Hilde was curled up in a corner of the Main Hall of Meduseld, unable to stem the flow of hot tears streaming down her face.

Théodred was dead. The King hadn't even batted an eye.

The Théoden King she remembered loved his son more than anything. She still had memories, old and faint, of him swinging a small Théodred up in the air, smiling and laughing as the boy shrieked with joy, of him hugging a young Éowyn close in comfort to sooth her tears of grief, or patiently mentoring Éomer on the finer points of handling a sword with a proud glow on his face. That was not the King that sat upon the throne now; this new King was hunched and weak, his eyes clouded and white, his colourless hair and beard looking like little more than tangled cobwebs anddust.

She couldn't help feeling that Rohan was lost when she looked at their King.

But more than that her friend was dead. She had been there, at his side with his cold hand in hers when his laboured breathing went silent. Between one moment and the next he was gone. Éowyn had dozed off where she sat across the bed from Hilde, her cousin's other hand grasped tightly in her own even when in the clutches of sleep. Hilde hadn't had the heart to wake her; it was the first sleep she had gotten in days.

Across the Hall, her father stood at his post near the entrance of Meduseld, but he kept glancing over to Hilde, concern and sadness creasing his face. Hilde barely noticed. Théodred was the boy she had crossed wooden swords with as children, had chased around Edoras, had learned to ride beside. The boy who had tried to kiss her during the midwinter feasts when he was no longer quite a boy, and who had succeeded in kissing her and more when he'd been a man; the boy who many believed would try to marry her one day. Had he asked her, she wasn't even sure what she would have said anymore. She had loved him, yes, but as a friend. Perhaps it would have grown to love in time. But that didn't matter now.

Théodred was gone.

Éowyn had barely said a word since he died, only leaving her cousin's bedside to try and reach the King through whatever spell Grima Wormtongue had woven. The death of her cousin had crushed her. Théodred had been a second brother to her. Now he was gone and Éomer was banished.

Even as Hilde was thinking of her companion, a flash of white passed down the centre of the Hall. Before Hilde could move, Éowyn had fled the Hall, all but running into the sunlight. She didn't follow. Hilde understood the pressing need to get away, to be alone. Even once Éowyn had woken, Hilde had stayed at Théodred's side, keeping watch as Éowyn left to tell the King of his son's fate. But once she had returned, Hilde couldn't bear to stay. The clash of her memories, of Théodred warm and laughing, with the reality of him lying dead was tearing her apart. She couldn't reconcile the sight of him lying lifeless on his bed with him in life. Her mind rebelled painfully against it. Though she had loved him as nothing more than a dear friend, he had nevertheless been so much more than that; and thus she grieved.

It was several long minutes later before Rohan's White Lady walked sedately back inside, her face wet with tears to match Hilde's own as she made her way back into the depths of the Golden Hall. Hilde couldn't bring herself to move, though, or to wonder what had drawn Éowyn from her cousin's bedside. She was still caught up in her own grief.

She was only brought from her stupor by strange voices just outside the Hall conversing with her father. She could almost feel the disdain in his voice as he spoke of Grima's orders to disarm anyone who wished to see the King. Hastily she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.

And then four strangers entered the Hall behind her father. Hilde's grief was nearly forgotten as the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise, suddenly very aware of the movements within the Hall. Many of Grima's thugs were moving along the aisles that ran along either side of the centre hall, moving to flank the newcomers.

One was a cloaked old man, leaning heavily on a beautiful walking stick as well as on a man with pointed ears who could only be an elf. She had never seen the like before; he was tall, with pale blond hair and the most graceful bearing Hilde had ever seen. Beautiful was the first word she could come up with to even marginally describe him properly. The other two walked behind the old man and the elf; one was a man, dark as his elven companion was fair with the look of the northern Rangers about him, while the other was a dwarf with a rather mistrusting look peeking out from behind his full red beard.

At the head of the Hall, Grima was already in his usual place beside the King, whispering his poison in Théoden's ear. On the other end of the Hall, the doors closed with a resounding thud.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King." The old man among the newcomers was the first to speak, his voice cutting through the anxious silence like a knife as he walked around the Hall's main hearth. Each step he took grew stronger, the guise of a frail old man beginning to melt away into something far less ordinary. Hilde was standing next to one of the Hall's painted columns before she had even realized she'd begun to move. She was transfixed on the scene unfolding before her.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" Hilde almost didn't recognize the voice coming from the throne as Théoden's, it was so changed. Then again, it had been so long since she had heard him speak that she didn't quite trust her memory anymore. Grima stood, a patronizing look on his face that set just about everyone's teeth on edge. Hilde could've sworn she heard her father's jaw grinding from across the hall. By now Grima's men had begun moving close to the strangers, many of their hands conspicuously on their weapons. Hilde fought the scowl that threatened to come to her face. She wished she had her own sword or even her knife in that moment, but strangers weren't the only ones who couldn't bear arms in the presence of the King; only the King's Guards and Grima' men had that privilege anymore.

"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," Grima drawled, moving to stand at the foot of the King's dais, placing himself between Théoden and the old man. Gandalf, the King had named him. That name sounded familiar to Hilde, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Be silent," the white-haired man snapped. Grima froze, a flicker of fear alighting in his eyes before an expression of distaste clouded his features as Gandalf continued, "keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." Hilde would have laughed with pleasure, as would many of her countrymen, had they not been so stunned. Suddenly the old man was no longer leaning heavily upon his white staff and, in a single fluid movement, had brought it around to point at Grima's face. Hilde's eyes widened in bewilderment even as Grima's eyes widened in anger and fear.

"His staff," Grima muttered angrily as he retreated from the old man, glancing around the hall to her father and his men, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" It was then that Hilde understood. The old man was Gandalf the Grey, the wizard.

Hope surged within her, as did apprehension; Saruman was also a wizard, after all. But the instant Grima spoke his men sprang into action. But before they could reach the wizard, his three companions leapt into action themselves, handily taking on Grima's thugs even without weapons of their own. Across the hall, Hilde couldn't help but notice her father stopping Gamling from drawing his own sword as the wizard approached the throne, keeping the King's men from attacking the wizard and out of the fight.

Hilde had no such desire to keep out of the way. One of Grima's men had been standing beside her as Grima had called out; Unferth, the very man who had been spying on Éomer in the stables. A faint smile rose to Hilde's lips. Before he'd even had a chance to move, Hilde was reaching around him to draw his sword before he did, slamming the pommel into his abdomen as hard as she could. With a wheeze and a grunt he doubled over, collapsing at her feet. With a satisfied smile, she placed a foot on his wrist, leveling the tip of his former sword at his throat.

"That's enough from you," she muttered, earning a scowl from the man.

"Théoden, son of Thengel," came the wizard's voice, powerful now as he addressed the King, "too long have you sat in the shadows." There was a look of such hatred and wickedness on Théoden's face that the hope growing in the centre of Hilde's chest faltered. But the wizard continued his steady approach to the throne, his staff pointed directly at King Théoden's heart. Off to the side Grima was sprawled on the floor, the dwarf's boot planted squarely in the centre of his chest.

As Gandalf spoke to the King, the rest of the people in the Hall began to gather behind him. Théoden laughed upon his throne, mocking Gandalf in a voice that Hilde knew instinctively was wrong. At her feet, Grima's man began to squirm, but without taking her eyes from the wizard and the King, Hilde merely ground her foot into his wrist, knowing it would send a spike of pain up his arm. Sure enough, he stilled, perhaps knowing that his master's fight was lost. A look of contempt of his face, the wizard chose that moment to throw back his grey travelling cloak.

The Hall was filled with light as the wizard revealed his full glory for all to see. Hilde could not peel her eyes away even as they watered at the luminous intensity.

Off to the side, Éowyn entered the Hall, drawn by the noise, walking past Hilde without so much as a glance. The wizard had thrown the King back into his throne and, in her alarm, the King's niece went to rush forward to him, only to be caught by the wizard's dark-haired companion.

Now when the King spoke, the voice that came from his lips was not his at all, and it sent a chill up Hilde's spine. But Gandalf was not swayed. With one last thrust of his staff, now nearly glowing with the strength of the wizard's power, Théoden was slammed back into his throne a final time. Somehow, in her heart Hilde knew it was over, and a smile of relief came unbidden to her face.

Groaning, the King began to fall forward. This time Éowyn twisted free of the man holding her, rushing to her uncle's side before he collapsed to the floor. Hilde's eyes widened and her lips parted in wonder as, before the entire hall, years melted away from the King's face, his eyes clearing as his back straightened and colour rushed back into his hair and skin. Kneeling beside him, Éowyn began to weep, smiling brightly for the first time in what felt like forever as Théoden looked down on her with recognition.

As the King and his niece shared words, Hilde was again reminded of the man at her feet. With a sharp yank, he pulled his wrist from beneath her foot, nearly unbalancing her before trying to get to his feet. Just beyond, the dark-haired man turned, noticing Hilde's scuffle. But before he could so much as step in her direction, she had kicked Unferth's knee out from under him and dealt him a sharp kick to the stomach, sending him gasping back to the floor, where she once again levelled the sword near his throat, backing it up with a harsh glare.

"That was for costing me my kiss," she said quietly. He glared right back, still wheezing.

Glancing up she couldn't help but notice a look of approval on the face of the wizard's companion. Behind him, Hilde's father was approaching Théoden, offering the King his sword. Hilde once again found herself beaming as the sound of Herugrim leaving its sheath echoed throughout the Hall. Their King had returned to them.

Then the King's eyes fell on Grima.

In an instant Théoden was off the dais, while Háma and Gamling leapt forward to grab hold of Grima's coat, dragging the King's former confidant out into the open air without needing so much as a word from their Lord. As she watched the court follow their King down the Hall, one of her father's men was at Hilde's side, taking a firm grip on Unferth's tunic even as his master yowled at being dragged through the hall. Sword still in hand, Hilde followed, stopping to stand silently beside Éowyn as her father and Gamling tossed the betrayer from the steps of Meduseld. Théoden stood at the top of the stairs, his face dark with anger as he watched Grima tumbling to the landing below.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden roared, stalking toward Grima, who was trying to scramble down the stairs. Hilde could only watch in silence, a flicker of grim satisfaction playing across her features. Even as the worm begged, the King raised his sword.

Only to be stopped by the interjection of the wizard's dark companion. Hilde watched in shock as the man stayed the King's blade before offering a hand to Grima. The traitor was off the steps and shoving his way through the gathering crowd in an instant, pausing only to spit on the stranger's proffered hand. Hilde jerked involuntarily as the worm ran, furious that he was being allowed to run; he had been the cause of so much misery. Beside her Éowyn's face was dark, her eyes flashing as she too watched Grima flee.

"Hail, Théoden King!" The dark-haired man cried out and, in moments, all those who had gathered at the foot of Meduseld were on their knees. Beside her, Éowyn grabbed Hilde's hand, squeezing it tight as a smile lit upon her face, erasing her distaste at Grima's release. It was an expression that Hilde couldn't help but match. Turning, Théoden surveyed those arrayed on the steps behind him, his eyes warming at the sight of his loyal Háma and Gamling, a faint but warm smile on his lips when he met Éowyn's gaze and a flicker of amusement in his eyes when he spied the sword in Hilde's hand. Then the smile fell from his face, and his eyes scanned the steps again, and then another time before worry clouded his gaze.

"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?" Éowyn's hand tightened further on Hilde's for an instant before she started down the steps even as the King searched the faces around him for his son. She halted several steps away, stopped by the look in her uncle's eyes.

"We should return inside, Uncle," Éowyn managed to say calmly, though her voice trembled. Théoden frowned.

"No. Éowyn, where is Théodred? What has happened?" The King's voice was low and insistent. Hilde felt tears springing to her eyes once again. As soon as Éowyn had spoken, he'd known; she could see it in his eyes. No one else dared speak. Finally Hilde, unable to bear the look on her King's face, managed to find her voice.

"He is gone, My Lord," Théoden's eyes were on her in an instant, a terrible fear growing in them, "Théodred is dead. Slain, by orcs," she said quietly, unable to keep the tremor from her voice anymore than Éowyn had from hers. He didn't speak, though his lips parted in denial, forming a pained 'no.'

Beside him, the dark-haired stranger laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, but the King shrugged him off.

Without another word, Théoden turned, stumbling only on the first step before stalking back into the Golden Hall, leaving nothing but a sorrowful silence in his wake.

***

The King locked himself in his son's chamber for the rest of the day. It was nightfall before anyone who tried to enter was permitted to do so. Finally though, it was a group of women who were allowed into the chamber so that they could begin preparing Théodred for his final journey to the tombs just outside the walls of Edoras. Hilde was among them. She felt it was the least she could do. After all, she had allowed Théodred to believe that they might have a future because she hadn't been brave enough to tell him otherwise.

It was as she was setting a basin of herb-steeped water on the table near the door that she was approached. At first she thought it was one of the other women, but when she looked up it was Théoden, watching her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't quite find her voice.

"You were with him? Before he—as he lay here?" The pain in the King's voice belied the blank expression on his face, and he couldn't yet bring himself to admit in words that his son was dead. Hilde nodded, her eyes grave. She was suddenly afraid he was about to ask after his son's last moments. That she would not be able to bear telling him. A faint flicker of relief passed over Théoden's face.

"Good," he breathed, his eyes shifting over to where the women were beginning their ministrations. "That's good, Hilde." Regret rose in Hilde's throat, nearly cutting off her breath.

"I don't know that, My Lord. I did not care for him as he did for me, yet I let him believe—" Too many words were out of her mouth before she was able to stop them. Théoden's eyes met hers again, but instead of disappointment or disbelief she saw only sympathy mingling with his grief. Slowly he nodded.

"I know, child," his words startled her, and she needed to grip the table beside her for balance as he spoke, unable to hold his gaze, though whether it was out of remorse, mortification or simply grief she wasn't sure herself. "I could see it in your eyes when you were with him. Love, yes, but that of a sister or a friend, not a wife. For a short time, some years ago now, when I saw you leave the Hall with him, I thought that, perhaps, things were changing between you. But I could see that your heart was pulling you elsewhere. I think my son knew, I do not doubt that he saw what I did, but he had fallen in love with you anyway. That you were by his side nonetheless will have given him peace." By the time he fell silent, there were tears streaming down her cheeks, and when she raised her gaze again, there were tears in his eyes too.

"I pray that is so," she whispered, "for he was one of my dearest friends, even if I could not love him as he hoped I could, as he deserved." The king's expression changed for a moment, his eyes scanning her face. She did not understand what he saw.

"Do not dwell on this, Hilde," he said softly, earning a look of bewilderment from her, "Théodred would not have wanted that."

"My Lord—" She tried to interrupt, but he silenced her with a look, reaching up to cup her cheek.

"If it truly is my nephew your heart draws you to, do not turn away from him for my son's sake. We cannot live our lives for the dead, for that is not living." Her brown eyes wide in shock and confusion, she couldn't speak even as the King turned and left her standing in his son's chambers.

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