Mostly just a filler-chapter, but it's the only way to keep the story moving lol :) Please be so kind as to review! They help a lot!
Cheers!
Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.
Their horses carried them swiftly over the plains, much to Alandria's surprise, for they had only a short night's rest. But the Rohan steeds seemed eager to follow their Lord, and attempt to match his incredible speed. It was not quite mid-day when they stopped less than a league short of Edoras, the city seated on a great hill. Alandria nearly shook with anticipation, the great city covering the immense, grassy hill, protected with it's dark wall. She longed to rush in and see her people again, especially her Lady Èowyn, and to fix the problems she knew had arisen. But Gandalf was cautious.
"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Thèoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Thèoden is now very strong." He glanced over at Alandria, who's horse was now stamping restlessly, sensing her anxiety. "Prepare yourself my lady, and contain what ever emotions may come the best you can." She nodded firmly and he addressed the entire group once more. "Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here." And he nudged his great steed on, the others following quickly.
Alandria's stomach churned slightly at the Wizard's words, especially his final ones. Rohan used to be a city of warmth and strength, cautious of strangers, yes, but never hostile. Could so much have changed in a matter of months? Could her King really have fallen so far? These thoughts and more troubled her mind as they rode to the gates of Edoras. Her and Aragorn brought up the end of the trio of horses, and Alandria glanced up at the sound of movement in the air. Her leaf-green eyes followed a richly colored flag as it sailed down towards them, before tangling with the ground. The leaping horse on it twisted and writhed, distorted by it's struggle to be released from the grasp of dead grass and sticks, but to no avail. It was fallen, and caught. Alandria hurried Hasufel on, her stomach all the more unsettled.
Their horses slowed to a steady walk as they entered the dull city, and Alandria risked gazing around at the faces before her. All were dark and guarded, silent except for the few scattered whispers as she passed. So they had noticed her missing presence, she noted grimly. The company she rode with earned her no welcome however, much like the White Wizard had said. Instead blank stares and wary, dirtied faces were her greeting. She turned away from the town peoples' frightening images, and looked expectantly towards Meduseld, their destination, at the peak of the grand hill. She did not look in vain either, for her Lady Èowyn stood watching, in all her splendor and beauty. Alandria felt the twinge of a smile, and only urged her horse on more quickly.
"You find more cheer in a grave yard." Gimli muttered, and Alandria glanced at him for a moment, silently agreeing, before turning quickly back to Meduseld. Èowyn was gone.
Their short trip to the top of the high hill and the steps of Meduseld seemed far too long for Alandria, but it took less than half of an hour. They quickly dismounted, and Alandria waited impatiently for the Wizard to lead them on. Her blood was rushing and singing, ecstatic to be back home. Slowly, they made their way up the steps, and she noticed after a moment that Gandalf seemed to be taking far longer to move than he had in the Forest of Fangorn. He leaned on his staff heavily as well. She glanced up, hearing movement ahead of them, and saw several guards approach them from the doors of Meduseld. She recognized the one without his helm as Hàma, but he paid her no heed, watching the Wizard warily. Gandalf smiled, as if relieved, when he saw the men they now faced.
"I can not allow you before Thèoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Grìma Wormtounge." Alandria's skin crawled at the mention of the man. He'd always bothered her, something about his silent stares disturbing beyond explanation.
Gandalf acted surprised, and confused, but nodded to the four at his sides to do as they were told. Aragorn, Legolas, and even reluctant Gimli, all gave up their assortment of weapons, but Alandria hesitated. "I am from Rohan." She told Hàma firmly. "I am friend to Lady Èowyn, sister-daughter of the King Thèoden, and no stranger."
"All travelers must submit their weapons upon entrance to the Golden Hall." The man declared.
"But I am of Rohan! I am no threat!"
"Obey him, Alandria." Gandalf commanded softly. "For now."
Alandria glared at the Wizard, but he only nodded carefully, and she sighed, removing her sword from her belt with a glance at the Ranger beside her. He showed no emotion, merely staring at the guard before him. She didn't waste breath on muttering any curse or insult, and instead handed over her sword, and then knife, glaring all the while.
Gandalf smiled faintly, expectantly, waiting for Hàma to let them through. "Your staff." The guard insisted.
Gandalf glanced at the solid white rod in his hand as if he'd forgotten it. "Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?" The Wise Wizard did his best to look thoroughly old and tired. Hàma didn't look convinced, but sighed and lead them on. Alandria however caught the faint smile of the Wizard, and the wink he flashed at Aragorn, who only smiled faintly. Then Legolas took Gandalf's arm, as if to aid him, and they walked slowly into the Golden Hall.
Alandria immediately noticed the darkness of the once brilliant Hall. No fires were lit, few windows were open, and even then the sky was cloudy. But the worst made her step falter and her eyes widen in disbelief. King Thèoden sat in his throne, and looked far worse than he had when she left. When she parted for Rivendell, he spoke less and softer, and there were a few more lines in his face, and his strength seemed to fading. He simply seemed sick, feverish maybe, seeing as his commands had just begun to grow strange and dark when she left. Alandria saw now that leaving the ones she loved here, as to at Amon Hen, had been nearly as crucial a mistake. Now her king was bent, barely seeming to hold himself upright in his grand throne. His hair was an unruly disarray, and far too light. His beard matched. His face was too thin and had too many lines, appearing much, much too old. The skin was pale and sickly, his clouded and reddened eyes a repulsive contrast. Had the guards not obeyed his 'orders' with such obedience, she would not have believed it was indeed the proud King Thèoden before her. And he was not alone - a black haired, pale-skinned, vile snake was at his side: Grìma Wormtongue. The creature brought a soft snarl to her lips, quickly hushed by Aragorn.
Wormtongue leaned in to whisper some words of treason to her king, but Alandria did not have time to ponder them, for a loud slam echoed behind her. Legolas, Aragorn and her all turned around to discover the doors behind them had been slammed and locked shut, with dirty looking, sour-faced men walking at the sides of the room, following the companions' steps. Wormtongue whispered something in the King's ear again, but Gandalf's loud voice spoke over whatever might have been said.
"The courtesy of your Hall is somewhat lessened of late, Thèoden King."
The Worm murmured to the King again, and Alandria was shocked to hear a weak, dry reply struggle past the poisoned King's lips. "Why..should I welcome you.. Gandalf..Stormcrow?"
He looked to the pale-skinned creature at his side as if in need of approval, and the snake nodded. "A just question, my liege." And then Grìma stood, to face the Wizard and company approaching the throne. "Late, is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell, I name him! Ill news is an ill guest."
"Be silent!" Gandalf snapped, much to Alandria's thanks. "Keep your forked tounge behind you teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" At this, he raised the sculpted head of his white staff, to which Grìma immediately backed away from, fear evident on his traitorous features.
"His staff.." The man whispered, backing further away and glancing around, panicked, at the sullen men watching, his words becoming a pathetic moan. "I told you to take the Wizard's staff!"
At his discomfort, the men in the shadows rushed forward, presumably to take the wooden weapon from the aged man. But although the quartet about him was not armed, they had their fists. Alandria eagerly grabbed a man that tried to run past her, and pulled him back to slam her fist into his nose. There was a crunch, and blood began to spill freely, but he knew his job and tried to swing back at her. She ducked, and got two quick jabs into his stomach, before punching the side of his head as he doubled over. He toppled completely, and she quickly spun to deliver a swift kick into a man's ribs, causing him to stumble. As she continued her beatings, thrilled to let out some of the anger she'd felt while chasing after the hobbits, the White Wizard continued to speak, unharmed and unfazed as his friends held off attackers.
"Thèoden, son of Thèngel!" Gandalf spoke, deep voice echoing clearly about them. "Too long have you sat in the shadows.."
Alandria turned after felling her last man, hearing the Dwarf snarl loudly, "I would stay still, if I were you." Her bright eyes glittered with amusement, seeing the snake Grìma cowered beneath the stout man's heavy boot.
"Harken to me!" Gandalf snapped, and all attention turned back to him as he spoke to the poisoned King. "I release you, from the spell.." His words were soft now, and his palm was outstretched to the weak man on the throne. But nothing changed. And the sagging King began to laugh - a despicable sound, dry, broken, and just as ugly as he was.
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." He smiled evilly, his voice changed, deeper and slightly stronger.
But Gandalf seemed unbothered, and tossed off the heavy grey cloak he had worn since they'd started riding. Alandria was not the only one who found the sudden, bright, brilliant white of Gandalf and his new robes difficult to look at in the dark Hall, as many others blinked away their brief blindness in disbelief. But Thèoden, or the thing pretending to be him, flung his body back against his throne, a grimace on his hideous features as if in pain.
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" The Wizard declared, and pointed his staff at the King, who was slammed back once more into his throne. Alandria could not help but flinch, seeing the man she knew somewhere was her great King writhe in agony so. She saw a glint of gold and white out of the corner of her eye, just in time to see her beautiful Lady Èowyn rush towards the throne, obviously more pained than Alandria was to see her uncle tortured so. But Aragorn caught her arm before she got far, murmuring softly to her to wait.
"If I go, Thèoden dies!" The monster inside the King declared, his voice more like the traitorous Wizard's, his rotten teeth in a grimace.
Gandalf merely gestured with his staff again, and the furious man on the throne groaned again, further pained. "You did not kill me, you will not kill him."
"Rohan is mine!"
Another slam from the power of the White Wizard's staff. "Be gone!"
The monster in the King groaned and moaned, twisting against the hard wood of the throne. With one last glare, he flung himself with a snarl at the Wizard, only to have his weak attack counter-attacked by the Wizard's power. He fell back against his throne, weaker than before, and groaned meekly, slouching over greatly. Èowyn pulled herself free of Aragorn's grasp and rushed forward to her uncle's side, catching him as he began to fall out of his seat. Alandria followed a few steps forward, but grew suddenly uneasy at possibly being noticed and recognized in such a moment, and held back.
Èowyn held the King further upright, and they all watched in worried dread, as the lord's features slowly changed. Slowly but steadily, the disheveled and unruly hair shortened, becoming it's natural shoulder-length, the beard short and trimmed. The pale color filled with gold, returning to it's previous health. His skin smoothed considerably and fleshed out, coloring warm and human-like once more. His clouded eyes cleared, the redness from them gone. King Thèoden now sat in his throne, held by his niece. Alandria felt the prick of faint tears, her joy unfathomable. She could not hear the whisper he exchanged with his sister-daughter, but she noticed the relief in her Lady's body language. Thèoden then turned his proud gaze to the Wizard who freed him.
"Gandalf?" He asked, his voice soft.
The old Wizard smiled kindly. "Breathe the free air again, my friend."
Thèoden smiled faintly, and then began to struggle to his weak legs. Èowyn helped him eagerly, and soon he was on his feet, gazing at the people surrounding him. Alandria felt the twisted sensation of the need to smile again, and again her mouth didn't cooperate correctly. Instead, she lowered herself willingly to a knee, bowing before her Lord. She heard the others of Rohan follow suit, and then glanced up, wondering if either the Lady or King had recognized her yet. It didn't seem so.
"Dark have been my dreams of late." He murmured, dark blue eyes full of wonder. Then he turned his gaze to his hands, slowly moving them, as if testing the limbs he had not freely used in months.
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword." The White Wizard advised, a faint smile on his lips.
At the Wizard's words, Hàma came forward, Herugrim extended towards his King. Thèoden gently touched it with his fingertips, then slowly ran his hand completely around the hilt, grasping it firmly. He slowly, carefully, pulled the blade from it's sheath, and then held it before him, his eyes drinking in the beautiful sight of his sword. The silver metal glinted proudly, the gold around the hilt dark and warm, with the two horse heads curved perfectly, heart-shaped, at the beginning of the blade. The powerful weapon fit perfectly in the King's palm, and Alandria could clearly see the comfort and strength he drew from it. Until, his gaze fell on a lone member dwelling in his Hall, and his eyes darkened with fury.
Wormtongue struggled in Gimli's firm grasp when his lord's furious gaze fell upon him, and Thèoden strode slowly forward. "Get him out." He said quietly, and Hàma, and another Alandria knew vaguely as Gamling, rushed forward to grab the traitorous man. "I want him out!" The King yelled, and strode quickly after his two guards as they drug the squirming snake out the doors of Meduseld. Without needing their lord's command, upon reaching the top of the stone stairs leading down from the Great Hall, the guards flung away the vile man.
Grìma fell with a tousle of robes and thud of flesh against the harsh stones, rolling and floundering until he hit the break of the flights. He landed heavily on his side, crying out in pain, his lip bleeding. Thèoden marched slowly down the stairs after the pale man, his footsteps a possessed stagger as he held his sword tightly. Gandalf followed a safe distance behind, as did a troop of guards. Alandria stood a step behind Legolas, Gimli, and Lady Èowyn - who had yet to notice her - at the top of the stair.
"I've only ever served you, my lord!" Grìma insisted, crawling slowly down the steps, whimpering like beaten beggar.
"Your witch-craft would of had me crawling on all-fours like a beast!" Thèoden snarled, still marching forward.
"Send me not from your sight!" The Worm pleaded, but the King paid him no heed, raising the flashing blade of Herugrim high. Alandria's blood rushed eagerly, full of anger at the wretch before her King, furious for what he had done. But her hopes crashed down as the dark figure of the Ranger from the North rushed forward, to still Thèoden's arm.
"No my lord!" Aragorn yelled. "No my lord!"
Alandria knew her king stared at the Ranger with the same harsh disbelief she felt, wondering why the Valar the dark-haired man had stopped justice being well-served. Aragorn spoke to Thèoden then, but she was too far away to hear, the brisk wind not helping in the least. Whatever the Ranger said seemed to persuade the simmering king to step away, and lower his blade. In turn, Aragorn offered his hand to The Worm, to assist him to his feet. The foul-minded creature merely spat in the man's palm, before scrambling to his feet, pushing his way through gathered villagers as he ran away, to the stables. Aragorn merely shook the saliva off his hand, wiped it on his already filthy trousers, and turned back to Thèoden.
"Hail, Thèoden King!" He yelled, and slowly, the surrounding crowd lowered themselves to their knees, bowing before their lord. Alandria followed suit, no matter how far a distance away she stood, and gazed wonderingly as she saw Aragorn doing the same.
As if unable to grasp all that had exactly happened, Thèoden turned and walked slowly away from the crowd, back up the stairs and towards his Hall. His dark eyes couldn't seem to focus, and they drifted from face to face, briefly taking in each person that neared him. Then they fell on Alandria. She stood tall once his strong gaze met hers, and lifted her chin slightly, hoping she portrayed strength she hardly felt. He studied her for a moment, as if he recognized familiarity, but wasn't sure why. And then his features changed, to a softer and kinder expression than he had shown so far, other than to his neice. A smile even graced his lips, and he stepped towards her, arms outstretched.
"Alandria!" He cried, holding her shoulders firmly, gazing at her still. "It is you, yes? The great daughter of mighty Elrendyn, from the North?" She nodded at his words, faint tears stinging her eyes - but refused to let them spill. "How did I not notice you, standing there all the while? I noted your disappearance, but how long you have been gone...I can't remember..I was told..." His kingly gaze drifted, behind, to where Grìma had fled. Slowly, he looked back at her, a kind smile lighting his face again. "It does not matter. You are here, and safe! Tired, it seems, and you look as if you have been traveling long..but you are more beautiful than I remember. Ah, my girl, it has been so long!" He finally embraced her than, and she hugged him back firmly, the water in her eyes all the more threatening now, but held at bay.
"Indeed it has been." She murmured, then slowly pulled away. A faint, sad smile attempted to curl the edge of her lip. "I have missed you greatly, father-of-my-friend. I am glad you are now well."
"As am I, my girl. As am I." He squeezed her shoulders tightly once more, before turning back to the crowd around them, a smile still on his face.
Alandria started slightly when she felt a hand grasp her own tightly, but turned to see the fair Lady Èowyn at her side. Èowyn was smiling, teeth showing slightly, and then opened her mouth to speak, but paused, with a glance at her uncle. Alandria turned back to her King, and noticed his smile had faded, as he continued to search the faces around him. Slowly, his mouth opened, and his words were soft.
"Where is Theodred?" He asked, and received somber expressions in return. "Where is my son?"
"My lord-" Started Hàma, but Èowyn stepped forward quickly, releasing Alandria's hand.
"Uncle." She interrupted, and took his hands in turn. He turned his saddened gaze slowly down towards her, already knowing what she was going to say. Alandria knew it too. Her heart beats slowed, and there was the faint sound like rushing water in her ears. Theodred was dead, just as Èomer had warned he might be. The Prince used to catch Èowyn and Alandria at their sword play, and would often watch them good-naturedly, or volunteer to help - usually resulting in laughter and jibes amongst them. He was much like his father - kind, good-hearted, and smart. He was several years older than both Alandria and Éowyn, and even Lord Éomer, but cheerful and good-natured with them all. He did his best for his father, and was eager for battles. That he had been wounded, and then perished from one, was no surprise.
"No." Thèoden whispered, staring at his niece. "It cannot be." She nodded, tears in her eyes and pain in her fair features, as her uncle's own dark eyes flooded. "Not my son!" He cried, stepping away. "Not Theodred! Not my son!" Anguish overtook him, and Hàma, Gamling, and Èowyn moved closer to help comfort him. The crowd of villagers quickly dispersed from their places near the steps of the Golden Hall, and left their King to his grief.
"Alandria," Gandalf spoke softly, suddenly at her side. "Go inside with the others." She stared numbly at the Wizard, as if uncomprehending. "I will help Thèoden, and we will have a funeral quickly arranged. You go inside and try to clean up and make yourself a little more comfortable. Just go on, get a change of clothes and a bath." Still, she did not move, not seeing the point in a bath, or fresh clothes, or anything. Theodred was dead. The White Wizard sighed, and turned around, calling, "Legolas, come here my lad." The Elf quickly appeared, awaiting the aged man's orders. "Take her inside, please, and find her a maid if you can. She needs a bath and fresh clothes."
The fair blonde nodded briskly, and gently took Alandria's arm, leading her towards the doors of Meduseld.