Burn Like Cold Iron

Chapter 25: I Use Horses in All of My Decorating

Eomer didn't seem to be good at waiting.

I could hear him pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath, as the hours ticked by. I couldn't blame him, I supposed, but it was putting my teeth on edge. At last I couldn't take it anymore and I took his lead, walking restlessly around the perimeter of my little cell, arms wrapped around myself for warmth. Spring hadn't come yet, and the air was clammy and cold. My plain cotton servant's dress wasn't doing much for me, either. The fabric was well-worn and thin, and it was made for someone much broader-shouldered than me, though at least that meant I could tuck my hands into the too-long sleeves.

There were rats in my cell, too—I hadn't expected that, my last prison sentence having been served high in a stone tower. They didn't come too close, thankfully, but when a wary-looking guard finally stopped by with some bread, cheese, and water, I sprinkled some breadcrumbs in the corner for my new rodent friends as a peace offering. "Here you go, little fellas," I muttered. Radagast must have rubbed off on me, I thought wryly.

"Who are you speaking to?" Eomer asked from his cell.

I felt myself flush. "A couple of rats."

He sighed in what might have been exasperation. "You seem to be taking this rather well, at least."

"Yeah, well, this isn't my first stint in prison."

"Truly?"

I laughed miserably—saying that made me sound like some sort of delinquent, even though I'd never so much as gotten a speeding ticket back home. "It's a long story," I muttered.

"We have nothing but time," Eomer prompted. "Your friends told me very little of your history. I would know how you caught the attention of a wizard."

I leaned bitterly against the door of my cell, staring up at the sliver of sunlight filtering down to the straw floor, and began to explain. Eomer interrupted even more than Alfric had, but in tones of increasing incredulity and annoyance. When I'd finally caught him up—avoiding any mention of the Ring, of course—I was at the end of my rope. He could believe me or not, it didn't matter.

The day dragged on, and we lapsed back into a stiff silence. I took to humming to myself, tapping out melodies against the mildewing walls, and as night fell I drifted off to the memory of elvish music from Lothlorien and Rivendell, my knees curled tight to my chest for warmth.

I woke to the sound of Eomer's cell bursting open.

A group of soldiers had poured into the prison, a confusing rush of Rohirric words accompanying them. They exchanged urgent words with Eomer, who replied in kind.

"What's going on?" I said, standing up with difficulty. It must have been late morning, or even after noon already, given how stiff and frozen my limbs were. Cold had seeped deep into my bones during the night, and I shivered as I pressed my face against the iron bars of my cell, trying to see into the hall.

It took a long moment for the guards to notice me. "The White Wizard—the White Wizard has come to Edoras!" one of them told me.

"What?" I cried, leaping back in horror. But there was no response—the guards were departing, taking Eomer with them. Their rapid-fire words were cut off abruptly as the prison doors thudded shut.

I paced restlessly around my cell in the following silence, kicking helplessly at the damp straw on the ground. How was it possible—Saruman was here? But why? Had Wormtongue lost control of Theoden? Had Saruman come for me? Surely he couldn't have, could he?

Time crawled by—two or three hours at most, though it felt like lifetimes—until the doors opened again.

"...kept in that cell there, my lord," a guard was saying.