Again, I am sorry for a lack of updates lately. I've had so many essays and exams the last few months that my head is still spinning, and it was only really for the first film that I had a bunch of chapters written in preparation for this fic. I'll be off for the summer soon though, so I can get a lot more written then, I promise! And see if you can spot a Red Dwarf joke I shamelessly stole :D
XXX
Théoden held up a small white flower with a pout.
"Simbelmynë," he mused. "Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forbearers." He cast away the flower, and watched as it floated down to rest upon the grassy mound before him. "Now it shall cover the grave of my son. Alas, that these evil days should be mine. The young perish and the old linger… That I should live to see the last days of my house."
They were on the outskirts of Edoras, amongst the burial mounds after Théodred's apparently unimportant funeral. Gandalf, who was hovering nearby, gave an awkward laugh and clapped his hand upon Théoden's shoulder.
"Cheer up, Theo. It could be a lot worse."
Théoden's eyes filled with tears.
"No parent should have to bury their child," he murmured.
And, much to Gandalf's horror, Théoden put a hand to his forehead and began to weep. He then fell to his knees in grief. The wizard just shifted nervously where he stood. Oh Eru, was this awkward.
"So…" the wizard said, grasping desperately for a topic, "how's your wife doing?"
Théoden just glared at him.
XXX
A few hours later, inside the Golden Hall, Éowyn was watching the two random children who had shown up at Edoras that evening as they attempted to choke down her terrible cooking at one of the tables. Théoden just sat there in his throne, his hand seemingly glued to his forehead in an eternal facepalm. Gandalf sat next to him, twiddling his thumbs.
"They had no warning," said Éowyn, rising from the table. Aragorn and Gimli were sitting at a table on the other side of the room, while Legolas was doing his best imitation of a pillar. None of them liked children apparently. "They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree…"
Éowyn took a green blanket and laid it over the shoulders of the little girl, Freda, rubbing her shoulders soothingly.
"Where's mama?" asked Freda.
Éowyn just shushed her: "Don't you worry – I'm sure she's just fine." She gave the children a smile, and then straightened up and shook her head surreptitiously towards the others. "Not a chance," she mouthed, and made a garroting motion across her throat, along with the appropriate noise. The children could not help but notice.
Gandalf raised a hand and gestured towards said children: "This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash," he said.
Théoden lowered his hand from his forehead.
"How do you mean?"
Gandalf sighed.
"Well, just think about it – he's burning down all the villages and driving the people into exile… Soon Edoras will be overrun with immigrants! And then who will the people complain to when these foreigners start stealing all their jobs?"
Théoden stared ahead in horror.
"That would be me."
Gandalf leant over, and his voice became urgent.
"Ride out and meet him head on," he said. "Draw him away from your women and children." He rested a hand upon the arm of Théoden's throne, which Théoden noted with a quiet sense of alarm, considering that Gandalf had tried to give him a lip lock barely a few hours ago. "You must fight. Even if we lose, it'll still be a good laugh."
Aragorn duly butted in: "You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."
Théoden stood up, and began pacing the hall. He shook his head.
"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us." Gandalf also stood up and was about to protest, but Théoden continued: "I know what it is that you want of me," he said. "But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."
Aragorn lowered his pipe.
"Open war is upon you," he muttered, "whether you would risk it or not. Have you seen the trailer for this movie? Oh man, are we screwed."
Théoden turned around, and gave the ranger the evil eye. Aragorn countered it. Gimli chewed absently at a piece of meat as his gaze darted between the two. The sexual tension was killing him.
"When last I looked," mused Théoden, "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."
Legolas raised a timid hand.
"Uh yeah, but he's the lost heir of Isil-"
Aragorn promptly elbowed the elf in the gut. An awkward silence descended for a moment. Gandalf cleared his throat and spoke up.
"So whatcha gonna do, brother?"
Théoden pondered for a moment.
"As far as I can see it, we have two options," he said. "One: we take them on and kill them. Or two: run away…" He paused, and looked about the room. "Who's for two?"
XXX
"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
Outside the Golden Hall the villagers were running around like headless chickens, looting shops, stealing horses and setting bales of hay alight and then, realizing that the fires were spreading furiously and threatening their possessions, panicking and quickly stamping them out again. It was a typical Saturday morning in Edoras. When Háma came out and announced that Saruman's forces were coming and the city must empty, the chaos got even worse.
The three Hunters and a possibly-homosexual wizard strolled gaily through this chaos, heading for the stables. Gimli gave a snort.
"Helm's Deep!" he complained. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?"
Aragorn, who was eating an ice cream cone, just murmured and gave a shrug.
"I dunno… Jesus?"
Gandalf was shaking his head as they entered the stables.
"There is no way out of that ravine," he moaned. "Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre."
Legolas was smiling.
"That doesn't sound so bad," he said.
Gimli raised an eyebrow.
"Erm, Legolas, do you even know what a 'massacre' is?"
"Sure I do," replied the elf, getting a bit defensive. "It's when someone gives you a back rub and relieves all of that tension..."
"That's a massage, you idiot."
"Oh." The elf scratched his head. "So what's the difference?"
Gimli rolled his eyes as they entered the stables.
Gandalf just continued on: "So yes, Théoden has a strong will but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan yada yada yada." They approached Shadowfax, who was housed at the far end of the stables. Aragorn opened the door for the wizard who stepped inside, leaving the others where they were. He turned to the ranger. "He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defences have to hold."
Aragorn licked at the ice cream which was currently dripping down his sleeve.
"They'll hold, I guess."
Gandalf looked him in the eye.
"Aragorn," he repeated. "They have to hold."
The ranger threw up his hands.
"Dude, calm down. They'll hold. I don't see why it's my responsibility anyways. I don't even live in this bloody country."
Gandalf just ignored this comment, and turned away to lovingly stroke at Shadowfax's neck.
"The Grey Pilgrim..." he mused. "That's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I've walked this earth and now I have no time." He sighed. "Damned running time." Aragorn opened the stall gate. Gandalf snapped out of his reverie, and climbed up onto the horse's back. "With luck, my search will not be in vain," he told them. "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East."
Gimli frowned.
"On the fifth day of what? Lent?"
Aragorn opened the stall gate with his free hand.
"Just go," he said.
Gandalf gave a little salute, and then Shadowfax reared up and galloped away, trampling Legolas half to death in the process. Gandalf slowed the horse and winced as he realised what had happened.
"Aragorn," he hissed accusingly, "you said 'go'. That pretty much means the coast should be clear."
The ranger just shrugged, and walked out of the stable with a chuckle, still licking at his ice cream.
"As far as I'm concerned, it was clear."
There was a small groan, and a rather battered and bruised Legolas raised a shaky arm.
"Could somebody give me a massage, please?"
XXX
Back inside the Golden Hall servants were packing away tables, chairs and crates full of food and cloth. Éowyn just stood there, gesturing her arms a bit this way and that and generally trying to give the impression that she was actually doing some work when in fact she was not. Eventually, as the Hall began to empty, she gave up the pretense and flopped down upon a nearby trunk, putting up her feet and picking up an issue of What Horse? magazine that someone had left behind near the dais.
She was just finishing a fascinating article about stirrup polish when someone gave a cough behind her; Éowyn whipped around guiltily and saw a servant standing there, looking rather pissed.
"Um, hi there!" she said meekly, quickly hiding the magazine behind her and fumbling with the lock of the trunk. "So, er, how's things?"
The servant simply stood there with his arms folded, an eyebrow raised.
"This doesn't look like work to me."
She got all flustered.
"Yes, well…" She struggled for an excuse. "I'm head supervisor. I supervise the work – I don't actually do it myself. I'm a woman, remember? Archaic gender roles and all that."
The servant just rolled his eyes, picked up a nearby set of spoons, and walked away. Éowyn muttered something uncomplimentary about his mother under her breath and cast away her magazine, reaching down to unlock the chest so she could at least pack something away to show him up.
When she finally got the chest open, she reached into it to pull out a sword. Slowly she removed it from its sheath and held it up to the light with reverence. Then she spun about and held the sword steady, thrusting and parrying at the air before her until she was satisfied that her invisible foe was dead. Then she turned around and lunged with a battle cry that would have made Xena proud.
There was a clash of blades. There, standing before her and blocking her sword with his knife, was Aragorn.
She blinked.
"Um, hi."
Aragorn studied her.
"You have some skill with a blade," he said.
She was frozen for a brief moment, and then she brought her sword around, swept away his knife and pointed her weapon right at the ranger's exposed throat.
"Yes, well," she said, feeling affronted, "swordplay is a lot like making love. You simply wait for an opening, lunge deep with your weapon and hope you don't get hit in the eye..."
Aragorn met her gaze and then lowered his knife. She moved away and resheathed her sword, putting it back into the chest without a word. Then she spoke, and her voice became serious: "Women of this country learned long ago those without swords may still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow.
"Modesty, much?" He watched as Éowyn closed the trunk, and then turned his head to the side a little: "What do you fear, my lady?" His voice was soft.
Éowyn just shrugged.
"Y'know, the usual… Barbarian raids, being murdered in my sleep, not having a date to senior prom… How about you?"
Aragorn did not even hesitate: "Fangirls." He gave a shudder. "Thankfully, we managed to shake them off back at Moria. But they're always lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to strike…" He looked about nervously, noting the abundance of pillars and shadows in the hall they were standing in at that moment. Éowyn was studying him as he spoke, her head tilted in interest. Aragorn cleared his throat. "But yes, er, anyways. You are a daughter of kings, a shieldmaiden of Rohan, you know." He sheathed his knife at his belt. "I do not think that would be your fate."
With a smile and a slight bow he walked away, with that self-satisfied swagger of a man who knows just how amazingly sexy he is without even trying; he could also feel the familiar gaze of someone staring at his ass as he left the room.
Éowyn just stood there for a moment, her lip quivering with fangirlish glee, and then she let out a high-pitched squeeee! and dashed gaily out of the room, desperate to go and write about what had just transpired on her blog.
XXX
Later that day the people of Edoras flooded out of the city, with only as many possessions as they could carry with them. Some toted baskets full of goods, while others laboured with heavy packs and bundles upon their backs; yet others sneaked back through the city gates and looted the inhabitants' homes for the unguarded valuables they had left behind. Said others then fled into the nearby hills, praising the stupidity of their neighbours.
Théoden led this great contingent, and paused on horseback at the brow of a hill to gaze lovingly on the city and the huge honking palace that he got to live in while everyone else starved and lived in dirt.
"I shall never see this place again," he murmured. Then he turned away with a great sense of foreboding and led his people onward to their fate.
Thirty minutes later, a cursing Théoden galloped swiftly back to Edoras, remembering that he had left a light on in the bathroom.
XXX
Over at Isengard, Wormtongue was standing in Saruman's darkened chamber, nursing a bottle of whiskey and dabbing at his bloody lip with a handkerchief.
"… and then they threw me down the steps like a piece of garbage. It was horrible!" He took a swig of the bottle. "It's as though my usefulness in this movie trilogy has end-"
"Yes, yes." Saruman waved a hand. "That's all very tragic. So Helm's Deep, you say? Excellent. I guess I will go and send out some ineffectual minions to hopefully kill them on the way but probably not." The wizard turned to leave the chamber.
Wormtongue stood up, and raised a timid hand.
"They will have women and children with them."
Saruman's eyebrows rose as he left.
"Sweet."
So the wizard took a leisurely stroll through the fiery caverns of Isengard, and paid a visit to the orc in charge of supervising his CGI pets.
"Send out your warg riders," he ordered the orc on guard.
In the pit below, he could hear vicious growls and roars from the creatures trapped there. They threw frightening shadows upon the rocky walls.
The orc gave an evil smile.
"Say please."
Saruman just rolled his eyes and kicked the orc in the chest, sending him crashing down into the warg-infested pit. The sound of howls and tearing flesh told him that they were enjoying their impromptu meal.
"Bloody unions," he muttered, as he walked away.