Purity

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any people, places, quotes, or anything else associated with the LOTR series. Any movie quotes are Peter Jackson's.

* * * * * * *

GWENNETH:

I could not believe it, and yet it had happened. Finally, after months of waiting, the Rohirrim had returned to Edoras...but the haste with which they came was not joyful. They did not rush through the gates to meet the arms of their loved ones. They rushed through to save the life of their prince.

When the riders had been spotted coming towards the city, the people's voices became animated and hopeful. I had rushed out on the terrace to see the return of my cousin and brother, for myself. I knew that their patrolling had not been well, or else they would not have come to the city. As unnerved as I was, I was still joyful at the prospect of seeing my brother, Theodred, and cousin, Eomer, again. I knew Eowyn would, too, be glad to have her own brother back.

I could feel the corners of my mouth beginning to fall from the smile I had held as I realized that the number of riders that had returned was less than the number of what we sent out. How many had we lost, I asked myself.

Faster and faster the steeds came until they entered the gates. Eomer was in the lead, I could see. As their leader, he would do no less. But it was what laid in his arms that distressed me the most. I could recognize the sight from half a mile away. There was Theodred, lying somnolant and bloodied. He sported a gash on his temple. The blow that caused that injury must have had enough force to kill him, I thought. Other than this, I could see nothing further wrong with his countenance from where I stood.

I felt in danger of swooning, myself. My legs shook madly. I could feel any color I had draining from my cheeks.

As I stood, frozen to where I stood, surveying the gruesome sight, Eomer had dismounted and rushed towards me, up the stairs of the hall. He must have noticed my composure waning, because he spoke loudly and urgently.

"Gwenneth! Quickly! Summon up some water and medicine!"

I did not hear him well, at first, but the message finally registered through my initial shock. I shook myself from my stupor and nodded shakily, at best. I picked up my skirts and rushed back inside, my voice calling the servants to bring the necessities, immediately. Some stared at me curiously, but others scrambled off to do as I had ordered.

I followed Eomer closely to the nearest healing chamber. Usually, he could run much faster than I could, but the load in his arms prevented any further movement than that which he was presently exerting.

Fairly hammering the doors open, I leaped out of Eomer's way as he quickly rushed in and deposited Theodred upon the fur-covered bed. A young girl entered with a basin of steaming water, a cloth, and a vial of medicine. I took it from her and shooed her away. She obeyed meekly. I was normally not so hostile with any of my people, but my concern for one person overrode my concern for others, at this moment.

Placing the cloth at his bedside, I began to clean the blood that flowed from his head wound, down his cheeks, and staining the fresh pillow. It was warm and sticky on my hands when I accidentally touched it, causing Theodred to flinch, but he did not awaken. 'A terrible sign, that.' I surmised.

I had begun to wipe once again when Eowyn rushed in, sitting opposite me at the bedside. Her face was pale, nearly white. She was out of breath, from running from her chambers, no doubt. Still, she found the breath to try and call Theodred out of his slumber. She called his name many times, but he only lie there, helpless.

I found this ironic, to say the least. Was I not known, much to my chagrin, as the helpless one? Was it not Theodred, my senior by four years, who had protected and watched me since I had begun to crawl? Had he not cared for me, as I was now caring for him? I slipped a salve over the freshly cleaned wound, eliciting a quiet groan from the man on the bed. That was all the sound he made. A normal man would have fairly screamed in agony. Mother's Fire was a harsh remedy for wounds such as these. Had he become entirely numb from sustaining his violent canker?

I looked to Eomer, tears blurring my vision as numerous thoughts assailed my mind. He looked in much the same state, though more composed and warrior-like. He only nodded lower, towards my brother's chest, and closed his eyes. What did he not wish to see?

I would soon find out. Ever so slowly, I peeled the remnants of his torn tunic away from his skin, and barely stopped myself from crying out loud. The fatal wound was almost too much to bear, the sight too grotesque. I let out a shaky sigh and closed my own eyes, letting a pair of tears fall down my cheeks. Blinking them away, I noticed from the side that Eowyn was biting her lip, to keep her own composure.

I pushed the covers up to Theodred's chin. Even the Mother's Fire would not be enough to save him, now. So said the reasonable half of me. But the romantic dreamer within me insisted that all would be well.

I just could not believe it.

*-*-*-*-*-*

"Your son is badly wounded, my lord." Eowyn said, breaking the icy silence in the hall of the King. She, Eomer, and I now stand before my father, Theoden, who is a sorry sight to see. His complexion is splotchy and snowy. His once-sandy blonde hair is now spindly and gray in color. His shoulders are hunched, and his blackened eyes have not looked up in what seemed like ages. He does not recognize me as his child, any longer.

He has shown virtually no reaction to this news. It is as if he had not heard Eowyn's words. He sits there, the same bored look on his face. Had I not been accustomed to the dreadful sight of him, I would have thought him sickly, and his behavior barbaric. But I know that his mind is not his own. Who owned it now, I am not for sure. Of what I am sure is that this is not the father I once knew and loved.

"He was ambushed by Orcs." Eomer continues. "If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force." I know that he is trying to sway his uncle's mind, but I also know that my father's mind is too far gone to even recognize a coherent thought, by now. He is no longer fit to rule.

"That is a lie!"

I must restrain myself from screaming. That leech Grima, is, once again, taking charge to push my father's mind further from his body. I sense Eowyn and Eomer turn to watch him glide into the hall from the shadows, his feet shuffling along the stone floor. I, however, do not look. I cannot stand the sight of that nefarious creature, and keep my eyes closed as I hear him scuffle to my father's side. "Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally." he says as he moves. It sounds gentle, almost coaxing, I know to keep my father's mind set in one direction. Still, I do not look.

My father begins to mumble, catching my attention. My head snaps to attention, my eyes locked on my father's figure. I have not heard even a hint of sound pass my father's lips in so long. It is almost like the coo of a dove, to me, relieving my worry. He then mumbles Grima's name once. It is a sickening sound, and Grima leans down close to hear his words.

"My son?" he says, almost imperceptibly. But my ears catch that phrase and relish it. I want to leap for joy! He is not lost to us, after all. He remembers Theodred, if only slightly!

I see Eomer's poise begin to wither as he watches Grima with a sickened sneer. He tries once more to grasp the King's attention. " Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will. Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman."

He then drops the helmet he holds to the ground. It topples over to face the throne, blatantly revealing the symbol of Saruman, the white hand. It is an ugly sight to see, the mark of a former ally turned our great foe.

Grima looks almost afraid. I know he has something to do with this. But his expression tightens as he kneels lower, his eyes leaving the imprint on the helmet, and resting on Eomer.

“Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?” he asks. His voice is dramatic with false sympathy for my father’s cause, but he cannot hide his true intent from me, nor from my cousins. His gaze is yet locked on Eomer’s.
“Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering.” His words are enunciated crisply, each letter articulated. His point is clear to us all.

I can see Eomer’s nails biting into his coarse hands. His restraint is at its end. Eowyn and I back away together, slowly, preparing to retreat to our respective chambers. This, we know, will not end well.

Further back from them, we see Eomer leap forward and grab Grima by his throat, trapping him between his own armored body and the hard stone pillar. I hear him speak lowly to him, perhaps a warning against him, should his devilry continue to spread through our halls. Had I his strength and his words, I would do no less than what Eomer’s task should be.

Eowyn and I stride away from them. My eyes are locked on my own feet as I walk. I wish not to see what Eomer will do. I feel Eowyn stop, suddenly, beside me. I stop as well, and look to see what has halted her. Her sight has found what my eyes wish most to avoid. But she looks not at Eomer, rather at his captive. His blackened eyes look almost caring as he watches her.

I know of his cravings for her. He wishes to possess her body, and has wished such for a good while. How strange that a man who was once good and kind can lose all senses of goodness in his quest for power!

Eowyn looks on, coldly, almost challenging Grima to try and escape and claim her. I see the flame building in Eomer’s eyes. His instinct as a brother has heightened his malice to dangerous proportions.

I place my arm about her shoulders and urge her forward. She is very tense. “Come.” I say simply. Her eyes do not meet mine, but she complies, nonetheless.

I hear Eomer’s voice resume its speech as we enclose ourselves in the safety of the shadows. He will, most likely, include the pursuit of Eowyn in his lecture. I cannot say it will do him any good. Eowyn walks on, no doubt to her room. I, however, stop quickly as I hear Eomer’s voice suddenly cease. I stand behind a pillar I had passed and oversee the climax of this battle.

I worry, now. Has he finally gone to far, and sealed his fate in the eyes of the dark servant? What happens next becomes a whirling blur to me, it is so difficult to believe, even with my sight of it. First, I hear the struggles of men, likely Eomer and his guards. This mixes with the sound of Grima’s judgement passing over my cousin, and Eomer’s strain against powers he cannot withstand.

Banishment.

Be kind and say death, I want to cry! But mercy will not be given, nor will the passing thought of anyone but Wormtongue, let alone princess of Rohan. Is he not my servant? Does he not obey the Lady of Rohan? No.

My meditation is interrupted as I see Eomer’s face contort in anger and hear his voice cry out as the wooden doors of Meduseld close upon him.

There is no warning as my eyes overflow, no pause to recollect what I have seen. I simply let myself drown in my sorrows as I fall to my knees and weep for my loss. I weep not only for loss of my cousin. I weep for my loss of hope.

I hear rain falling rapidly outside the window. The sun has stopped shining. My tear-streaked gaze wanders to the cleft in the wall just as thunder begins to roll. The black cloud has centered upon Rohan. Long have we awaited the storm’s approach. Now that it is here, we will wait for it to pass.

***************

I am sorry I haven't updated in a while. I have been SO busy! I can't even begin to list all of the stuff I've been doing! But, I am still writing, I assure you, and will continue to do so. Spring Break really gave me a chance to finally unwind. Also, I think the rating of this story will almost definitely go up, later.

This is the first chapter of the revised "Purity". I hope you enjoy it!