UNTOLD TALES OF THE MARK: THE BANISHMENT OF ÉOMER
Chapter 3: A Game of Chess
Gríma Wormtongue watched the small figure in the grey cloak on his steed until the diffuse winter light swallowed them, his hands unconsciously balled into fists inside the pockets of his heavy cape. His most dangerous adversary was gone. He felt satisfied, but knew at the same time that it was far too early to relax. As long as Éomer was alive, he remained a threat, and having him expelled had only been the first step toward ridding himself of the valiant son of Éomund. Gríma held no illusions that Éomer would even attempt to leave the Mark in the five day's limit he had been given. No, he would hide somewhere, presumably in one of the many hideouts he no doubt knew from his forays into the wild, and from there plot his return. There was no telling what the wilful young man would do if permitted to roam the Mark uncontrolled. He was much loved by the people and – even more importantly – well respected among the armed forces, especially the two most valiant captains of the West- and Eastfold, Erkenbrand and Elfhelm, and for as long as he lived, the threat of a revolution would exist.
Gríma felt amazed that he had actually succeeded in driving that final spike between the King and his nephew, but he knew better than to believe in his victory. His position would only be secure once the former Third Marshal was dead, and the dark counsellor was determined to make this requirement a reality before even the weakest spark of doubt could rise among the Rohirrim. As always, he knew what he had to do.
Shifting his attention from the plains below, the son of Gálmód suddenly beheld the pale shape of the King's niece on the other side of the terrace. Staring in the direction of the White Mountains although her brother could no longer be seen, the White Lady of Rohan ignored his presence, but the rigidity of her posture told Gríma that she had seen him.
Motioning for one of the guards near him, Gríma turned his back on the view and said in a loud enough voice for Éowyn to hear:
"Dorlâk, when the Lady has had enough fresh air, you will guide her back inside to her chambers. Under no circumstance is she allowed to leave Meduseld. Do you understand me?" From the corners of his eyes, he saw the object of their conversation turn around, and her expression was that of someone who did not believe her ears.
"You will not be able to keep me locked into Meduseld forever, Gríma son of Gálmód. I am still a member of the royal family, and I will no longer accept orders from either you or your men, unless I hear my uncle voice them himself!"
"They were your uncle's words, actually. He is resting now, but if you insist, we can go and disturb him," Gríma rebuked evenly, keeping his features and voice neutral. He indicated a little bow. "I suggested to the King that you should be kept inside the hall for those five days until your brother has left the Mark, for no other reason than your own protection. Théoden-King is well aware that – as the resourceful and brave sister of our former Third Marshal – you will of course feel inclined to help your brother in his predicament even if this action would make you a traitor under the law yourself."
He shook his head in feigned sympathy.
"I would hate to throw you into the dungeon, too, my lady. As I am certain you would dislike being there. It is no place for a lady of noble blood, but you would leave us no choice if you chose to betray your King."
He indicated another bow and extended his arm to gesture Éowyn in the direction of the portal.
"Please, Lady Èowyn, be wise. Accept my apologies for this inconvenience, but surely five days spent in Meduseld in the comfort of your chambers will be more pleasant than sitting in the darkness of a cell underneath the hill or following your brother into this winter storm." Wormtongue squinted as a gust of wind blew snow into his face, and only barely managed to keep the smirk that wanted to accompany his words from his lips. Of course there had been no way for him to know, but seeing the banishment of his adversary fall together with this winter's presumably last severe snow-storm was intensely satisfactory.
Éowyn narrowed her eyes, and from her balled fists and widened nostrils Gríma could easily conclude how enraged she was. He threw a quick glance at the nearby guards. With the hot-headed children of Éomund, there was no telling whether the fair maiden would think twice before she would assault him to scratch out his eyes.
When she spoke, her voice was even colder than their surroundings.
"And if I tell you to take your good advice and choke on it, and then go down to the marketplace despite your order, what will you do then, dear Counsellor? Convict me?"
Her adversary regarded her gravely, his expression leaving no question that he meant what he said.
"I'm afraid I'd have to, my lady. But I honestly hope that you'll be wiser than to force me to this measure."
The moment stretched between them with the nearby guards uncomfortably shuffling their feet and at first, Gríma was certain that Éowyn would put him to the test… but then with a huff, haughtily lifting her chin, the fair maiden turned on her heels and with great, unladylike strides, walked back into the Golden Hall. Following her path with his eyes until the doors closed behind her, Gríma then turned back to the guard he had been instructing.
"I want a guard positioned in front of her chambers. She will not leave them without my permission. Instruct your men accordingly."
"Aye, Counsellor. But what if…" The red-haired man interrupted himself, not daring to look his opposite in the eye.
"What if what?"
"What shall I say if Lord Gamling or Lord Háma inquire about this? I am not in the position to—"
"If these two noble gentlemen want to know more about this special order, you send them to me. I am sure they will understand. After all, it is only in the lady's best interest. And, Dorlâk? I need you to accomplish two more things for me, both with a certain urgency to them: first, you will go down to the gates, or send someone, if you like, and summon Captain Éothain. I expect him in my chambers in an hour from now. Afterwards, gather all serving personnel of Meduseld in the servants' common room. I need to address and instruct them about a change of procedure that will take effect in these halls from now on. One traitor was more than enough, and we must take any precautions possible to prevent followers." Clenching his fingers in the fur collar of his cape, Gríma began to descend the stairs leading to the path into the city. "I will be back shortly."
OOO
Standing at the window that overlooked the plains to the west with unfocussed gaze, Éowyn bit her lip, and her fingernails unconsciously dug into the wood of the sill in silent frustration. It was hard to believe what was going on in Meduseld these days, and the impertinence with which the Worm had dared to send her to her room like a disobedient child robbed her of her breath and left her with the distinct wish to unsheathe her sword and take it to that black-robed snake. Perhaps Éomer had been right; perhaps she should have accompanied him. If Gríma could even lock her in her chambers without the other men objecting, what else would they permit? What if he locked himself in here with her? What if…
It took her great effort to shove the ugly thought away. No matter what happened, she would sooner die than allow herself be used in that way. She still possessed the hidden dagger she had been carrying for years, ever since she had first become aware of the counsellor's intentions, and if he ever made the mistake to think that he could have her, he would taste it, no matter what threat he uttered against her or her family.
Éomer… Again her lips tightened to a bloodless line as she stared at the swirling white world behind her window. Somewhere out there, alone, without the protection of his éored and unarmed, was her brother. He depended on her. There was something she had promised him, and although her initial attempt had been intercepted, Éowyn was determined to keep it. Reprimanding herself to keep a clear head, Éowyn turned away from the window and made her way over to the door. Swallowing her indignity, she knocked against it, and heard the key turn in the lock. A moment later, the guard who had been detailed to stand watch in front of her chambers looked at her. He had to be one of Gríma's men, she concluded, because she could detect no trace of discomfort in his expression. Most of the men she had known among the lines of the Royal Guard for most her life would not have dared to look her in the eye after making her suffer this indignity, but the orcish-looking brute in front of her seemed to have no problem with it. Although he stood a head taller than she, Éowyn felt far from intimidated as she haughtily lifted her chin.
"Send for my handmaid. I need her here urgently."
"I am not permitted to leave this door, my lady," the man grumbled, his tone indicating that he was having trouble with the unfamiliarly elegant phrasing. "I'm afraid you will have to wait until-"
Her furious look silenced him.
"You bid me to wait? Who are you that you think you can talk to me, a member of the Royal Family, like that? You have not even a name worthy of remembering, and you dare to deny my request? I know there has been much going wrong in these halls since that worm seized command, but trust me that the King will hear about it if you will not get me Maelwyn this instant! Maelwyn!"
The young woman in plain servant's garments hastened her steps at the call of her mistress and looked questioningly at Éowyn and the guard. The tension between them was thick, and not knowing the reason for it, the maid from Aldburg lowered her head as she asked: "What can I do for you, my lady?"
Her eyes still shooting daggers at the guard as if she dared him to object, Éowyn pressed: "I will discuss this with you inside my chambers. I see no need to discuss my private needs in public, nor did I hear my King forbid me to have visitors!"
"I am not certain whether-" the man began, but Éowyn interrupted him.
"Leave the thinking to those of greater wits and simply do what you have been told: guard this door, and leave me alone, guard! I do not wish to be disturbed!" She nodded at the younger woman and followed her back inside her chambers, flinging the door. If they insisted to keep her like a caged animal, she would make it a miserable time for them!
Realising her unusual explosion of temperament had made her the object of her trusted handmaid's scrutiny, Éowyn took a deep breath. She needed to calm down, or she would forget something vital and Éomer would have to pay for it.
"My lady? What can I do for you?"
Maelwyn was slightly younger than the woman she served, but seeing her mistress in such emotional turmoil made her sound like a frightened child. Four years in her service had not yet prepared the quiet but compassionate and reliable woman from the Eastmark for such a flare of her lady's temper. It was not like Éowyn to shout or throw doors. Her brother, yes; Éomer was known for his heated temper, but also for his sense of justice. Whoever he shouted at, usually deserved it. It had always been easy to determine how the Third Marshal thought about something or someone, whereas Éowyn remained an enigma to most members of the Royal household up to this very day.
While many incidents hinted at the fact that the White Lady was possessed of the same strong will and stubbornness as her brother, she usually remained in the background, observing. Hiding her thoughts from all she did not trust, and the way things were, the people she still trusted could be counted at the fingers of one hand. Right now, her angered expression slowly melted into one of exhaustion, worry and regret as Éowyn gestured toward the chairs.
"I am sorry, Maelwyn. It was not right of me to make you witness that. But it is hard to remain calm while our honourable counsellor gets away with deeds that would formerly have been unthinkable." She made her way over to the sitting group and lowered herself into one of the chairs.
The younger woman smiled at her.
"You need not apologise, my lady. I understand that these past days have been very hard on you. They have been hard on us all." Looking into her mistresses' sad eyes, Maelwyn spontaneously added: "Your brother is a mighty warrior, Lady Éowyn. He will not be helpless out there." She extended a hand in comfort, and Éowyn was glad to accept it even though the other woman's compassionate words made the feeling of despair resurface, and her eyes once again started to burn. Angry at herself, she wiped them with her free hand.
"I know, Maelwyn, but I fear that Gríma is not done with Éomer yet. They hate each other, and he knows that Éomer will remain a danger to him for as long as he lives."
The grey-blue eyes in front of her widened slightly.
"You mean he will attempt to have him killed, my Lady? But that would be against the King's orders!"
"Gríma cares nothing for the King's orders, and my uncle is too ill to see how his orders are executed."
Éowyn shook her head, and a great silence followed her words as she gazed unfocused in the distance. Seeing how her mistress seemed to ponder over a thing of great import, Maelwyn dared not interrupt her. Finally, Éowyn's attention returned to her, and the piercing look she was given caused the young woman's heart to jump into her throat.
"Maelwyn, what I tell you now must remain among us, you must promise me this. Please know that I have always trusted you, but in these days of madness, it seems that even the walls of Meduseld have ears. You must speak to no one about what I will tell you now."
The handmaid shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"My Lady, I do not understand-"
"Promise me, Maelwyn, or I cannot tell you. And I need you in this!"
It caused Maelwyn almost bodily pain to hear her mistress beg.
"Of course, Lady Éowyn. Didn't you entrust me with many secrets over the years I have been in your service? You know that your secrets are safe with me."
"Yes, but this is different, Maelwyn. Lives depend on it this time, my brother's and mine if word gets out, so even though I know that I can trust you, I still need to hear it from you again."
Éowyn had never sounded or looked more intense, and the younger woman's discomfort grew. What had she gotten herself into this time? Lowly, almost in a frightened way, she said:
"I promise, my Lady. I will not speak a word about it."
"Except to one man." Taking a deep breath, Éowyn began. This was the point of no return. She hated having to drag the innocent girl into this net of lies and intrigues, but there was no other choice. She had to save Éomer. "Maelwyn, I need you to deliver a message for me to our blacksmith. It is very important that he receives it soon. Will you do that for me?"
"To our blacksmith? Bergfinn?" The handmaid furrowed her brow in confusion. How could a message to a blacksmith be of any greater import?
"Yes, Bergfinn. I need you to seek him out and tell him to send his eldest son to our old hiding place. Élric will know what place I am speaking of; he accompanied us there many times. Tell him to pack a knife, a bow, and, if he can, a sword, and perhaps some food, too, and deposit them for Éomer. He knows where. It is of the utmost importance that he is not followed!"
Éowyn tensed upon seeing hesitation in the younger woman's eyes.
"But… wouldn't that be against the King's orders? Wouldn't I become a traitor then, too?"
"To betray a traitor is no crime, Maelwyn. It is, in fact, our duty. And the King's order was to banish Éomer, not to kill him; in fact, this was not even his order. It was his voice speaking those words, yes, but they were not his words." She shook her head to herself, seeing how the girl got even more confused by her explanation. "I only want to ensure that the King's orders are obeyed, Maelwyn. It was not his wish that Éomer be killed."
"But how do you know then that is the counsellor's intention… if I may ask this?"
"I know, Maelwyn. Trust me, I know this."
Suddenly deciding against telling the girl too much, Éowyn fell silent. The inner urge to share all her worries and frustration with someone she trusted was almost impossible to resist, but she would have be even more careful than ever. She stood alone now in Meduseld, and the Law of the Hall was not the one being followed in these evil times. The less Maelwyn knew, the better. She drew a deep breath.
"Will you help me, Maelwyn? I cannot deny that there may be a certain danger involved in the action, but it should not be too great if we do this smartly."
The young woman looked miserable, and from the way her hands were clutching each other until her knuckles turned white, it was easy to see her discomfort. Maelwyn had done nothing yet, and already she looked guilty, Éowyn thought with rising anxiety. Gríma would have to be blind not to notice the look on her face. But if she staged a diversion, perhaps he would not pay attention if her handmaid slipped out of the Golden Hall.
Maelwyn's voice was barely audible when she finally answered, not daring to meet her mistresses' gaze.
"I would love to help, Lady Éowyn. I am not blind to what is going on, and I would very much like to see that dark man gone from Edoras, but what if I am caught? I have two small children to take care of. I must think of them first… and of my husband. "
"You will not be caught. I have a plan, Maelwyn. It is impossible that Gríma learns of it if you do it right."
"I'd rather not, my Lady." The grey-blue eyes were pleading now. "The thought frightens me. I am only a servant, not a shield maiden. I am not a person possessed of great courage, I'm afraid. I am not one of those people who can make a difference."
"The people who make a difference are not usually those possessed of greater skill, they are those who decide to make a stand," Éowyn said bitterly. "There are too many among us who think that what's happening to them is destiny, that they cannot change the course of things, and it is this belief that allows Gríma to do what he does. It is comfortable to lean back and let others do one's fighting, but it opens the door for those who are determined to take fate into their own hands and not to the good of others."
Éowyn allowed those words to sink in, coming to her feet and starting to pace the room as she was overcome by her own restless.
"I do not believe in fate. It is I who decides how I live, and no one else. There is no fate but what we make. And if we all decide to do nothing, Éomer will die, and Rohan will fall to ruin before long," Éowyn said matter-of-factly, her tone flat. "My brother, Maelwyn, was sent out into the wild with no weapons, and no food, and without the protection of his men. The verdict forbids the people in the settlements to help him, and a snow storm harrows the plains. He needs not even to run into orcs to perish under these conditions." She swallowed. "He has given his blood repeatedly for our people, and now those same people he rescued lean back and do nothing. Isn't that most unfair, Maelwyn?"
This was her last weapon, her last resort, and Éowyn despised herself for using it on this innocent, frightened girl. She had no right to endanger the mother of two young children and wife to a young, hard-working man, but she could not bear the thought of losing Éomer. So often had he given his blood for their people, wasn't it about time that some of this loyalty was returned?
'But not from a young mother!'
Before her, Maelwyn hid her face in her hands, terrified by the decision that had been laid upon her shoulders. The trembling in her voice indicated that she cried.
"Of course it is, Lady Éown, and I wish I could do something that would help him! Your brother was always kind to me… he and the Prince. They never treated me like a lowly servant."
"Well, you are no lowly servant, Maelwyn, you are a member of the Royal Household, dear and trusted. And you are in the position to make a difference now. The danger involved may not even be great, at least not for you. If you are caught – which, I guarantee you, will not happen – you were simply following orders. As my handmaid, you are not in a position to deny my orders, so the blame would be mine, and the consequences mine alone to face."
Seeing how the younger woman battled with herself, Éowyn fell silent. Maelwyn was her only hope; what she would do if she denied her request, the daughter of Éomund did not know. There was no one left within these halls she trusted enough to pour out the contents of her heart, and yet her heart missed a beat when the woman opposite her suddenly looked up. Her eyes looked wide and frightened, and her voice trembled as Maelwyn said:
"I will do it, my lady. For you and your brother. And for Rohan, perhaps. I cannot deny that the thought still frightens me, but I see the wisdom in your words. I come from a large family, with eight sisters and brothers. We never had much, but my parents taught us that we could overcome all difficulties if only we stood as one."
She took a long, trembling breath, and then looked Éowyn straight into the eye.
"It is time now for Rohan to stand as one, isn't it? If we all hold together, surely no evil can ever overcome us." It sounded more like a desperate question than a statement, and yet the sincerity of it nearly broke Éowyn's heart as she turned on her heels to embrace her utterly surprised handmaid.
"Thank you! Oh, thank you from the bottom of my heart, Maelwyn! I wish there had been a different way for me to help Éomer, but I know you can do this. I have a plan, and Gríma will never know about it."
OOO
"You certainly know why you have been summoned, Captain? There are, of course, certain things that need to be discussed in the light of the recent developments."
"Yes, Counsellor. I understand."
With satisfaction, Gríma noticed how the young man kneeling in front of the dais dared not even raise his eyes at him and resorted instead to silently grinding his teeth. Éothain, son of Ceorl, was known to be possessed of the same wilful temperament as the King's nephew, who also was his best friend, and seeing him dominated was a well of unexpected pleasure almost as intense as the banishment of Éomer himself. Gríma knew how much the rider despised him. Very well, this would make this lesson in power and obedience all the sweeter. Pacing the dais before the orphaned throne with carefully measured steps, the dark counsellor began.
"You are here because the King's éored needs a new commander after the treason and banishment of its marshal. Naturally you would be next in chain of command, but I will not promote you to that position just yet. I will let you lead these men, but as their Captain. It is known to me that you were the Third Marshal's best friend, and so you will forgive our delay of that decision until we can be absolutely certain of your loyalty. As your reputation is that of a bright young man with an understanding for the essential things, you certainly understand these considerations and do not feel insulted by them. It is not the King's wish to insult you."
"Yes, my lord."
Oh, this was delightful. Where now was the haughtiness Éothain had displayed whenever he had been in Meduseld with Éomer? It seemed that the punishment of his friend had turned the grim, muscular warrior before Gríma, who was easily twice his weight, into a scared little mouse. Could it be that with this one well-executed strike, the son of Gálmód had rid himself of the three most notorious troublemakers in the kingdom? How sweet the taste of victory was… and how premature to savour it just now! Pushing all thoughts of self-congratulation away to where they would not hinder his concentration, Gríma's attention returned to the task at hand. So far he had won a few battles, but not yet the war, even if there could be no denying that his master would be very pleased with him when he heard of these new developments.
"You will of course further understand in the light of the same events, your King needs a reassurance of your loyalty. Friendship is a valuable thing, and not easily pushed aside. Yet if our friends err or even tread on grounds that will not only endanger their own lives, but those of their friends and kin despite our repeated warnings – it is our duty to make a decision. So let us hear your decision, brave son of Ceorl: Where does your loyalty lie: with your Lord and Land… or with an old friend who has entered those forbidden paths?"
Éothain's chin trembled under almost unbearable strain, and Gríma tensed despite his delight, establishing with a brief glance at his guards that they were ready in case the hot-headed warrior's restraint should broke. Yet Éothain did not jump at him, but when he spoke, the words were so low they were almost inaudible.
"My loyalty belongs with the Mark and its people, Counsellor."
"And that is well, but what of your King, Captain?" Gríma pressed further, rejoicing in seeing the temperamental young man squirm under his inquisition. "It goes without saying that we all strive to protect our land, but whose path do you believe the right one? Your King's… or the former Third Marshal's?" He could see that it caused Éothain almost bodily pain to speak in the way he avoided his gaze and spoke to the tiles on the floor instead.
"My loyalty lies with my King, Counsellor. Whatever commands he will give, I will see them done. The King can trust in me."
Overwhelmed by his emotions of his betrayal of Éomer, Éothain closed his eyes.
Not entirely satisfied by the way the young captain's answer but deciding to accept it nonetheless, Wormtongue clasped his hands and cast the warrior a benevolent smile.
"Théoden-King will indeed be glad to hear this, son of Céorl. Yet as the Eorlingas have always been inadequate liars, you will forgive me if I do not fully believe you yet, but I am, however, willing to let you prove your statement. Until further notice, your host will remain at Edoras for the protection of the city, and all matters needing a decision will be brought before the court by you, from where you will receive your orders. Until the King decides to further set his trust in you, you will do his bidding unquestioned. I realise that this measure of course takes away from your position for the time being, but if you satisfy your King, it will be only temporarily." He looked up as the sound of hasty steps echoed approached. "Yes, Déordred?"
"It is the Lady Éowyn, Counsellor! It is serious; I think she must have taken poison!"