"Hurry! Get him into the east wing!" I hear frantic voice say. I look up from where I sit on my bed to see them brining in someone in Rohirrim armor, blood on his shoulders and dirt on his face, messy and wet dark hair tangling under him, carried by Éomer and another soldier I had met before.
They bring him to one of the other two beds in the room, some of them bringing in cloths and bowls of water to clean his wounds.
"What happened?" I ask standing to my feet and fixing my white linen dress with a green stretchy corset bound with yellow string.
"Orcs slaughtered them all in the night. He is still alive," Éomer responds with a hand on this man's chest.
"Who?"
"Théodred, my cousin." He looks at his face with worry.
"How bad is it?"
He gestures down. I look at the stab wound in the man's stomach that pierced through his armor, blood so thick that it looks completely back. A maid comes in with a rag and begins putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding.
"Make sure to keep it clean. If it becomes infected he surely won't survive," I say to him.
Just then Éowyn bursts through the door, her white dress flowing behind her as she runs to his bedside and kneels down, stroking the back of Théodred's head with sorrow.
"Will he live?" she asks.
Éomer doesn't answer, as he does not know the answer. But he looks grieved.
I help the maid and another soldier in removing his armor and making sure to clean his wounds properly. I help them then bind them tightly and lie him down on the bed.
I hold Éowyn's shoulders to comfort her in this sudden horror of her cousin's terrible wound.
"How did this happen?" she asks her brother.
Éomer tells her what he told me.
"No others survived..."
She looks so sullen at this fact and he leaves after seeming to decide something.
I look down at Théodred and hope that he survives...
Éowyn looks a little colder now in her eyes. I know that she has been hurt more than once. Orcs killed her father and probably her mother too as she is not here anymore. And now her cousin too has been attacked by Sauron... I know how she feels to have family members slowly ripped away from you so I stand with her until I hear Éomer talking to someone and we walk into the throne room.
I walk into the main hall to see him there reporting to the king who seems a bit more... alive than he was before.
Éowyn approaches the king. "Your son is badly wounded, my lord."
I make a pained expression as I watch Théoden not even acknowledge she spoke.
But she acts as if he knows, trying to speak like normal without breaking into tears. This is awful.
"He was ambushed by orcs," Éomer says. "If we don't defend our country Saruman will take it by force—"
"That is a lie," an unfamiliar, cat-like voice of a man says from the northwest wing. He walks into the room; a hunched over, sickly pale human with red around his eyes and jet black hair with no trace of eyebrows. He wears a black fur coat and walks into the room where we stand. He is close to the king's right hand.
"Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally," he tells Éomer.
I finally hear the king speak, so quietly, with much struggle. "Grima..."
The man kneels by him so he can hear what the king wants. But he only repeats his name twice.
"Orcs are running freely across our lands," Éomer continues to tell the king. "Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will... Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman." He drops an orc helmet on the table, the top of it an emblem of a white hand painted.
So it's true then. Their suspicions of Saruman have been proven. He has betrayed us for Sauron.
"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?" Grima says. "Can you not see, your uncle is wearied by your malcontent... your warmongering..."
Éomer looks at him, anger brewing in his gaze and making him clench his teeth. I think there is a history with these men. By a guess maybe this steward of the king's has been advising all the wrong actions for Théoden. And since the king is ill, I suppose this steward or advisor perhaps is playing king...
"'Warmongering'?" Éomer growls.
"Oh yes..." Grima sneers. He stands straighter and walks down to face the man as he speaks, "I know the burden you have become to your uncle... the childish arrogance trying to find its way into the ruling of this kingdom... your conspiracies of evil... You and your cousin are the wound of this kingdom—"
Éomer takes the man by his collar and pins him against the hall pillar with fury. I cannot hear what he threatens him through bared teeth but it probably isn't... nice.
The king's soldiers come up behind him and grab him by the arms, pulling him back.
I stand wanting to defend him but not allowed to, as it will probably lead to my death.
"You see much, Éomer, son of Éomund. Too much. You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan and all its domains under pain of death," the ugly man commands.
My eyes widen. He can't do that!
Should I do something? Éomer saved my life. I should speak now.
...But the fact that even Éowyn is silent makes me think twice about saying anything. He is the king and I can't do anything against him...
"You have no authority here!" Éomer yells in fury. "Your orders mean nothing!"
"But this order does not come from me." He pulls out a folded piece of paper and shows it to him. "It comes from the king. He signed it this morning."
He makes a battle cry, probably wanting to rip the worm-like tongue from his mouth. But the two soldiers pull him from the hall along with his men and throw them out.
Éowyn yells and chases after them, pleading to let him stay but it's useless.
I run past them and after Éomer.
I fly through the village, passing the townspeople until I catch up to him as he leaves the city. "Why does the king throw you out?" I ask in anger but also sadness as he saddles his horse.
"It is treason! Saruman signed that paper and now I too can no longer fight for my people!" he says and mounts his steed.
"But there must be some way—"
"Any way would lead to death, Vilora. There is nothing that can be done."
I stare up at him with a broken heart.
"I am loyal to the king... but the king is gone. Rohan belongs to Saruman now."
"I refuse to accept that."
He looks down but doesn't pay too much attention to what I said... he shakes his head. "It is unlikely that we will see each other again, my lady. But it was a pleasure knowing you..." he looks sorrowful and puts on his helmet, kicking his horse and him and the rest of his men are gone before I can say anything more...
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I sit outside after Éomer is gone... Along with any good company the Golden Halls offer besides Éowyn. Thank everything she is still here. I left her alone to weep for her brother, fearing she may never see him again... I fear the same.
I have met so many people here in Middle Earth, all of which I want so dearly to name my friends. But I have left them all. I have left the hobbits, Strider, Legolas, Thranduil, Nin, Kel.... And now Éomer and the other soldiers I met are gone... My heart is being torn so many different directions I cannot keep track of what it wants... of where it wants to live...
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Éowyn doesn't spend much time with me for the following days but constantly makes sure that Théodred is still alive...
The days go by with sorrow and grief covering the men and women of Edoras, mourning over the soldiers that were lost... and the quiet of the halls weighing on us. All of the friendly voices are now gone...
I visit Éowyn in her cousin's chamber as she kneels beside him. She holds his hand tightly.
"How is he?" I ask quietly, standing beside her.
"...He is cold... I hope he will not leave us..."
I place a hand on her shoulder and bend down like her. "I don't know... I can't say... but I'm sure he will come back to us."
"I am slowly losing my whole family..."
"I know the feeling. I don't have any family anymore..."
She rests her head on my shoulder and I hug her. "I hope we can save my uncle..." she says almost teary.
I don't reply but rest my head against hers...
I don't know what is going to happen but I am hopeful like she is... or like she was... I haven't known her long and I don't know her family, but my heart sympathizes with her as if we have been friends for a decade. And all this pain coming to Edoras right now stabs us all. This place that could also be a home of mine, because of the dear love from its people... I am blessed to stay at such a place as this.
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I get tired of wearing a dress by the next day so I put on my cleaned gear; all but my weapons, except one knife that I keep strapped to my boot, and enter the hall... I get a creepy gaze from Grima when I do but I ignore him and go to where Théodred and Éowyn are... But she sits by him, her face on his bed, short breaths echoing in the air.
I stand staring at his pale face and still body. He is dead. I know it... This angers me. I walk from the hall and leave out the main doors as a lump shows up in my throat, standing on the edge of the concrete step and looking out at the mountains...
Thoughts of pain cloud my brain and sorrowful anger holds me in an embrace.
My eyes begin to burn as I fight the tears and I shut them, swallowing hard.
I detect myself losing the war as my heart tries to imagine what Éowyn must be feeling but my brain trying to push the thoughts away.
A tear falls from my bottom eyelid and I press my palm to my face in giving in. I slump down to the concrete and cry over Théodred and Éowyn. I feel sadness from other things leaking in as well. My sympathy for her scales mountains and reminds me of when I lost my family... the memories I have repressed because of the sheer misery that owned me because of them. The thoughts made me weak and almost got me killed several times... so to become stronger I have thrown them away. Perhaps I've just taken them and moved on. There is no use in mourning over a loss that occurred ten years ago.
After I spend a few minutes crying I take a breath, trying to tame myself again...
This horrid sobbing will get me no where. I need to take this and use it to fight for these people and the friends I have made...
I stand up, trying to wipe away tears as the sun kisses my skin with heat.
As the voices and the images of all that I miss and all that I know flood through my head, I turn and run back through the Golden Halls.
I make it to the northeast wing and I fall on my bed...
I will use what has made me cry and suffer to become stronger.
And with that thought I fall asleep feeling a little put back together...
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I open my eyes when a door closes loudly. I get up off my bed, confusion on my face as to who opened them, and walk into the hall. I am near the throne of the king and Grima as well but on the opposite side. He leans in to the king and speaks with pale lips, "My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming."
My eyes widen at that name. This was the wizard Thranduil said I need to speak to.
"He is a herald of woe," he continues in Théoden's ear.
My head turns when something moves from the corner of my eye. Four newcomers walk in. I see an old man with straight white hair and a long beard and mustache, wearing a grey robe and carrying a beautiful white staff. The wizard Gandalf by the looks of him.
By him stands a dwarf, at least I assume that's what he is, as he is nearly half the size of the wizard beside him, stout and wearing chainmail armor under a red leather tunic, a heavy helmet on his head, long red beard with two braids on its side and long braid at the back of his helmet. This is the first dwarf I have seen in Middle Earth and I am not surprised by his appearance.
I catch, on his left, a man with long messy black hair and very subtle facial hair, wearing the long black cloak that is now very worn, over the black vest over his loose red shirt, black trousers and torn up, grey boots, is Strider. Who looks at me with a surprised expression. I am glad to see him. I have never thought I would see him again and it's nice to see a friendly face once more.
My eyes then flash to the right—the left side of the wizard—, and something makes my heart skip a beat as my stomach flutters with an odd feeling, like it wants to fly away. I see someone whom I didn't realize I had missed so much... But his gorgeous blue eyes glance at me, his long blonde hair pulled back like it always is in the same style, his short sleeved green tunic over the long sleeved sky blue one that reaches halfway to his knees, dark brown leather arm bracers, dark grey trousers and darker grey boots, a new, forest green wool cloak on his shoulders that matches the one Strider and the dwarf are wearing, with a tiny, silver leaf painted green holding it a the neck, thin, dark eyebrows, small lips, and perfect cheek bones. He seems to be feeling the same thing I am with shock and almost gladness. I can almost see an adorable, innocent smile twitch to his lips and touch his surprised eyes.
They all walk towards the throne slowly. Strider looks almost angry and strong as they approach the king.
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf the Grey says sternly. Immediately his voice makes such a powerful presence in the halls, sounding wise, with eminent power and strength, despite the appearance of his age. He doesn't have trouble walking at all for his age either; very strong.
"He's not welcome," Grima whispers to the king.
Théoden lifts his head to speak but struggles. "Why should I... welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" the old voice manages to choke out.
"A just question, my liege," the worm tongued man says to him. He turns to the three men and speaks louder. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear." He walks towards them. "Láthspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest," he spats, just a foot away from the approaching wizard.
"Be silent," Gandalf commands him with a disgusted look, not even dealing with him. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."
The man looks offended. Good. He deserves it after what he did to Éomer.
"I did not pass through fire and death to brandy crooked words with a witless worm," Gandalf continues, pulling up his staff that I know now, must contain power within the white wood.
"The staff," Grima mutters, staggering back. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" he calls to the king's men. They come out from their places to the four visitors, trying to arrest them, but however Strider, Legolas, and the dwarf take a hold of them when they try and take them out, with punches to the face and stomach, kicks to the gut, making sure not to kill them but to get them out of the way.
Strider catches one and hits him hard in the stomach with a fist before kicking him down. I see Legolas throw a punch over his shoulder at the man who tries to grab him from behind. The assault knocks the man right down to the ground.
One of the large soldiers comes at the wizard from behind me. But I jump on him, wrapping my thighs around his waist and flinging him to the ground with a hit on the head. I am once on my feet.
In the back I see the dwarf pin Grima down by a foot on his chest, growling at him.
The grey wizard walks forward as they defend him. "Théoden son of Thengel!" he calls. "Too long have you sat in the shadows..." He approaches the king. "Hearken to me!"
The halls become silent as the men lie unconscious on the stone floor.
All of us wait for what is going to happen, our eyes on Théoden and Gandalf. Can this wizard cure the king?
The old man places a hand up towards the king with quiet but powerful words. "I release you from the spell..." he closes his eyes.
It is silent for a while... but the unhealthy laughter from the king interrupts and makes Legolas and Strider share a serious look. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey," he mocks him, though I do not think it was the king saying this... perhaps the white wizard speaking through him.
Gandalf puts down his hand, pulling off the grey cloth over him revealing magnificent white layered robes that almost glow, sending bright light into the grey corridors that were once dark. Gandalf the Grey has become Gandalf the White.
The king is sent back against his chair with a groan of pain from this power he beholds.
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" Gandalf says and holds out his staff, pressing him against his throne with an invisible force. The old man strains from the power of the wizard's staff. Gandalf is now in front of the king's chair.
I look when I see a flash of white. Éowyn runs from the west wing and when she sees Théoden looking like he's being tortured she dashes forward, only to be stopped by Strider who grasps her arms. She glances at him then back at the king and obeys to stay there.
"If I go, Théoden dies," another voice coming from the king's mouth says. I suspect it is indeed Saruman.
He shoves him against the back again, pulling the white wizard from the king's body. "You did not kill me, you will not kill him," Gandalf says.
He strains to pull forward. "Rohan is mine!" He is pushed back by the force of Gandalf again.
"Be gone," Gandalf says and pushes him again...
But the king leans with strength forward and releases a battle cry, trying to lunge at him but is thrown against his seat once more, this time looking truly in pain now.
After a few seconds of quiet Gandalf lowers his staff.
The old crippled man begins cringing and falling forward. Éowyn is there in a flash to catch him and place him back in his chair carefully.
I inch closer to see his robes turning from a white, to flesh color, his hair turning from silver to a soft bronze-gold. His beard shrinking and now is the length of Éomer's. His skin losing tremendous age. He now looks incredibly healthy, his posture turning from crippled, to strong, with broad shoulders. The man is age of forty perhaps.
He looks into the eyes of his niece in front of him, still at eye level. He speaks quietly and she places a hand at the side of his head gently, shedding a tear of joy and looking so happily relieved.
I am too. And my face shows this. I feel what Éowyn does as I look at her eyes.
The king looks up at the gre—white wizard before him with confusion. "Gandalf?" he breathes.
"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf says.
The man struggles but slowly staggers up, stretching his back with Éowyn holding his hand. He looks around him, like a man sent from time into his younger body. "Dark have been my dreams of late," the king says with a more youthful voice than before, a strong voice. He stretches his hand as he looks at it.
"Your fingers would remember their own strength better, if they grasped your sword," Gandalf says.
His assistant brings him the royal weapon. A long sword that he pulls carefully from its sheath, two horse heads facing each other where the blade meets the handle.
He holds the weapon on the air, his eyes darting about the silver shine before him... observing it... But then his eyes flash over to Grima who is behind held hostage by the dwarf still.
The king walks forward in anger, grabbing the man by his collar and dragging him from the hall as he tries to plead with Théoden.
The rest of us follow, Strider first.
We exit to see him throw the man down the stairs, letting him tumble down the stone and reach the bottom, rolling over and cringing, blood dripping from his black lips. He props himself up to crawling away from the king in fear, as Théoden approaches him threateningly with his sword.
"I have only ever... served you, my lord," Grima begs like a coward.
"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" he says in fury to him.
"Send me not from your sight..."
But Théoden raises his blade into the air ready to cleave him to death. My heart beat quickens at this and I almost look away. But alas Strider lunges at him, holding his arm back from sending his sword down upon worm-tongue. "No my lord!" Strider pleads. "No, my lord... Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account."
Strider holds out a hand to the man on the ground to help him up but he spits at it, getting up and fleeing the city on his horse.
I watch him leave and after he is gone I stand looking down at the king of Rohan from the steps I am on. He has returned. And we have the wizard Gandalf to thank for that.
He stands idle there, breathing in, still recovering his strength.
"Hail Théoden King!" A civilian cheers. All of the peasants in front of him that had gathered from the commotion kneel before him.
He looks a bit disoriented, still weak from the poison. But his brow tenses when he looks at the ground and realizes something. He looks back at us... "Where is Théodred...? Where is my son?" he mutters in worry.
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The clouds block out the sun. Sorrow fills the lands with grief. A shadow falls upon Edoras as they carry the body of the Prince of Rohan down the steps... Éowyn and I stand there looking upon him with darkness in our hearts. She wears a black dress for mourning as do I.
The king stands... a bit in awe, and not in a good way, about the event taking place; his son's burial.
It is silent. I look up to see the grim faces of Strider and Legolas standing with the other men and Gandalf.
Quiet misery fills the air. I hang my head, unable to look at the body of death yet again as the tears try to return. I cannot bare this. All who surround the ceremony look in utter heartbreak which tears at me, making me as emotional as if this were a good friend of mine that had died.
The silence is shattered by the voice of my friend to the right of me. Éowyn sings a song of lament, a grieving, sorrowful tune, keeping her from the tears that wish to fall. Her voice is powerfully heart wrenching and it makes me go cold.
The song is in a language I don't recognize... but the manner in which it is sung makes my fingers tremble with sadness.
But after a few verses she breaks down and cries, unable to finish.
In respect... I speak up, singing something I know for dark times and carrying on Éowyn's cry.
"And who are you the proud lord said
that I must bow so low
Only a cat of a different coat
That's all the truth I know
In a coat of gold, or a coat of red
A lion still has claws
And mine are long and sharp, my lord
As long and sharp as yours
...And so he spoke, and so he spoke
That Lord of Théodred
But now the rains weep o'er his hall
With no one there to hear
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall
And not a soul to hear"
(click on the external link to hear her version)
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