"At the dawn of the fifth day, look East." said Gandalf to Aragorn, before taking the horse and leaving. The ranger suspected that the Wizard had gone to look for Éomer, who was wandering through the northern plains with his soldiers, after being banished by Grima.
"That Istari should stay here." Goneril had commented. "We will find ourselves fighting against legions of Uruk-Hai's, magic could make the difference."
"Gandalf knows what he is doing, it is not up to us to judge his choices." Legolas had replied dryly. The Elf no longer looked at her, he was evidently annoyed by the blackmail the woman had threatened against him and his father. But Goneril was sure there would soon be another confrontation between them. It remained to be clarified what role Amon - the healer kicked out from Greenwood by King Thranduil sixty years earlier - had played in the history of her life. She was certain that the Elven Prince was devoured by curiosity about it.
The multitude of inhabitants of Edoras had quietly set in motion. A silent, slow and terrified mass. Théoden had decided to take lots of breaks during the march.
Goneril knew they had to expect an attack, sooner or later. The Orcs would never have missed the tempting opportunity: children, women and the sick all lined up, ready to be killed.
There were Rohan's knights, however, a sufficient number to keep those beasts at distance and to allow the most helpless to escape in case of an ambush.
She had her own plan.
She knew Helm's Deep structure very well. She had studied every defensive fortress of Middle-earth, in moments of rest, when her legionaries camped and she remained alone in her personal tent to reflect. That structure had been carved out of the rock, but it had a hidden escape tunnel. An underground path, which led from the basement between the rear mountains, and reached the other side. A gallery that would have been crossed with difficulty by a mass of men, women, and frightened children, but much more easily by a single woman and a horse.
Her idea was to wait for the arrival of Saruman's army, let it attack the fortress, and during the general confusion, take Aldair and leave that place.
However, there was no hope.
Aragorn and Théoden lived on pious illusions, but the female soldier knew very well that the white Wizard from Isengard would find a way to break through the walls of the fortress. It was Saruman, after all. And he had sided with Sauron, which greatly increased his malice.
Once she escaped through the mountains, she would have galloped up to Edoras, which would have been empty at that moment. The king's palace most likely hid treasures full of gold. Goneril would take everything there was to take, load it on Aldair's saddle, and leave.
Perhaps that infamous Degarre had already laid his hands on the boxes of coins accumulated over the years. But the treasure of Edoras was still there, where everyone could find it.
She had even thought of going away immediately from Edoras, waiting patiently for the exodus to be completed and entering the King's residence undisturbed. But Théoden, who was not stupid, would have understood her intentions and given orders to bring Rohan's riches with them. Perhaps he suspected that she was his daughter, but for the moment she was just a mercenary warrior, people who were not very worthy of trust.
"I made stew, would you like some?" asked Éowyn suddenly. The march had stopped for the second time. Goneril detested those continuous interruptions on the way, there was no time to lose. The sun wouldn't stay high for long.
"Keep that stuff away from me. Judging by the smell, it would make a goblin sick." she replied.
"You could be kinder." Éowyn protested. After getting a harsh "no thanks" from Gimli too, the young princess went back to Goneril.
Éowyn put the bowl with the stew on the ground and sat down next to her. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" she asked.
Goneril sighed and began to tell: "I ran away from home when I was thirteen, as I told you. I brought a sword with me. It wasn't that much: the blade was crooked and a little rusty. But it could cut ... and kill. I practiced alone, at first, against the trunks of trees ... " She said, half lying on the withered grass. "... one fine day, I met my future teacher."
"That Elf you were talking about?" the girl asked.
"Yes. Amon. He had passed in front of me with his horse, while I was walking along a path in the woods that would take me south, near the Hobbits Shire. He realized immediately that I was sick." explained Goneril. "Those abrasions left by my stepfather's lashes had not healed, despite the fact that some months had passed. Also, there was an infection going on. Obviously I couldn't have known ... until I got a fever."
Éowyn listened, totally absorbed in Goneril's stories. A hundred lashes on her back. She would have fainted after just one. "Did he cure you?"
"He did more than healing me." Goneril smiled. "He removed every scar with his magic. And he offered to teach me how to use the sword."
"He did it without wanting anything in return? Generous of him." Éowyn observed.
"Not really, dear. He wanted something from me: that I spread the word." revealed Goneril.
"What ... what word?" the young princess asked, curious.
The warrior looked towards Legolas. The rumor that a half-blood Elf lives in Greenwood.
"Nothing of your concern. Go and offer that soup to these people ... maybe some hungry madman will dare eat it." said Goneril.
Éowyn stood up angrily and went to the spot where Aragorn was sitting.
"Ha! If that guy eats her stew, Isildur's blood will die today, on this plain." She said to herself, then laughed. It was also probable that Théoden's niece had a huge crush on Aragorn.
I'm sorry for you if you plan to compete with an elven princess, she thought.
Yes, the soldier of Gondor was in love with Elrond's daughter and this removed any glimmer of hope from Éowyn.
Regarding Amon, she hadn't really told everything. She had not told Éowyn that the Healer had offered her an accommodation in his house, a cave hidden by a thick bush.
Amon had initially sought protection by Lord Elrond, who had rejected him after learning of his expulsion from Greenwood and then also from Lord Celeborn, in Lórien, who had liquidated him, too.
He had suddenly become an Elf disowned by his own people, a renegade.
Amon had therefore accepted to live alone, and had chosen a sufficiently spacious cave. With patience, he had cleaned and arranged it over time, and made a house worthy of an Eldar. He had had forty-three years to do it, so many had passed since the day Thranduil had ignominiously kicked him out. The same day the little bastard was born, as Amon called him, that was, Legolas' half-breed brother. The only existing Elf with round ears, like those of humans.
Amon was determined to go to Valinor, to the Undying Lands, but something held him back. A resentment towards the royal family of Eryn Galen, or Greenwood, who needed to vent.
He had not digested the treatment suffered by the King. Not after centuries spent caring for King Oropher, Queen Hellebeth, then Thranduil and his wife Calenduin. And for Legolas. He had been the most devoted subject of that ungrateful Sindar family. Banished forever because of a shabby ignoble mortal woman. He always called her that, referring to Thranduil's mistress.
Goneril had asked him her name, but Amon didn't even want to pronounce it.
However, against the mortal with whom he had lived for seven years in the cave, named Goneril, Amon had not been so contemptuous. Perhaps because, in her, he had noticed a touch of malevolence that could be useful to him. Even the human girl wanted revenge against life, which had been horribly unfair to her.
One evening, they both swore an oath: Amon had sworn to ruin the King of Greenwood and his illegitimate son, she had sworn to build her own kingdom, where to take refuge and finally find a dimension where to live in peace. But to do this, Goneril needed gold. And Amon needed an instrument for his revenge.
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"You will not find money easily in the realms of men. You should work a hundred lives to accumulate the amount you need. You have to find another way." Amon had suggested to her, a night when it was raining outside and they had lit a small bonfire inside the cave. Goneril was already sixteen at the time. Three years had passed since her meeting with the Elf.
"What am I supposed to do? Should I rob people?" She naively asked.
"No. You can earn that money, thanks to the most ancient art we know of. War." Amon had explained. "You must learn to fight in an exceptional way, like us Elves. And then, join a mercenary group, become their best fighter, and the money will come. Those warrior formations are very well paid, from what I know."
"I already know how to fight. You taught me everything there is to know." Goneril had replied.
"No. You must practice for at least another five years. You have not yet developed the agility of the Elves." Amon had objected. "Later, when the time has come, we will separate. You will go your way, and I will go to Valinor. That will be the moment when I will reveal to you what my revenge is."
Instead, only another four years passed before Amon decided that his pupil had been properly shaped. On the day of their farewell, the Elf had spoken to her: "So, have you understood? Look for a warrior group. Get into their ranks. Strive, over the years, to take command. And when you are quite numerous and strong, go to East, towards the Woodland Realm. Ask to meet King Thranduil, or Prince Legolas. And tell them these words ..."
Then Amon had told her everything. About Thranduil and his beloved mortal, about the discovery of pregnancy, about the half-blood child born from that union, about the Wizard, Radagast: he explained how the old man had been called by Thranduil, because the King feared that some mysterious and evil force was threatening his second child. Then they discovered that the child was destined, many centuries later, to become an instrument of Morgoth. Thus said a prophecy, brought to the attention of all of them precisely by Radagast. The existence of the half-breed should therefore remain hidden.
But Amon knew it. And Thranduil foolishly banished him from his territory, forgetting that the secret would be revealed in that way. "Worse for him," the Healer told Goneril. "... and better for you. Blackmail him. Go to him and tell him you know everything, even his son's name. Ask him for some of his treasures in exchange for your silence. Thranduil is obscenely rich, I can assure you. Threat him, and you will see how quickly he will give you what you want. "
"It's a brilliant idea. But what is your revenge? If I kept my mouth shut, if Thranduil gave me what I wanted, everything would remain as it is." she had objected.
"After getting chests full of diamonds and silver from the Elf King, you will go to Mordor. And you will tell the Orcs about his son." Amon had concluded.
"So I would go against the word given. It would be infamous." Goneril had replied.
"Oh, and who cares? Certainly not me. I will be in the Undying Lands already. And you shouldn't be interested either: in fact, it is likely that the Orcs will give you a reward in exchange for a similar secret." the Elf had answered. "... in this life you must always and only care for your business, dear. It was my first lesson, remember?"
"Yes ... Amon ... but ..." she timidly tried to protest. There was something wrong with what the Elf had told her. She was in debt with him, he had saved her. But the girl was not entirely convinced that her friend was a great model of behavior. What he had suggested to her was terribly wrong.
"Listen: what has this world done for you? Do you want to continue to behave well in exchange for what? Hunger, violence, loneliness? Take all that life can give you and don't have scruples. They are useless, like regrets." finished Amon.
At those cynical words, Goneril began to guess why Thranduil had kicked him out from Greenwood. The Elf with her had forgotten he was an Elf. He had lost his wise, benevolent, enlightened Nature. It almost seemed to hear an Orc talking.
It was after saying farewell to Amon that Goneril had set off again. She had to find her future army.
While she was lost in her memories, Théoden gave orders to leave. Wearily, the woman got up from the ground and climbed on to Aldair who looked strangely nervous. "What's up? ..." she said. She began to worry: her horse had a formidable instinct and that sudden tension was not a good sign at all.
Both heard a sound.
A high, prolonged sound.
The scream of an animal.
Aldair immediately got nervous.
"What's the problem with your horse?" Gimli asked: he always sat in the saddle with Legolas.
"He heard something, and me too ..." she replied. The Elf and the Dwarf listened, but the wind brought no sound. "Bah, there's nothing ..." Gimli said.
"I told you there's something beyond those hills!" Goneril insisted. "Some ... predator."
"It must have been a wolf. It is possible, these are wild lands." Legolas intervened.
"A wolf ... or a Warg." mumbled Goneril. Here we go, she thought. "Elf, get off your horse and follow me." she ordered Legolas.
"And why should I?" he asked dryly.
Goneril turned impatiently. "Because I need your eyes and your ears!" She dismounted from Aldair. "You can still lead the horses by the bridles, Dwarf." She said, turning to Gimli.
"I am not taking orders from..." he protested.
Another howl.
That time also Théoden and Aragorn and all the people of Edoras heard it.
"I told you not to underestimate Saruman." said Goneril. "He sent his wolves here and ... they are hungry."