"Take him to his chambers ... oh please, help him ... Théodred!" cried Éowyn, after seeing her cousin.
Éomer and two soldiers carried the body into the prince's bedroom. The herbalist of Rohan, Jeremiah, who was the only one in the realm to have medical knowledge, immediately shook his head. He didn't even bother to examine the wounds on the left side of the prince's body.
"His life is on the edge of the abyss." he told Éomer. The princess, nearby, burst into sobs.
"But he's breathing!" the young man protested. "He's still breathing! You can save him!"
"No Éomer, I'm sorry. His face has lost every spark of life. It's too late. He must have lost almost all the blood of his body." explained Jeremiah, who was not a real doctor and who, anyway, couldn't do much. "I suggest you to stay close to him. Don't let him die alone."
"No, not Théodred ... it's not fair. He's still so young!" Éowyn said desperately. "Who will tell our uncle?" She asked his brother.
"I'm sure he's going to make it, he's strong." continued Éomer, who did not seem to have listened to the hernalist's speech. "Death won't take him today, you'll see." Then he turned and left the room with a firm step: the mere sight of his cousin reduced in that state was too much for him to bear.
Éowyn imagined how her brother felt. A deep affection bound him to Théodred: years and years spent together, the two siblings had lost both their parents, and the prince of Rohan had grown up without his mother.
Théodred had always considered Éomer more than a cousin. From him he had learned to fight, from him he had learned to show courage in the face of all adversities.
Éowyn imagined that her brother probably felt guilty for having allowed the Prince to go on patrol on his own. There had been rumors about the presence of Uruk-Hais in the Mark. And it was known that they were dangerous, it was known that against those creatures the weapons of Men were useless.
She took his cousin's cold hand. "Please, fight. As you've always done. Stay with us, Théodred." she whispered, as a tear ran slowly down her cheek. It seemed to burn her skin. Her face was also cold. It was always cold in the Palace, the freezing air brought by that icy February came from the thousand fissures in the ancient walls.
"A true misfortune, poor young man." said Grima, behind her.
He watched her from the doorway. Éowyn hated the way that black crow looked at her all the time. She also detested the fact that Grima was always following her uncle, poisoning his mind with harmful advice and pushing him to isolate himself from everything and everyone.
"I'm praying for him. He must survive." she answered anyway. It seemed that Grima was far from sorry for Théodred's fate. Éowyn did not want to give him the satisfaction of appearing desperate and afraid.
"And you are right. I'm sure our mighty gods will listen to you ..." he murmured, coming closer. The girl felt a new shiver. "... how could they ignore such a beautiful flower." he murmured, looking at her from head to toe.
"Please leave me alone with my cousin." she replied, making an effort to look at him. Éowyn always avoided eye contact with that repulsive man, she feared that Grima could misunderstand her looks. Éowyn was sure he was looking forward to misunderstanding, so to have a justification for molesting her even more.
"Oh sure, as you wish." the little man retorted, evidently annoyed. Éowyn rejected him on a daily basis, and the thing made him mad. "Stay close to him ... at least he will leave this world with a loving comfort."
Then he turned, after dropping the last lascivious look on the young woman's body.
Éowyn fell on her knees. She felt weak, helpless and vulnerable. The worst feelings for someone like her, who had grown up believing that women should be as strong as men... more than men.
She had learnt to use the sword during adolescence, and had become an expert in its use like all the women of Rohan, a small realm, open to any invasion. Edoras was not protected by a long cliff like Minas Tirith, the capital of Gondor. There were no high white walls to delimit the boundaries. All the citizens of their kingdom, of every sex, were required to learn the use of weapons, from the age of fourteen.
But, unlike many girls in the kingdom, Éowyn enjoyed fighting. It was in her blood, the blood of Éomund, first Marshal of Rohan. She even begged Théoden to let her go with the soldiers and watch over the borders of their territory, sometimes. Obviously, her uncle had always refused.
Éowyn was twenty-four years old at the time and her cousin twenty-five. Two young royals in a world that was becoming scary.
It's not fair. This agony is not fair, she thought.
She took her cousin's hand again. "If this is what Eru wants...farewell Théodred. Don't suffer needlessly." She whispered in a choked sob. "Thengel's blood dies with you."
⚜️⚜️⚜️
"Ah, such a misery." murmured Hammon, while with Goneril and Degarre he passed the gate of Edoras.
The rest of their legion waited in the valley. They had already set up tents and lit bonfires.
It was time to bargain and the soldiers knew it would take long. Maybe a whole day.
It was difficult to convince the governors and the rulers to hire a mercenary army: in part, because the price to pay was high. Partly, because of the lack of trust that surrounded that kind of army.
Mercenary was someone who sold himself and his art to the highest bidder. There were no signed contracts, however, only promises and a handshake, upon advance payment. Who could say that the same group of soldiers already highly paid would keep their word, and would not have fled, or worse, turned against their own "clients", in the presence of a better offer? There were never any guarantees and the rulers of all Arda knew it.
Sometimes, when threatened by looming invasions of enemies, they accepted. Some other times, they refused any agreement, as happened in Esgaroth.
Queen Sigrid, daughter of the deceased and much missed King Bard, the Bowman, had not even allowed Goneril to enter their borders.
Stupid woman, their General had commented, offended. Silly as only Queens can be. With her father it would have been different.
They were one thousand, twenty years before, under General Mainard, a deserter of the army of Gondor. He had stolen fifty of the best-prepared soldiers from Gondor and headed for the remotest corners of Arda, picking up marauders, ex-combatants, thieves, and every kind of scum, as long as they were male, human, and experienced in war. He had educated them in combat, he had taught them how to respect their companions and - not without difficulty - he had managed to transform a mass of wild warriors into a disciplined and compact legion.
Then, Goneril arrived.
The ungovernable element, the crazy splinter. Mainard appreciated her efficiency in battle, but he also feared her.
He had suggested Degarre many times to limit her raids, to check that she did not lose control during the clashes, because too many times he had seen her exaggerate.
Goneril, he said, reminded him of a killer wasp in a swarm of bees.
"How has Théoden reduced his land ... Eru is my witness, ten years ago the atmosphere here was very different." commented Degarre.
"Something fatal has come here." Hammon answered, looking at the sad and pale faces of the villagers. Many were dressed in rags.
The houses still looked decent, but they were left in a state of decay; not a vase of flowers on the windows, no child playing in the courtyard, the typical shouting of living cities could not be heard. Edoras was losing its soul, its vitality.
"Dale is the happiest land on earth in comparison." Hammon said again.
"Dale is a rich place, kingdom of merchants. Here ... poverty everywhere. My goodness...what happened?" Said Degarre.
"I told you what happened. Théoden is out of his mind." Goneril answered, dismounting from her black horse. "You!" She called a boy who was staring at them. "Lead our animals into your stables. And take these." She handed him six golden coins.
"We have no public stables here. There are those of the soldiers." the young man answered. Degarre feared to see him fall under a whiplash. Goneril hated objections to her orders, even if legitimate.
Instead, the woman seemed unexpectedly patient and repeated to the boy: "I see. This means that you will bring our animals into the stables of your knights. This is the kingdom of horses, right?"
The boy finally realized that he had to keep his mouth shut and did what she had just said.
"Follow me. And let me talk to the King." She then told her two captains.
The three of them climbed the stone staircase that led to the entrance to the
King's Palace. The banners with the symbols of the kingdom rose majestically, but Goneril noticed that one of the flags was dirty, crumpled. As if Théoden's mental and physical decay had magically also transferred to the symbols of his land.
Arriving at the entrance, the doors were opened by two soldiers on guard.
But it was not a welcome.
"Who are you?" asked a soldier with a beard and hair as red as fire, coming out of the door.
"Who are you." answered Goneril. "Introduce yourself, soldier, and keep in mind that you are speaking to a General."
"Yeah, sure...a woman ... head of a mercenary legion." the soldier retorted. "Your name."
Goneril didn't lose her cool.
"I will tell my name only to your King."
Degarre admired her strength on those occasions. Their Generaless wanted to make her interlocutors immediately understand that trying to diminish her importance was out of the question.
"Hear," said the soldier. "Our King is not in a condition to receive anyone, let alone a mad woman like you."
Goneril raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Do you think I'm crazy? Then ... I am in the right realm. Apparently your ruler also has some problems in his royal head. It is a rumor that runs throughout Arda." She approached the soldier, her green eyes sparkled. "I am here to talk about business. Or better, I am here to prevent those unfortunates out there, who should be your subjects, from being torn to pieces and then devoured by horrendous beings, so horrible that you can't even imagine."
"What are you talking about, woman?" the soldier asked.
"Degarre." called Goneril.
The captain came up with a sack in his hand. He searched in it and he pulled out the rotten head of a Uruk-Hai. Rohan's soldier grimaced with disgust.
"I'm talking about a new race of Orcs." said Goneril. "Take a good look at the size of this head. I assure you that it belongs to a gigantic and ferocious being. Only one of these monsters would slaughter your people if it entered here. And do you want to know something? There are hundreds of them marching towards Rohan. Indeed, to be more precise, they are already within your borders. One of these killed Théoden's son. And you need an army that will integrate your forces. "
The soldier looked away from that decapitated head and replied: "Theodred is alive. Wounded, but alive."
Hammon and Degarre looked at each other in amazement. Goneril, on the other hand, maintained her composure. "He will be dead before evening. I know that kind of wounds , soldier-who-doesn't-want-to introduce himself. That young man is on his way to Hell already."
Then she backed away a few steps, pointing to the black, blood-stained sac. "We killed this creature in the village of Bannock. And we did it for free. Let me talk to your King."
"Gamling." the soldier said. "My name is Gamling."
The woman smiled. She had won.
"Goneril, at your service."
Gamling first observed her, then the two captains behind her. "Give us the weapons."
"We have no weapons." answered Goneril. "Ours are out there in the camp. We are here to talk, not threaten."
"We will have to search you." Gamling said then.
"Try." was the woman's answer. "Would you dare touch me?"
Gamling sighed. "Then only you will be admitted in. Your captains will stay here, watched over by our guards." He finally decided.
"Very well." she said.
Gamling led the way into the Palace. The massive door closed behind them.
"You'll have to talk to Grima... Wormtongue. He's the one who makes the decisions now." Gamling informed her in a low voice, heading towards the throne.
"I'm not going to talk to whomever has a similar name. Your kingdom has lost all its honor, Gamling of Rohan." she answered with a grin.
The soldier became sad. "You're right about this."
"Who shows up here with an army?" screamed Grima from afar. "Who dares?"
"I want to talk to the King. You shut up." said Goneril.
As she approached, she saw immediately that something was wrong with Théoden. The one sitting limply on the throne in front of her was not an old man oppressed by old age.
He was a man possessed by something.