Darkness Unescapable

Gandalf approached Theoden, who struggled to stand. Aragorn helped the king to his feet, as Theoden stared about him in dismay.

"Where are the marshals?" Theoden demanded weakly. "Where is my son? Where is Eomer? Whither have gone the riders of the Riddermark?"

Gandalf nodded sympathetically. "They ride the borders of your beleaguered kingdom, Theoden," he said. "Orc pour over your lands like water, and the valiant riders of your house seek to dam the flood."

Theoden stared at him in horror.

"My lord!"

The anguished cry came but a moment before Eowyn had flown across the hall to stand at her uncle's side, displacing Aragorn. Theoden looked down at the fair face, as if searching his memory for her name. Was it his dear sister who called him thus? Was it Morwen Steelsheen returned?

Eowyn. It was Eowyn. But oh the look of despair in her eyes might break his heart. He had failed! Failed his people, failed his family, failed to withstand the ensaring cobwebs of wordspells woven around him like a spider binding her prey.

"Eowyn," he whispered brokenly. "What has brought thee to this pass?"

Eowyn nearly let go of Theoden, so great was her shock. He spoke as of old, with firm words and lordly timbre.

"Uncle! How is this...are you..." Eowyn could not finish her questions, for suddenly there were too many.

Theoden stared long and hard at Aragorn, who bore the gaze impassively.

"I am returned, and only death will take me from my rightful rule again," he said grimly.


~~~

There was little ale and less food, but what there was of it was given freely to the people of Meduseld that night. Torches burned in the great hall, and all celebrated the return to 'good health' of their beloved king.

Hale song, hearty laughter and furtive lovemaking in dark corners filled the Golden Hall, and it seemed that a shadow so newly departed could not so soon return.

"What you say is madness, Gandalf," Theoden said quietly as the two of them sat on the dais, watching the revelers. "Yours is a quest without hope."

"Nay, Theoden King," Gandalf replied unflappably. "It is a quest *for* hope. The last hope of Middle Earth."

Theoden sat and sipped the mead in his bronze chalice. It was good to taste food and drink again, to actually taste it.

"And what would you have the Horse Lords do?" Theoden asked coldly.

"Ride to the aid of Gondor," Gandalf replied instantly. "There are yet those who fight valiantly to defend Minas Tirith, and to see Rohan rekindled would draw the eye of the Enemy from his own lands."

"And onto mine own," Theoden growled. "To see that my half-starved people are like lambs for the slaughter. I'll not do it. I'll not invite war to Rohan, nor would I empty her of riders to go defend another kingdom. For where was Gondor while I slept? What aid did they send us? What succor in dark times did they think to offer their brethren? Nay, Gondor prides itself on its pride. I will pride myself on seeing my people survive."

Gandalf paused, many things of past and present and future unfolding in his mind. "As you say, my king," he said mildly. "As you say..."

The wizard's eyes drifted over the gay Rohirrim, finding the dark figure of Aragorn standing alone and still. No. Not alone. For a familiar golden head stood at his side. The wizard smiled thoughtfully.

Eowyn had approached Aragorn with a chalice, to offer him her thanks for the healing of Theoden. He had accepted her thanks and drunk deep of the warm mead. But he was troubled.

"My lady," he whispered. "I still fear for you within this hall."

"You do?" Eowyn said with a small laugh, somewhat awkward from disuse.

"The king's advisor, Grima, son of Galmod - "

"Have no worries for him, my lord," Eowyn replied quickly and coldly.

Aragorn stared at her, his eyes questioning her. Eowyn smiled, a small, soft smile of satisfaction.

"Wormtongue is gone from here," she said. "He fled not long after my uncle awoke. But he was dispatched without undue trouble by good Hama, and his cursed tongue now lies still."

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. "I am glad he will no longer trouble you, my lady," he said softly.

Eowyn looked up at him sharply, then looked away. "It is passed now, I would speak of it no more," she said curtly, for indeed, such memories were not pleasant to think of. Not on a night that was supposed to be joyous.

For a moment, they were silent together, watching the people mill about. Aragorn's thoughts drifted back to Arwen. She had said she would wait for him until the last ship left for Valinor. She had said she had faith in him. But he felt sands of time slipping through his fingers, and he could almost see the sails of the white ship unfurling in the last dawn in Middle Earth. But thus he would sacrifice his heart's desire to ensure that Middle Earth had another morning. To ensure that the White Lady of Rohan might find joy again in a spring come again. That the folk who worked the land and tended the shops, and even brewed the ale they now drank could do so in light and freedom.

"I know what it is you seek to do."

Eowyn's voice was soft, meant for him alone. He looked down at the maiden again. "Indeed?"

"Aye, and had you asked me this morning if I believe it could be done, I would have doubted," she said. "But now, I have hope."

Aragorn's expression was inscrutable.

"Then cling to it, my lady, for you will have need of it in the days to come," he said.

Eowyn looked up at him. "I do not know what my uncle will do to aid your cause, Lord Aragorn," she whispered fiercely. "But I will do all in my power to help. You have the word of Eomund's daughter."

Aragorn was touched and he bowed to her. "I am honored, and I - "

His words were cut off by a joyous shout. A paige had arrived, breathless and jubilant.

"Prince Theodred, Lord Eomer!" he cried out. "They are returned! They are come!"