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★。＼｜／。★
˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ SEEDS OF DARKNESS ❫ ❞
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT THREE  ── face et spera 🏹 ⁺⑅

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CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY  ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ IT WAS REAL ELGARAIN ❞
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 3019
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━━ ˚ ₊ ♡ 🏹
❝ 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣
𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝙨𝙖𝙙 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 ❞

*✧ ─── FANGORN FOREST SEEMS LIGHTER NOW THAT THEY WERE ONCE MORE REUNITED. The old and weathered branches sway in the wind like hands beckoning them forward. Their dark leaves drawing dancing shadows on the forest floor. In front of the group, Gandalf walks with a quick pace, not one to waste time. Her own eyes however, rarely stray away from her queen.

She dares not admit it. But something else draws her closer, like a silent whisper summoning her. It speaks unfathomable words of long forgotten languages and yet her heart understands it effortlessly.

Vilya speaks to her and Gyda is afraid to find what it means. If a darkness might capture her heart like the One Ring did Boromir's.

Elgarain, despite her effort to hide her pain, winches as she walks. Her body more than surely still bruised and healing. It makes her heart ache at the sight. As Elgarain stumbles forward, Gyda moves closer, like a shadow she follows her every step.

"Tell me, why are we going to Edoras?" Gimli calls out to where Gandalf was walking ahead. "It is no short distance."

"We hear of trouble in Rohan," Aragorn replies instead, looking at Gandalf. "It goes ill with the king."

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured," Gandalf sighs worriedly. "That is why we must go and quickly."

Gyda frowns, worry gnawing in her stomach.

"Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here then? In this horrid, dark, tree-infested-" Gimli never gets to finish his sentence, for he got interrupted by the groaning and cracking of branches. "Ah, I mean charming! Quite charming forest."

Gyda smirks and catches Legolas' amused smile and as their eyes meets, for a moment everything fades away. She is reminded of their time spend in Lothlorien and a warmth spreads through her.

But Gandalf interrupts her thoughts as he stops next to Gimli. "It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend," Aragorn declares, bowing closer towards the wizard with a smile. "You still speak in riddles."

Gandalf chuckles; and to Gyda the sound reminds her of her father. The way their eyes crinkle and their eyes twinkle with unbridled joy.

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days," Gandalf reveals. "The Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong."

Gyda's eyes widen with wonder. Onodrim, created at the behest of Yavanna.

"Strong?" Gimli grumbles. "Oh, that's good."

"So, stop your fretting, Master Dwarf," Gandalf implores, suddenly stern as he picks up the pace again. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be."

"This new Gandalf is more grumpy than the old one," Gimli mutters before following the wizard.

Elgarain chuckles softly. "Has he been complaining like this the entire time?" she asks, turning to look at Gyda.

Gyda thinks back to their journey and she nods, a small smile tugging at her own lips. "Our master dwarf has found that running makes him quite unpleasant." She quips.

"I can only imagine," Elgarain sighs softly but then her smile slowly fades. "What happened when the Uruk-Hai attacked? Did you find-" she cuts herself off, but then takes a deep breath and forces herself to continue. "Did you find Boromir?"

Her breath hitches in her throat as unpleasant memories flash past her eyes. "I-I did. We did." She pauses, closing her eyes for a moment. "He died with his friends surrounding him."

They took the little o-ones and and... elga-Elgarain.

"At least he wasn't alone in the end."

The grim memory of the man of Gondor sits between them for a moment, before Gyda slowly turns to retrieve something from her satchel. "It didn't survive the battle." The wood digs in her skin as she shows it to her High-Queen.

Broken, in pieces, and stained with blood, is Elgarain's glaive.

With trembling hands Elgarain takes the pieces. "It has served me well," she mutters and then turns to look at Gyda with watery eyes. "Thank you for carrying this with you."

Gyda smiles softly, letting her hands trail over the wood one last time, silently thanking it. "It has."

"If you ever get the chance to visit Mirkwood again, you can bring me home a new one," Elgarain says while trying, and failing, to keep a smile from her face.

Gyda's cheeks are dusted red at the implication. "Perhaps."

But she wonders, if a chance would arise again...if she might still be welcomed. She fearfully wonders if the ocean between herself and Legolas hasn't grown uncrossable.

Elgarain's gaze flickers to where Legolas is walking ahead of them, side by side with Gimli. Then she looks back to her friend. "Don't push him away, Gyda." A trembling sigh falls from her lips. "Don't make the same mistake I did."

"It is not as easy as to just decide to..." love him.

She dares not to speak it out loud now. "We must complete this quest first. It is our duty." She states instead to shake away the mere idea. For now this is what matters. It has to come first.

"And what about our duty to our heart?" Elgarain wonders out loud. "Or perhaps such things aren't meant for us."

It saddens Gyda to hear Elgarain speak so forlornly about the affairs of the heart, and even if she wants to comfort her with sweetened words and honeyed promises, she can't. Because duty and love rarely go hand in hand and she refuses her closest friend fall to false hope.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Elgarain." Gyda muses sadly, "and I promised I shall stand with you to shoulder its burden. Love must wait, if it stands in the way of your people."

It remains silent for a moment as they trek further through Fangorn forest. The canopy above them sheltering them from the sun and only a small gentle breeze sways the branches.

"I-I'm not sure how to say this and you're probably going to think I'm insane but..." Gyda turns back to look at Elgarain as the Elleth nervously looks around "I had the strangest dream two nights ago. You were in it, you said-"

The amber forest. The dream that had felt so real...so alive.

"-You can't stay here, nesa." Gyda interrupts knowingly. "It was real Elgarain."

Elgarain stares at her with wide eyes "But how? I've been thinking about it but I can't recall ever reading or hearing anything about sharing dreams. It shouldn't be possible." She breaths out in disbelief.

"I haven't heard about such things either..." She hesitates, glancing at Aragorn. "Neither did Aragorn. But it must mean something, it has to."

"You told Aragorn? Why?"

"He was awake when I woke up after..." She takes a deep breath. "Something in me told me to tell him. That I could trust him with this. And...and I felt he deserved to know I had seen you."

Elgarain looks far away in her thoughts and Gyda remembers sharing her fears with the crownless king. "He was scared for you."

She sighs. "I wish I could push aside my feelings for the greater good as easily as you."

Her heart plummets to the depth of her stomach. Gyda never wishes Elgarain would ever learns to do such things. Her experience came from pain and suffering, from a legacy so heavy and a fear so profound it could shatter her any moment. Never, does Gyda want Elgarain to experience watching—holding someone in her arms, someone she loves and watch them die... watch them sacrifice themselves in the name of love.

"It gets easier with time," Gyda mumbles, it is all she can say and even with those dark thoughts her eyes can't help but drift to Legolas.

Elgarain looks away before Gyda would see her smile. "I hope so," she whispers.

By the time they reach the edge of the forest, the sun was at its highest point. Grasslands and hills stretch out around them as far as the eye could see like a grass ocean. But despite the length they had traveled, a long and weary journey is ahead of them.

As they step out of the shadows of the trees, they are greeted by the neighing of three horses. They each wear saddles and reigns crafted with the same symbols of the horse lords. One Gyda admits she does not even know the name of.

Gyda finds herself standing a little bit away from the others, letting the sun soak her pale skin and warm her up. "You may journey on horseback now Master dwarf." Gyda mumbles when she senses the dwarf coming up behind her. "cross-county be wasted on the likes of your kin it seemed." She jests.

The dwarf splutters and curses in his own language. "I managed have I not lass!"

She chuckles and opens her eyes again to look at Gimli and she smiles. "You have..." She pauses a look of genuine gratitude graces her features. "I thank you Gimli for staying. For going after Elgarain and the Hobbits. No oath has bound you to it."

Gimli grins up at her from beneath his beard. "I had no intention to turn away from danger when we started this journey. I shall die before I leave anyone behind."

"Then you are honorable." Another sly grin creeps on her face, "for a dwarf of course."

Gimli scoffs and crosses his arms over his hammer. "What know you elf of the values of my people."

"That they're good people." She answers honestly.

His gaze softens. "You're not too bad, for an elf."

Gyda chuckles, seeing Legolas and Elgarain stand by a beautiful brown mare, and decides to join them. She pats Gimli's shoulder as she passes him.

"Éomer said his name is Baldor. He was meant for Gyda but she ran ahead of us to where they piled the carcasses and burned them." Gyda hears Legolas explain to her High-Queen.

"He can carry me now," Gyda's voices as she comes up from behind them.

She can feel Legolas' eyes one her, they burn much like the sun into her skin, but she doesn't look his way. Instead she swiftly moves on top of Baldor's back and combs her fingers gently through the mane of the mighty beast.

"You can ride with me, Elgarain," Gyda looks down at the High-Queen and offers her hand and Elgarain gratefully accepts the help.

As Elgarain settles behind her in the saddle, Gyda takes the reins in her hand, the soft leather pleasant in her grip as she instructs Baldor to move with a click of her tongue. The horse moves carefully and they are faced with Gandalf and Aragorn, the first remains without a horse. Gimli rides with Legolas but Aragorn and Gandalf are too heavy to be carried by one horse.

But by the sight of Gandalf's unfaced gaze, Gyda didn't feel worried. Instead she watches as the White Wizard steps forward and lets out a long and sharp whistle, a tune that echoes across the plains of Rohan. As it fades away in the distance a new sound answers from beyond the horizon hidden by ridges and hills. Forward came the hooves of a beautiful white horse galloping as if riding the wind.

"That is one of the Mearas," Legolas breaths in awe. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

Gyda does not voice her wonderment but her eyes glim with awe at the sight of the mighty creature she had only ever heard stories about. The horse moves faster and more graceful than any other creature. Such was the might of the Mearas. For they surpassed all other horses in intelligence, speed and strength. According to the old tales they were brought from the West by Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar.

With a soft neigh the horse slows to a halt in front of the White Wizard, who pets him lovingly. "Shadowfax," Gandalf chipperly greets him. "He is the lord of all horses and has been my friend through many dangers."

They set out with a fast pace. The horses seem strengthened by the presence of Shadowfax and ride faster than Gyda had ever witnessed. They rode on through sunset and through a large part of the night. The rolling hills of Rohan and the rock structures blurring together like a distant memory. When at last they halt it was far passed midnight.

Gyda slows down Baldor and the mare trots down the steep hill until he comes to a stop at the end of the dipped valley Gandalf has chosen. With an ache and a stiff back, Gyda dismounts the horse just as Elgarain sets foot on the grass.

"We will only rest for a short while," Gandalf speaks softly. "Sleep, I will stand on guard."

Exhaustion creeps through her and tiredly she blinks up at the stars that shine above her, the moon illuminated the plain of Rohan in a silver light. Her eyes search for a place to rest and unintentionally she finds Legolas as he settles himself against a rock.

Almost unsurely, she moves toward him, and he watches her cautiously, like he expects her to bail and turn around on her heel.

Truthfully, she wants to, but she gathers all the courage she has left and marches on.

Silently, she sits down next to him, her sore back presses against the cold, hard-edged stone and her shoulder brushes against his.

A spark shoots up her arm as her hands barely grazes his. "I am sorry." She breaks the silently in a hushed voice. "for..." She bites the inside of her cheek, before she can find it in herself to continue. "for shutting you out."

Gyda doesn't look at him, frightened by what she might find if she does.

"I understand Gyda." He whispers and the way he speaks her name makes her heart flutter. "You were worried about Elgarain. Bonds such as the one you share with her are rare. I can't fathom the idea and agony of losing someone like that."

She swallows the lump in her throat. "Still, I did not want you to feel as if I was angry with you..." I was angry at myself.

"I didn't wish you to feel responsible for it. For what happened to her and the Hobbits."

The genuine care in his words, in his voice makes her look at him, gentle blue eyes pierce her own and for a moment all is well in the world again.

"I feel I always will carry such burden, Legolas." She admits quietly under the stars, the same blanket of stars she once sat under with him back in Mirkwood when she did not yet know him. When, even then she could not help but trust him with her darkest demons.

Almost uncertainly, Legolas reaches for her hand. "Then I will help you carry it if you'd let me."

She wants to deny him, but her heart defies her head. "You do that for me?"

His smile is soft, "My heart belongs to you Gyda, as I have said in Lothlorién. I do anything for you."

"Then I'll try to let you." Is all she can promise now. All she can give to him whilst on this journey, whilst Elgarain is beside her. Perhaps, the odds will always stand in their way. Her legacy and sense of duty a burden she cannot lift.

But now, the promise of maybe is all they need.

With those words, Gyda curls in herself, feels the crackling heat of the embers of the fire that Gandalf made warm her skin and lets sleep take her.

When she wakes, she's still against the rock, but her head is nestled in the crook of Legolas' neck, his own head leaning on top of hers. The domesticity of it feels foreign and yet as if she was always meant to be there.

Gently she shakes Legolas awake, when she catches Gandalf's eye.

His eyes flutter open, and he smiles at her. He is the first to stand up, offering his hand to pull her to her feet.

She stretches her arms above her head, hissing as the strain of the day before catches up to her again.

Sluggishly, she moves to where Elgarain lays curled on the ground close to the fire.

"Elgarain." She touches her back softly and the Elleth hums, green eyes peering up at her through her lashes. "We must break camp and leave again."

Before the sun had risen completely, they are off again, riding as swift as the wind itself. Hours pass and still they ride on. Gimli, who seemed not to have caught much sleep that night had nodded off and would have fallen from his seat, if Legolas had not clutched and shaken him.

The miles went by, the green lands of Rohan passing them by in a blur. Gyda misses the smell of the sea, the cold wind that moved through the cliffs, the sound of waves hitting the rocks. Gyda misses her home. The Elflings and her friends, misses Galion.

A bitter chill came into the air. Slowly in the East the dark faded to a cold grey. Red shafts of light leapt above the black walls of the Emyn Muil far away upon their left. Dawn came clear and bright; a wind swept across their path, rushing through the bent grasses.

Before them stood the mountains of the South: white-tipped and streaked with black. The grass-lands rolled against the hills that clustered at their feet, and flowed up into many valleys still dim and dark, untouched by the light of dawn, winding their way into the heart of the great mountains. Immediately before the travelers the widest of these glens opened like a long gulf among the hills

And on the horizon, like a beacon of light a large hill grew closer and upon it, Gyda sees the city. Many carved wooden houses stand there proudly, encircled by a mighty wall with many watch towers, though very few guards. At the very top of the hill stands a great hall, built upon a green terrace. The roof is thatched in gold and glitters in the sunlight. The Great Hall of Men.

"Edoras," Gandalf says, "And the golden hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over king Théoden is now very strong. Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here."

Relief floods her as she urges Baldor forward.

As they made their way towards the gate, a banner with a white horse falls upon the ground. Carried away by the wind from where it had fluttered high up in the sky. There are no guards to greet them as they pass beneath the gate.

Unease settles in her gut at the sight.

They find a broad path, paved with hewn stones, now winding upward, now climbing in short flights of well-laid steps. Many houses built of wood and many dark doors they passed. Beside the way in a stone channel a stream of clear water flows, sparkling and chattering. At length they come to the crown of the hill. There stands a high platform above a green terrace, at the foot of which a bright spring gushed from a stone carved in the likeness of a horse's head; beneath was a wide basin from which the water spills and feeds the falling stream. Up the green terrace was a stair of stone, high and broad, and on either side of the topmost step was stone-hewn seats. There Gyda finds other guards, with drawn swords laid upon their knees. Their golden hair was braided on their shoulders; the sun was blazons upon their green shields, their long corslets were burnishing bright, and when they rose they seem taller than mortal men.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli mutters.

They finally dismount before the stairs that lead to the hall of Meduseld. Their horses are taken away by a stable boy and with an iron glare Gyda follows Gandalf and Aragorn up the steps.

The roof isn't the only thing thatched with gold. The doors and pillars are both decorated with many beautiful golden figures as well. The doors are opened and a group of guards walks out to greet them. Each of them is clothed in chain mail and red and green colors

"My name is Háma, head of king Théoden's guard," a man with long reddish hair announces himself. "I cannot allow you before Théoden king so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Grima Wormtongue."

Gyda watches him with a calculating gaze, taking in his armor, and the way his hand rests on his sword.

Gandalf nods and turns to look at them, silently ordering them to surrender their weapons.

Gyda grimaces as a guard approaches her, his hair is a yellowish blonde that reminds her of hay.

"Your weapons, please." His voice is like stones scrapping against one another and she hesitates as she looks down at her father's sword.

She gives him her glaive first, removing it from the place it is strapped against her back. The dark oak glints in the sun light as she hands it over. Then she reveals the dagger strapped on her belt and swiftly detaches it. Another dagger follows for a sheath at her thigh.

Then, Gyda slowly removes her sword from her belt and she glares at the guard with stern eyes. "If anything happens to it, you will not live to see tomorrow," she promises through gritted teeth.

"I will take good care of it milady, I swear," the guard mutters, unable to even look at her.

Once they handed over all of their weapons, Gandalf smiles at Háma, about to walk forward but the guard stops him.

"Your staff."

"Hmm?" Gandalf frowns and looks at his staff as if only just remembering he was even holding it. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick?"

Gyda bites back the grin that threatens to appear on her face.

Háma eyes the wizard skeptically before nodding with a sigh. He gestures for the guards to step aside and let them walk forward.

To really commit to his act, Gandalf leans on Legolas' arm as he makes his way through the gates.

Then they follow him inside, and Gyda stays close to Elgarain's side. The doors fall shut behind them with a heavy bang that resounds through the somber hall.

The huge hall they enter is dark. Neither the torches on the wall or the hearth in the middle of the room is burning. It was if ghosts lived inside these walls.

Yet there are still pieces of old glory visible. Banners and tapestries cover the walls. The roof is held up with pillars, which are decorated with the same intricate patterns as those outside. At the very end of the hall, up on a dais, stands a throne.

Seated upon it is a man who looks as old as the very hill Edoras is built on. His skin is like parchment, yellowish and thin. His hair is grey and thin and his eyes are void of all life. They are almost white, staring at the room without really seeing anything. It is somewhat of a miracle he could manage to hold up his head beneath the weight of the crown. Even the many layers of fur he is drowning in did not seem to be enough to hold him warm.

King Théoden looks as if the cold hands of death already have embraced him.

But what really gains her attention is the man beside the frail king, seated on a small, simple chair. His skin too is a sickly pale, but it looked different, almost malicious in a way that is amplified by the drabs of thick black robe that hung of his frame.

This is Grima Wormtongue. The name is befitting for his slimy appearance.

"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf bellows as they walk forward.

The old man opens his mouth and speaks with a slow and cracking voice: "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" He turns to look at his advisor, as if asking if he has said the right thing.

"A just question, my liege," Grima's voice is as unpleasant as she expected it to be. Like a snake hissing.

He gets to his feet, his chair creaking as he moved up. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear."

Gyda's eyes flicker towards the other strangers gathered in the hall as they move in the shadows like phantoms. Their keen, sharp eyes glaring at them, their hands hovering above their weapons.

"Láthspell, I name him," Grima rambles on while coming face to face with Gandalf. "Ill news is an ill guest." He spits out.

"Be silent," Gandalf orders in a thundering voice. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

Then he reveals his staff and Grima stumbles backwards.

"His staff," he mutters. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

He merely has to look at the men in the shadows for them to come rushing forward.

Gyda had never wished for her sword more.

She rears around, fist flying with force at the cloaked man that swipes a dagger at her neck. She blocks it with her forearm, and with the other she jabs his throat. The mercenary chokes out a strangled cry and drops his weapon in the commotion.

Gyda plucks it from the ground, and in one swift swipe, slices it across his throat.

The man drops and Gyda whirls around to look for Elgarain, but Aragorn clings to her side. Assured by the protective nature of the man, she turns to face another man who comes running at her with his sword drawn.

Gyda steps sideways with the grace only the elves posses and kicks him in the back of his knee. He buckles to the ground, sword clattering to the ground and Gyda grasps his muddied blonde locks to force his head up. She drags the dagger across his throat and drops him to the ground.

Beside her, another man falls and behind him Legolas appears, his gaze wild with worry for her but she just nods appreciatively at him

They continue their fight and the odds slowly fall in their favor until Legolas punches the last man down without even bothering to turn and look at him. While Gimli runs towards Grima, who was trying to get away and pressed his heavy boot down against his chest. "I would stay still if I were you," he snarls at the slimy advisor.

All the while Gandalf had continued his way forward towards the old king. "Théoden, son of Thengel!" he thunders. "Too long have you sat in the shadows. Hearken to me!" Slowly he raises his hand and a soft wave of warmth reached them all. "I release you from the spell."

A strangled noise leaves the chapped lips of the old man, that makes the old king rumble in his seat. Laughter. Gyda realizes and blanches at the unsightly sound.  "You have no power here, Gandalf the Gray," he speaks with a strength that his voice shouldn't have been able to have. It was no longer Théoden who was speaking, but Saruman. It makes Gyda grit her teeth and clutch the newly claimed dagger tightly.

As answer to the wizard's challenge, Gandalf removes the gray cloak he'd been wearing and reveales his white robes. Light seems to illuminate the air surrounding him, coming from within Gandalf himself. The very air trembled with the might of his magic.

It was too bright for the shadows in Théoden's mind and he is thrown back into his throne with a shrill cry.

"I will draw you Saruman as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf promises, his voice sounding strained as he fought with the other wizard. He pointed his staff at the king and once again Gyda could feel his magic shimmering within the room with a might she did not know anyone could possess.

Théoden appears to grow even smaller as he shrinks back into his throne, groaning in pain.

Just then, a woman in a white dress comes running into the throne room. Her wide eyes focused on the king as she rushes towards him. But Aragorn reaches out to grab her arm and pulls her back before she would accidently interrupt Gandalf's healing process.

She looked at him with fiery eyes.

"Wait," he urges her.

The king hadn't even seen her, his eyes are focus on Gandalf standing in front of him. When he speaks again, all frailty had left his voice. Saruman had taken over completely. "If I go, Théoden dies."

But Gandalf brings his staff forward once again, throwing the old man back. "You did not kill me; you will not kill him."

Saruman, through Théoden, struggles to sit up straight and snarls like a frightened animal: "Rohan is mine."

But Gandalf's warm and bright magic was no match for the servant of cold and dark. "Be gone," he orders.

In one last act of defiance, Saruman forces the frail king to thrust himself forward. But Gandalf raises his staff and, in a flash of white, threw him back into his throne. All fight suddenly left him and Théoden groans in pain, falling forward.

But the blonde woman in Aragorn's grasp pulls herself free and ran towards him, catching him before he'd fall over completely. As she holds him, the years seem to be fading away from the king's face. His skin becomes smooth once more as he returns to a healthy complexation. His hair turns blond again but the biggest change were his eyes; gone are the lifeless white shells that had covered them. Instead, they turned into a bright and strong blue of the sky.

Théoden frowns at the woman in front of him. "I know your face," he mutters. "Éowyn."

Éowyn laughs through her tears as she embraces him.

But then his eyes fell upon Gandalf, who looked exhausted from the struggle.

"Gandalf?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," the white wizard greets him.

King Théoden rises to his feet, looking stronger and years younger than when they'd entered the hall. Now, he looked worthy of the crown upon his head. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he speaks softly, staring at his hands as if he still expected to see wrinkled and thin skin.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf encourages.

Almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for this moment, Háma came rushing forward. He holds out a beautifully carved sword, with two horse heads carved into the hilt.

Slowly, as though he doesn't trust his own strength yet, Théoden wraps his hands around the hilt and pulls the sword from its scabbard. But as if the steel reminds him of those who had wounded him, his gaze suddenly darken. His eyes search for his advisor, who was still captured in Gimli's grasp.

"Háma," he spoke with a low voice and orders; "Remove my advisor from this hall."

"Yes, my lord," the head of the house guard acknowledges, seeming all too pleased with his order.

The guards of Meduseld take Grima from the Dwarf and carry him towards the doors. There, they throw him down the stairs that led towards the hall.

They follow the king outside, whose eyes are focused on the man. Only one single thing looks to be on his mind in that moment, revenge.

"I've only ever served you my lord," Grima pleads cowardly.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden spits out like venom.

"Send me not from your sight!"

But Théoden is beyond reason and raises his sword with a growl.

Gyda narrows her eyes, and waits for the swing of his sword but, Aragorn rushes towards the king and catches his arm before he could bring down his sword. "No, my lord!" He cries out. "No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."

Théoden pauses, contemplating his words before slowly lowering his sword.

Aragorn extends his hand to Grima but the man spat on it. Then he scrambles to his feet and pushes his way through the gathering crowd, escaping from the city while he still can.

Gyda clenches her jaw at the horrid sight of the conniving man.

"Hail, Théoden King!" A voice shouts out from the crowd.

Everyone gathered follows his example, paying their respect to a king restored. Even Aragorn lowers to his knees, maybe hoping to somehow make up for his act of defiance.

Gracefully, Gyda bends the knee in front of the King, eyes flitting to Elgarain who winches in pain as she does so too.

But Théoden hardly seems to notice it. Instead, he turns to look at Éowyn with sudden realization that something was missing. Or rather, someone.

"Where's Théodred? Where's my son?"

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