Chapter Twenty-Two

~ Eldarion ~
"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld."

The strong voice of Mithrandir jarred me from the doze I was in. I straightened and gasped, for there before me stood a hill that jutted out from two ice-capped mountains in the distance. Houses dotted the hill, which was surrounded by barriers of wood and stone. Edoras was an amazing sight.

But Mithrandir's next words reminded me that we came not for pleasure, but out of duty that we were to remember this.

"There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

Saruman. The mere mention of the name of the turned wizard made a sour taste rise in my mouth. I had seen little of Saruman's treachery, but his story portrayed him as one of the most powerful of the traitors during the War of the Ring – how the once highest wizard of them all had turned his back and betrayed Mithrandir and the White Council; how he had desired the One Ring for himself and lied to the White Council about its whereabouts after it had fallen into the river Anduin; how he had created the Uruk-hai and set them to destroy the people of Rohan.

I felt sorry for Théoden, actually. It wasn't like one could really defend against a wizard taking over your mind. Especially if you weren't a wizard or Elf or Dwarf, all of whom had natural resistances to being deceived in such a way.

"Be careful what you say," Mithrandir advised. "Do not look for welcome here."

"We haven't gotten a welcome from anywhere since Imladris, Mithrandir," my sister said sourly. "I think we've stopped expecting it by now."

I looked down at her. "What, Lothlórien didn't give you a good welcome?" I asked.

Gimli grunted before my sister could reply. "If you call readied bows in your face a welcome, lad, then I'd hate to see your definition of a good welcome," he muttered.

"Ah. I guess Haldir got a little overenthusiastic," I said.

"A little?" Gimli demanded in an outraged tone.

My sister rolled her eyes.

~ Legolas ~
Done, I turned back to Théoden, who was watching the scene placidly, not caring that many of Gríma's guards lay inert on the ground, knocked out by Aragorn, Gimli, Eldarion, Estel, and me. He didn't even blink as Mithrandir approached, his staff in hand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eldarion pull Estel closer to him. She seemed transfixed by the aging king, her eyes filled with wonder and fear at how great of an effect Saruman had on Théoden.

"Hearken to me!" Mithrandir ordered, coming to stop right in front of the king. He raised his hand, his tone turning reverent. "I release you from the spell."

There was a strange sound, as though for a moment the wind had picked up and was blowing on Théoden. I glanced at Aragorn, but he did not respond. I saw Eldarion's arms tighten around his sister.

Then Théoden started to laugh. It was a strange, almost chilling laugh that made me tense up. I saw Aragorn shift forward as Estel shrank back, her grey-blue eyes wide. The laugh was . . . disturbing. And what made it worse was knowing that it wasn't really Théoden laughing.

"You have no power here," the possessed king sneered, "Gandalf the Grey."

Mithrandir's face seemed to set the minute the kind put the emphasis on "Gandalf the Grey". The next minute, he had flung his concealing cloak to the ground, revealing his new status as Gandalf the White.

Théoden gasped, slamming back up against his throne as light filled the room.

~ Estel ~
I raised horrified eyes to Théoden. The aging king lay slumped in his throne as Mithrandir slowly lowered his staff with a long sigh. The king gave a soft groan and began to fall forward.

The lady yanked herself away from Aragorn, who let go with an expression that almost shouted "good riddance". Running forward, she caught Théoden and eased him upright. I shuddered, unable to imagine that close to the formerly possessed king.

But now a change was coming over the king. His hair, once white and grey with old age, was now darkening to a more golden color. His eyes, once clouded with confusion and blindness, were clearing to reveal blue eyes that focused at once on the lady beside him, who was watching with pure wonder in her eyes.

"I know your face," the king murmured, staring at the lady. "Èowyn. Èowyn." He pronounced her name with a soft reverence, as though she was the only treasure he cared for now.

I felt Eldarion start upon hearing the name of the lady. The Lady Èowyn of Rohan, we both knew, had eventually married the Steward Faramir of Gondor. That was all the more important because, well . . .

Our mother had been descended from Elboron, the first child and heir of the union between Èowyn and Faramir, tying us not only to the royal line of Gondor and Arnor, but also of Rohan.

"Gandalf?" the king breathed in amazement, looking up to see the wizard smiling at him.

Guess Eldarion and I aren't the only ones getting surprises today, I thought with a smirk.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Mithrandir said affectionately.

Now Théoden rose from his throne, looking so different that if I had seen him before and now, I would not have realized they were the same person. This king looked truly as if he was just awakening from a long sleep. Smiling, I inclined my head to him, he who was the King of Rohan – and one of my late relatives.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," the king said, looking over the hall. Many of his officials were gathered here now, looking at the king with upraised faces filled with awe and wonder. Èowyn seemed to be crying with happiness at his side as tears glittered in her eyes.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better," Mithrandir began meaningfully, "if they grasped your sword."

One of the guards stepped up the offer the king the sword. Théoden took with slowly, as if scared that he would not be able to hold it. Slowly, slowly, slowly did the sword become parted from its sheath with a metallic rasping sound. And equally slowly did he raise the sword and gaze at its gleaming edge.

And then he looked straight at Gríma Wormtongue.

~ Aragorn ~
As Théoden raised his blade, I dashed forward and stopped him. He fought me, but I was stronger than him at this moment. I saw a crazed, anger-filled light in his blue eyes as he fought to push me away and kill Wormtongue.

"No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go," I told him seriously and quietly. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

When I was confident that Théoden was not about to attack Gríma, I let go. Then I extended a hand to Gríma. If he was willing to put this behind him, he could be a great asset to us. Since he was a servant of Saruman, surely he would also know some of the plans the old wizard was putting into place. That kind of knowledge would help us immensely.

I sensed the unease of the crowd behind us, but most especially from the ledge behind me, where I knew Legolas and Eldarion were. I could almost smell their tenseness and their readiness to attack.

Gríma looked at my hand for a long time. Then suddenly, he leaped up, yanking a dagger out of nowhere, and sprang toward me, the dagger aimed straight for my heart.