"I want that one."
Goneril had found a horse farm in the great city of Pelargir, capital of the Pelennin, one of the districts of Gondor.
Ten years before the battle at Helm's Deep, old General Mainard had led his legionaries to the great realm of men, in search of new jobs.
For weeks they have been allocating in that place, without having concluded anything, given the period of relative peace. A small army of mercenaries could not easily find work, without impending wars. Having enough time, the young warrior had had the opportunity to look around and think about her business. She remembered Amon's advice
(get a good horse)
and the time had come to find one.
There was, in the city, a famous breeder named Ossian, who had founded a prestigious farm. He said his animals cost a fortune.
One afternoon, on September, she had decided to visit him.
"Are you seriously saying you want to buy one of my horses? Do you have any idea how much they cost?" the old man had asked: he was not much taller than her, and could have been sixty years old. He had dedicated his whole life to horses. Ask me to show you poetry in motion, and I'll show you a horse, he used to say.
"I spent a good part of my life selecting the best stallions and the best mares. I believe, well...I'm sure, that a girl like you can't afford one of my animals. I don't know if you understand me. " He had said.
"Money is not a problem. I want that one." it had been Goneril's reply. She had indicated a black foal: the little horse jumped happily in a small enclosure. It had just been weaned.
"That one is too young. And it is really beyond your possibilities. It descends from the horse of an elven king. I am waiting for it to grow up to start training it, and then I will offer it to some sovereign, or governor. If you really insist, look over there: we have foals already trained a little, they cost less and I can sell them even now. They are excellent specimens, too. " Ossian had explained.
"One hundred golden coins." Goneril had replied dryly.
Ossian had rolled his eyes for a brief moment. "I don't think you understood me. That one is not for you. Don't make me repeat what I say."
"One hundred and fifty." she had continued. "I don't care that it's not trained. I'll train it by myself."
"How come a girl has so much money?" Ossian had asked incredulously.
"It's not your business. So what's your answer?" she had insisted. "I don't think you would receive a similar offer from others."
"Yes, I would. I sold horses for three hundred golden coins, my dear young lady. These numbers don't impress me. And with that foal, I could get four hundreds coins." the ineffable breeder had replied.
"Two hundred. They will all be in your hands today." she had offered. Ossian would have accepted, Goneril knew that. Just as she knew he had never sold a horse for three hundred golden coins. In those days, a palace could be built with a similar sum. No king worthy of that title would have wasted so much money on a horse. The merchants were astute and liars, but so was Goneril.
Ossian had hesitated, then his forehead had filled with droplets of sweat. Of course, it was an impressive sum for a foal.
"Are you thinking about it ?! I can hardly believe it. You should accept without saying a word." Goneril had said.
"Alright then." the man had surrendered. "But you won't have this animal before you bring me the bag with the coins. And before the sunset, or you won't get that horse." he had grumbled, a little annoyed at having to accept. But two hundred coins were two hundred coins, and that winter he should have rebuild all the stables and the fences. Yes, he needed her money.
"Deal done." Goneril had smiled, turning to look at that cute little horse.
"How are you going to call it? You have to give a name to a horse when you buy it." Ossian had said. "A foal without name brings bad luck."
"Aldair." she had replied. "It's the name of a star. The Elves are crazy for the light of the stars, d'you know? Its father belonged to the Elves, it seems fair to me."
Goneril had chosen Aldair because she had noticed its physical strength. The small rump had a definite curvature, the tips of the shoulders and the chest were well developed, the knees and shins were strong, and the hind quarters were already muscular. It was destined to become a robust horse.
Perfect for a warrior.
She thought of all this as she entered the Hornburg's stables. Rohan's soldiers had brought Aldair there, it was whinning and desperately trying to break free from the bridle, tied to a wooden bar. It felt the danger: the noise of the battle made it nervous.
"Be good. Now you have to help me, my friend. I really need you."
Goneril untied her horse and quickly led it up the ramp that connected the stables to the inside of the structure, where in the meantime Théoden, Aragorn and the others had taken refuge.
The woman saw that Legolas and the man from Gondor were blocking the door with tables and other pieces of furniture. A sign that defeat was close.
"So, King Théoden, things are getting complicate, I think." said Goneril.
Everyone turned around.
"Enough with your sarcasm, help us." Aragorn told her. "Don't let them come in."
"What are we fighting for, now?" whispered Theoden. He was giving up. Those monsters had invaded the Fortress, massacred his soldiers, and now only a heavy wooden door separated them from where they were. The King had been defeated.
"I don't know what your plans are, but I won't stay here." said Goneril, holding the bridle. "... and you should take that stuff away from the door, because I want to go out."
"...What do you want to do?!" Gimli asked.
"I'll leave with Aldair." She caressed the animal's neck. "... we'll charge: my horse is strong enough to knock them down."
"Those beasts will kill you and the horse!" Gimli answered.
The woman looked at him. "If you have a better alternative, speak!"
She shouted. Then she smiled. No, she couldn't get angry at a Dwarf. He was already disadvantaged just for being a Dwarf. The usual malevolent grin then reappeared on her face.
Watching those cold eyes, Aragorn found himself thinking that Sauron perhaps had been present in the room when the girl was conceived. She could easily have been his creature.
However, the idea of the woman was not at all wrong. A wild charge with horses could have disoriented the Orcs' army. Of course, it was a potentially suicidal action, but better than hiding in there like rats.
"So much death. What can men do against such hatred ..." Théoden said again.
Goneril approached him. "Well, these are words of a coward...and you should be my father?"
The king looked into her eyes. In those eyes that were identical to Margery's ones. "I'm sorry, Idis. Forgive me, if you can. For everything."
The woman shook her head. "I'm not your daughter. I don't want to be, not of a weak man. I don't know what happened to that child after your soldiers brought her away from the realm, but I'll tell you what your niece did this evening: she faced and killed two Uruk-Hai's. Alone. " said Goneril.
"Éowyn ... ?!" asked Theoden.
"Yes, Éowyn. Can this perhaps mean that a twenty-four-year-old girl is braver than a king? Because this is what I think." answered the warrior. "And I won't stay here. I won't end up like you."
"She is right." Aragorn intervened. "Face them, Your Majesty."
Théoden did not answer.
"Ride with us." the man continued.
Goneril sighed: useless words, Théoden had waved the white flag and game over. Then she looked around. He noticed Haldir was not there. "Where is the Elf of Lórien?" she asked.
At that question, Aragorn lowered his gaze. He answered with a nod of his head. He didn't say a word, but his blue eyes spoke.
He's gone.
⚜️⚜️⚜️
So you are dead, thought Goneril, after receiving the news. Aragorn had told her that the Captain of Lórien had fallen under the blows of the Uruks.
She wondered what his last thought had been: perhaps that Roswehn, perhaps his brothers, perhaps Galadriel. She imagined his spirit directed towards the mysterious Halls of Mandos, the afterlife of the Elves, where he would have awaited reincarnation.
However, that unfortunate Elf had left his regrets and torments there and was now enjoying his peace.
Goneril almost envied him.
A faint light penetrated the room, from one of the slits in the walls.
"The sun is rising." said Gimli.
"The Wizard promised he would come here at dawn. You better hope so." commented Goneril, mounting on Aldair. "I'm leaving, Majesty."
"Yes!" Théoden suddenly shouted. Perhaps it had been the words of his alleged daughter, perhaps Aragorn's exhortations. However, he seemed to have recovered from his apathy. With pride, he put on his helmet and he also mounted on his steed.
His soldiers, and Aragorn and Legolas, did the same. "Come on then! Come on, Eorlingas!" he yelled.
The king launched the charge and mercilessly ran over the Uruks, who in the meantime had torn off the door. As the woman had said, those monsters could not resist the horses' charge: they were cut down like wheat in the summer.
Goneril had observed the whole scene impressed by the sudden strength and regal dignity that had reappeared in Théoden. In that King who only a few minutes before seemed ready to surrender.
With a high neigh, Aldair urged her to do something. "You're right. I'm tired of lingering in this cold place. Come on, let's show everyone what charge means." That said, with one stroke of the reins she spurred her expensive horse.
⚜️⚜️⚜️
Dawn arrived.
The sun's rays spread over that wide valley in front of Helm's Deep. The warm and wonderful light confused the Uruk-Hai's, who, partially blinded, covered their eyes with their hands.
But it was not that view that made Goneril open her mouth in disbelief . And it was not even the announced arrival of Gandalf, who as promised appeared on a hill to the east, followed by Éomer and his Rohirrim.
There was another group of warriors, with the sorcerer. Up there with Gandalf, appeared those men whom she had cursed every day since her arrival in Edoras.
Yes, the symbol on the black shields was their symbol. The one she had drawn many years before.
A perfect circle, half moon and half sun united: it meant that those soldiers could fight both at daytime and at night.
And she immediately recognized the face of the man who commanded them. That captain she had cursed a thousand time.
Degarre.