Chapter 22: Challenged

MEDUSELD

The way up the slope to the Golden Hall had never seemed so long to Elfhelm, but it was not only due to his injuries. Every step on the way, through the horrible pounding in his head, he had waited for the one opportunity to overcome his captors, the one opportunity to communicate with his men and tell them to hold themselves ready. And yet, nothing had presented itself to him. The Worm’s henchmen held him firmly in their grasp, their fingers cutting off the circulation in his arms until Elfhelm could not even feel his hands anymore, and while he waited, his mind raced: what had happened to Céorl? Was he still alive? And what were Gríma’s plans now that he finally held all the cards in his hands? Had he already disposed of Háma and Gamling, too, for Elfhelm was certain that this had to be the point where their obedience to the King ended. Under no circumstance would they tolerate that the last men loyal to the Mark would be executed or thrown into the dungeon...at least he hoped so.

Silently the mixed group approached the corner, behind which the Golden Hall waited for them, and from the last building before the stairs, a shed normally used to store provisions for the Royal Household, Elfhelm suddenly saw a group of men emerge. All of them were but dark shapes, strangers to his eyes, but the way four of them had arranged themselves in a half-circle around the fifth person in the middle who stumbled toward them as if he could barely walk, Elfhelm knew who was joining them for the last part of the way. His soul cried out as he beheld the bleeding, dishevelled figure of his brother-in-arms, and his jaws clenched around the gag in his mouth in helpless frustration. Gods, what had they done to Céorl? Blood encrusted the warrior’s face from two gaping cuts on his left eyebrow and cheekbone and also below his nose and mouth, and the way he held himself indicated that the injuries to his head were by far not the only ones. Of course not, Elfhelm cursed silently, Céorl would never have betrayed them. He knew the valiant Captain of Edoras long enough to understand without words that his kinsman had silently swallowed whatever punishment his assailants had subject him to in order to make him speak. He had given them nothing, ready to sacrifice his own life to ensure that the chance of surprising their adversaries remained intact for Eflhelm, but he had been powerless to act when his torturers had turned on his men after forcing them to watch the terrible beating of their captain. And along with that horrible threat of killing his family, poor Anlaf had finally broken. As hopeless as his own situation seemed right now, Elfhelm could not blame the man. He could not tell what he would have done in the same situation.

When the two Captains regarded each other, the sight of his friend’s swollen and bruised features prompted a surge of rage so powerful and uncontrollable in Elfhelm’s that he rammed his weight against the guard to his left, sending him to the ground and kicking him hard in the ribs. From the corner of his eye, he saw his men respond, and for a moment, he felt wild triumph and the possibility to free themselves well within reach. It was abruptly ended by a hard blow between his shoulder blades that sent a silver bolt down his spine. All feeling left his legs, and the warrior fell to his knees like a sack of meal, grunting. With a brutal tug, his head was pulled up by the hair and he looked into Wormtongue’s face.

"I thought we had an understanding, Captain. Very well, it is you who will have to live with the consequences of your actions now." The Counsellor gave a short nod to one of his minions guarding a captive. "Kill him!" Suddenly, there was thin, long knife in the thug’s hand, and as Gríma straightened and walked over to where his followers had already suppressed the short eruption of mutiny among their prisoners, Elfhelm groaned. Against the gag in his mouth and the fire in his spine, he tried to shout out, he tried to scream, and he even tried to rise to his feet to prevent what would happen, but the hands that held him down were too strong.

"Watch closely!" Felrod sneered into his ear, audibly delighted by his opponent’s dismay. "It is your fault that he dies now."

Before the widening eyes of the Rohirrim, the dark-haired guard buried his dagger to the hilt in the chest of the rider next to him, and with infinite sorrow and rage Elfhelm realised that it was Anlaf. The doomed warrior’s jaw muscles clenched painfully around the leather in his mouth as he narrowed his eyes, and his muffled outcry tore apart his comrades’ souls. For a moment, his powerful body tensed… and then sagged when the last remains of life left him. No one could move. The Rohirrim were stunned into shock, and their guards tensed in expectation of their violent reaction. For a while, the world hung frozen. His almost colourless eyes scanning the prone figure on the ground for movement, Gríma cautiously prodded his foot against Anlaf’s side. The man felt slack, thoroughly lifeless, and the pool of blackness spreading from beneath him did not lie. Satisfied he turned around to stare at the kneeling Elfhelm.

"You still have not learned that I keep my promises, Captain." He extended his hand toward the lifeless man. "There, look what you did with your misguided sense of comradeship and honour. Although I do not understand why his demise should even distress you…" A cruel glint flickered to life in the pale eyes. "After all, this was the man who betrayed you. Shouldn’t you rather thank me for his disposal?"

An unintelligible outcry of rage escaped Elfhelm at the evil Counsellor’s mockery and again he attempted to shake off his captors, but the men were too strong, and he could do nothing when they hurled him to his feet. Another cold gaze grazed him before Gríma turned to his own men and said with a curt nod at the dead man’s body: "Take him with us and see to it that there is nothing left of his blood on the path. We will dispose of him in the dungeon. And now let us hurry, before the city wakes after all and we will be forced to kill even more men!" With a warning glimpse, the Counsellor turned and approached the steps to the Golden Hall with firm strides. For the longest moment, Elfhelm and Céorl’s eyes met, and both men saw the bottomless despair in the other’s gaze before they were forcefully shoved toward the stairs.

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MEDUSELD

"Gamling! Háma! Wake up! Please, you must—" From outside, Éowyn suddenly heard the sound of fast approaching steps, and then an angry voice exclaimed:

"Excuse me, my lords, but may I ask what you are seeking here in the middle of the night?"

"You may not; Kôr. Step aside, or I’ll make you!" It was Háma’s voice, and its sharp tone and the long unheard determination in it caused Éowyn’s heart to jump into her throat. They had heard her! They had indeed come! With renewed vigour, she pounded against the door with the palm of her hand.

"Háma! Háma, open the door! Someone is approaching Meduseld!"

"You cannot do this, Captain! The Counsellor’s orders said—"

"I do not care for the Counsellor’s orders! I am the Chief of the Royal Guard, and if anyone has the authority to give me orders, it is but the King himself! To him I swore my oath and not to his counsellor, and since his niece is calling for my aid, I will see what she needs, regardless of what you have to say against it. Stand aside, if you do not want me to go through you!"

"Háma! Háma, quickly, open the door!" Outside, the men quarrelled for another moment, but at last, Éowyn heard the much anticipated sound of the key turning in the lock, and the door opened to the concerned faces of the seasoned warriors. "Háma! Gamling! Oh Béma be praised, I was beginning to despair!" She felt the strong impulse to fly around Gamling’s neck, but knew that there was no time. Rushing out of her room, Éowyn’s gaze went over to where the massive doors of Meduseld still lay in darkness. She turned around, urgency in her features. "Someone is approaching Meduseld, a group of men, and I feel that there something is wrong with them. They seemed to move with great stealth."

"A group of men?" In an instant, the two warriors were alert. They no longer heeded the guard as the man stole away into the shadows. Gamling stared at Éowyn in alarm. "Whom did you see, Lady Éowyn? Enemies? Dunlendings even?"

She shook her head.

"No Dunlendings, or at least I do not think so, but they moved strangely. Quickly, Gamling, you must summon your men and await them here, ready for battle, whoever it is!" Instead of leaving, the old warrior simply turned and shouted into the silence:

"All men to me! Quickly!" Yet before he could proceed, the doors of Meduseld were thrown open and a great group of men spilled into the hall along with a gust of cold air. Yet it was not the air that chased a chill down the guard’s spine as he beheld the mangled and bloodied features of the two Rohirric captains in their midst. Involuntarily, Gamling’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword. Éowyn had been right; evil was afoot, and this time, he could no longer afford to tolerate it; not for peace’s sake, and not for his King’s sake. With Céorl and Elfhelm, two of the four remaining men of power were in danger of being eliminated by the Worm, and he felt that at last, the time had come to make his stand. Squaring his shoulders, the wiry warrior stepped forth together with his brother-in-arms to confront the darkly-clad figure who just now shed its hood and stared at them contemptuously from beneath a deeply furrowed brow.

"What is this, Counsellor Gríma?" Háma’s tone was hard and determined like Éowyn had not heard the usually calm guard in a long time. "What evil is going on in Edoras these days that you felt you had to arrest Captain Céorl and Captain Elfhelm, and in the middle of the night, too, sneaking into Meduseld in all secrecy as if you wanted to prevent that anyone sees your prisoners? It appears to me that this is not an operation sanctioned by the King, nor that he knows about it."

Éowyn’s heart beat furiously against her ribcage, and involuntarily, her hand went for her hidden dagger as the atmosphere in the hall abruptly thickened to the point where a single heated word would suffice to ignite it. Finally, the true servants of the Mark had decided that they would no longer tolerate the Worm’s secret reign, and both Háma and Gamling were a sight to behold as they blocked Gríma’s path. It was exhilarating to finally witness the confrontation that would see Wormtongue banned, an event she had wished for for years… and yet at the same time, a part of her was dying, because she knew that with this deed accomplished, her uncle’s fate would be sealed… and Éomer’s as well, if the Snake truly held him captive. She did not fully believe it after the uncountable lies the filth had been telling her over the years, but still the possibility remained. And her uncle… perhaps there would be a way to save him; perhaps their healers would find the potion in Gríma’s chambers and be able to find a cure to it in time. Perhaps, no one had to die… but even if all went wrong, it could not go on like this.

In the long sleepless nights of her captivity, Éowyn had at last come to the painful realisation that the protection of her loved ones could not mean the sacrifice of their entire people. As hard as the decision had been to make, she knew for a fact that Éomer would be content with it if by his death, he would buy life for Rohan, and so would be Théoden. Still, how was she supposed to go on without them, knowing that she was responsible for their deaths? Perhaps, it would be for the best if this confrontation would be solved with bloodshed; perhaps, she could see to it that it would claim her life, so that she would not have to continue living with this great burden of guilt about sentencing her only remaining blood-kin to death. Her knuckles whitening around the hilt of her dagger as her fingers clenched it in unconscious distress, Éowyn fought back the despair that threatened to choke her. This was not the time to break down; first, they had to dispose of the enemy! Defiantly, she lifted her chin, determined to see this through.

Behind them, the remainders of the Royal Guard still loyal to Gamling and Háma emerged from the darkness of the throne room to form an expectant half-circle behind their captains and await the outcome of the confrontation, ready to assist if their strength was needed. Meanwhile, Gríma stared at the two men in front of him with the same amount of disdain he would have reserved for a rotting orc-carcass.

"These men you see here, they entered the city in a secret and most cowardly manner that leaves only one possible conclusion: they are conspirators against the Mark and planned to--"

"Conspirators against the Mark? Céorl and Elfhelm?" Gamling laughed. "I fear, Counsellor, that you will find no one here ready to believe your unfounded accusations! Take the gags out of your captives’ mouths and let them explain themselves, or are you afraid to hear the truth, namely that they came to rid Rohan of its true plague, which is you and your men?"

"I see, Old Man. You are one of them. Alas, I wished I had known before how far the conspiracy against the King already reaches." The pale blue eyes narrowed to dangerously sparkling slits as Gríma raised his voice for all to hear: "Listen well, Gamling and Háma of the Royal Guard: you are herewith dismissed from your service to the King! You will step aside and leave this hall now, or I warn you, I will have you both arrested as well!"

"And what would our crime be, Counsellor?" Instead of looking intimidated, Gamling even took a step forth, and his fingers tightened around his sword. "That we protected our King and our people against your devious plans? Because it is not Théoden-King you serve, that much is clear to all present by now, but no matter who your true master is, he will have to find himself another pawn to do his bidding, because here and now, your rule over Meduseld ends! Release your captives, or we will free them by force!"

"I do not believe that you understand the situation, Lord Gamling." Gríma’s voice was almost too low to be heard, just like the slight rustle of dry leafs before the snake underneath them uncoiled for the deadly bite. Nonetheless he took a step back, which brought him closer to the safety of his men who had likewise unsheathed their swords and looked ready to kill their captives at the first command of their master.

Unsettled by their adversary’ strange composure in the face of the uttered challenge, Éowyn followed the man’s gaze beyond Gamling’s shoulder into the darkness of the throne room, and the sight of many dark shapes silently emerging from behind the pillars froze her. In a half circle, they arranged themselves with readied swords behind the members of the Royal Guard who looked in shock and confusion at the new development. These were Dunlendings! How in Éorl’s name had Dunlendings entered the city, and even the Golden Hall without anyone having taken notice of them? Where had all these men come from? Éowyn guessed the answer, and her already pale features turned deadly-white. So Gríma had pried from Théoden’s captured mind the knowledge of the secret passage between the King’s chambers and the foot of the lonely hill of Edoras; a path hewn through the rock by generations before them and thought as a means to ensure the King’s survival in case that an enemy would ever gain entry to the Golden Hall. There, in all secrecy, Gríma had arranged his army within this passage, safe from detection until he would need it on the day when he would seize control. His plan was flawless, for the warriors still loyal to the King were now far outmatched.

The guards’ expressions became grim as they realised their predicament. Instinctively, they moved closer together and formed a circle, daring the enemy to attack. For a moment, none of the men dared to breathe. His features darkened and his body tense in expectation of the first charge, Háma suddenly turned to Éowyn.

"My Lady, please, you should go back to your chambers now. I believe that he will let you do so..."

"Yes, Éowyn, you must go. There is no sense in getting yourself killed!"

"No, Gamling, my place is here with you. I can help you." She drew her dagger, not evading the men’s pleading gazes as she whispered: "Yes, we are outnumbered, but all we must do is kill the Worm! Without him, they have no purpose to fight for, they will submit!"

"Lay down your weapons, all of you!" Wormtongue now raised his voice, interrupting her, and on his pale face, open triumph sparkled for the first time. No longer did he have to hide his satisfaction, for his victory was complete; with the removal of Céorl, Edoras belonged to him. "As even the most stubborn Rohrric peasant would have to admit: you are outmatched! Don´t be foolish! You will lay your arms to the ground and step back now, or this hall will bear witness to a massacre of the likes it has never experienced before. You will either let yourself be arrested… or be killed, the choice is yours!"

The men looked at each other, doubt and fear on their faces, and for a brief moment, Éowyn thought that they would submit... but from the corner of her eye, she caught the silent exchange between Elfhelm and Céorl, nothing more but a wink, and suddenly, all hell broke loose...