to say what she had to. "Both you and Hammel are going to leave Mordor."

Haiweth looked confused, but Hammel's eyes widened. "Leave?" he repeated, glancing at Dîrbenn.

"Yes," Gúthwyn said, and pointed to Shadowfax. "He will bear you to Gondor. There are some things I must tell you…" She cast an anxious look over her shoulder. No sign of the Black Riders were in the air, but it would not be long until she could see them.

Abruptly, she picked up Haiweth, and took her over to Shadowfax. "Shadowfax," she whispered as she approached. "I need you to take her and her brother back to the White City."

The mighty horse snorted, but allowed her to place the young girl on his back. Gúthwyn kept a hand on Haiweth, and beckoned for Hammel to come over. He hesitated for a moment; then, he hugged Dîrbenn. The man's face twisted in surprise, though he soon smiled.

"Go on," he said, clapping his hand on Hammel's shoulder. "Do not worry for me."

Hammel nodded at him. Without a backward glance, he walked towards Gúthwyn. His expression remained unchanged throughout all of this, even as he let her boost him up onto Shadowfax. He sat behind Haiweth and wrapped his arms protectively around her. "Hammel," she said urgently, leaning close. "Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you."

His eyes narrowed in concentration, and it was the only sign she needed. "When you get to Gondor, I want you to seek out my brother Éomer. He is well known, and anyone you ask will be able to help you find him. If they tell you that he is too busy, give them my name."

Hammel nodded. Haiweth did not appear to know what was going on. "If you cannot find him even then, or if he has… if he has perished, look for the king of Rohan. He is my uncle. Yet if both of them be gone, search for my sister Éowyn. The Gondorians will know who she is. Whomever of my family you find, tell them…" A hard lump formed in her throat. "Tell them that I love them, and that I am sorry for causing them so much grief."

"You will not come?" Hammel asked quietly.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I cannot," she replied. "Even Shadowfax can only bear so many." She did not tell him of how Sauron's bargain had required that she exchange herself for them. "If this war should be won," she told him instead, "I have a friend named Cobryn, who swore he would protect any child of mine. Tell him that, since he does not have his own, he may look after you."

Something shone in Hammel's eyes, and she realized that they were tears. Yet when he spoke, his voice was steady. "I promise," he vowed.

Gúthwyn reached into her pocket for the loaf of bread. "Here," she said, giving it to him. "Shadowfax can complete the journey in less than two days, so be prepared for his swiftness. He will not let you fall."

"But Gúthwyn, what about you?" Haiweth asked then, her face puzzled.

Sighing, Gúthwyn answered with a heavy heart, "Do not worry. You are going to a better place."

"But you are, too!"

She felt as if she would break down into sobs right then and there. "No, Haiweth," she replied softly, reaching up to touch the little girl's cheek. "I am staying here."

Haiweth's grey eyes welled up with tears. "Then I do not want to go!" she exclaimed, and attempted to slide off of Shadowfax. Hammel held her too tightly, however, and she did not move. Her squirms became more frantic.

"Haiweth, I need you to be a brave girl for me," Gúthwyn said firmly, ignoring the bottomless sorrow filling her. "I will be fine. Someday, we will see each other again."

"No!" Haiweth cried, struggling to get to her.

"Farewell," Gúthwyn whispered.

She walked to Shadowfax's head. "Shadowfax," she muttered. "Thank you, my friend, for this service that I can never hope to repay you for."

He looked at her, and she stroked his mane briefly before withdrawing her hand. "Ride hard," she said, taking a step back.

The last she saw of the children was Hammel silently gazing at her, and Haiweth's face screwing up in misery. Then Shadowfax gave a great leap, springing forth with more speed than an arrow of the Elves. The sound of his galloping was like thunder, and all the Orcs cowered at his passing. Indeed, he moved too swift for them to hinder him; when she blinked, he had gone through the Black Gate, and was a mere speck on the horizon.

Gúthwyn dug a dirty fist into her eyes and wiped away the tears before turning to face Dîrbenn. He was very silent for a time, until at last he said, "I did not think you would return."

Heaving a long sigh, she replied, "I will not be here long." She could not even muster up the energy to apologize to him. What did it matter, anyway? What would it achieve?

A thin, wailing cry was lifted into the air. Gúthwyn trembled, knowing that her doom was inescapable. Dîrbenn started, and went to move closer to her.

"Dîrbenn, go," she told him, her mouth drier than a desert. "Do not let them catch you with me."

He nodded, looking as if he wished to say something to her but was unable to find the words.

"Thank you so much for watching the children," Gúthwyn said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I am forever in your debt."

The cry sounded again, this time louder than ever. She cringed. "Please, Dîrbenn, go!"

"Gúthwyn, I—"

"Go!"

Now he obeyed her. Their eyes met briefly before he turned around, and she repressed a sob as she watched what would probably be the last human she ever saw walk away from her. The shrieking repeated, nearing her all the while. She realized that she was quivering unstoppably in terror. Each noise the Nazgûl's steed uttered made the hairs on her body stand upright.

She saw it after only a few seconds had passed, at first a small dot in the sky and then growing larger. All the while it continued its screaming, until she had clamped her hands over her ears in silent agony. Gradually, she could see the gaping mouth of the beast; for a horrified moment, she thought it was going to swallow her whole. The Nazgûl on its back certainly appeared as if he would not hesitate to give such an order.

Against her will, she found herself transfixed by the gaze of the Black Rider, and could not even move as the beast landed less than a yard away from her. It ignored Dîrbenn, who was hurrying away as swiftly as his legs might carry him. A whimper escaped her mouth, yet her feet refused to cooperate with her body's demands. The winged creature observed her as if it were debating whether to feast on her flesh for its next meal; yet it was the Nazgûl whom her terror was fixated on.

The chilling sound of iron boots falling upon the ground echoed in the numbness that was her mind. The Nazgûl dismounted from his steed, walking slowly towards her, its black robe billowing sinisterly. She was powerless to run away, and it would have been folly to try. Her hands shook so violently that they banged uncontrollably against her sides.

Not a word did the Black Rider speak to her, but he did not need to. A hand, covered in a metal gauntlet, reached out and closed around her neck. It lifted her up effortlessly, and as it did she felt its foul breath upon her face.

Such a wave of despair came over her then that she swooned. Her last thoughts were of Éomer and Éowyn's faces, swimming before her and hissing the very words from her nightmares. You have failed… you are worthless… you belong to Him now…

Gúthwyn fainted, and her spirit fled from her body to wander along the plains of Rohan.