Through Fire and Water (A Legolas Love Story)

King of the Golden Hall

We emerge from the trees, blinking in the sunlight. We fetch our horses and then Gandalf lets out two long, piercing whistles and after a moment there is an answering whinny as a horse gallops towards us, seeming to appear from nowhere. The horse is beautiful, by far the most beautiful horse I have ever seen. His coat and main are pure white and his movements are fluid and show that he is extremely capable of fast and maintained running. He is not burdened by a saddle or any other riding equipment which contributes to the natural beauty of the creature. We stare, spellbound for a moment as the horse approaches.

“That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell” Legolas says rather dreamily. The horse slows down as he arrives at us and eventually comes to a stop.

“Shadowfax… He’s the lord of all horses. And has been my friend through many dangers” Gandalf says.

“He’s beautiful…” I whisper, admiring the horse. Gandalf smiles, petting his friend.

As we approach Edoras the wind is blowing hard, making the banners and flags on the city’s buildings and walls billow out. We slowly ride up the hill, following the main road towards the great hall. The people in the streets watch us pass with baleful eyes and sunken faces and I feel unnerved by their stares.

“I wish they wouldn’t watch us like that” I whisper to dad as I look out at the people. Among the stares my eyes rest upon the faces of two young children, dirt covered and hollow cheeked.

“You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard” Gimli remarks and I have to agree with him. Whatever is going on here is not good.

Gandalf leads us to the doors to the great hall where we are met by a group of guards.

“I cannot allow you before Théoden-King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Gríma Wormtongue” the lead guard says but by the way he says Wormtongue’s name he is not too glad to be carrying out orders from him. Everyone else begins to hand over their weapons but I am reluctant. Eventually I sigh and hand over my bow, quiver, sword and finally I unbuckle my belt and hand my knives over too. Gandalf tries to step forward but the guard doesn’t budge. “Your staff” he says, as if pointing out the obvious. Gandalf looks at his staff and then back to the guard.

“Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick” he says. The guard looks reluctant but he moves aside. Gandalf turns to us, giving a small wink.

Inside the hall it is dark and stuffy, there are guards around the edges. At the end of the room is a wooden throne and sat in it is a wizened old man wrapped in furs. His face is wrinkled and pale and his hair and beard are long and grey and on his head is a crown. At his side is a sickly looking man with black, greasy hair and wearing black clothes. This man looks at us with disgust and then leans forward and whispers to the king.

“The courtesy of your hall is someone lessened of late” Gandalf says.

“Why… should I welcome you, Gandalf… Strormcrow?” King Théoden asks slowly, he sounds weak. Wormtongue whispers to the king again and then turns to us, malice in his eyes.

“Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell spell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest”

“Be silent!” Gandalf snaps “Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!” and with that he raises his staff. Wormtongue backs away.

“His staff” he cries “I told you to take the wizard’s staff”

Guards start to stream towards us as Gandalf walks towards the king. We fight off the guards with our hands, throwing punches and kicks left and right and keeping them away from the wizard. Gandalf starts speaking to Théoden, trying to force the magic out of him. An unnerving laugh fills the hall and I look away from the fight and over at the throne to where the king is laughing at Gandalf. His laugh is creepy and I don’t like it one bit.

“You have no power here, Gandalf the grey” he croaks, still laughing. Gandalf throws his grey cloak off, revealing his white one. With the white seems to come power because Théoden is thrown back in his seat. Gandalf points his staff at the king and begins to walk towards him.

“I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound”

Théoden glares at the wizard “If I go, Théoden dies” he says in a voice that is not Théoden's.

“You did not kill me, you will not kill him” Gandalf says, drawing even closer to him.

“Rohan is mine” Théoden growls in that same voice.

“Be gone!” Gandalf says. Théoden lunges at Gandalf but is thrown back with a wave of the wizard’s staff. Gandalf steps back as Théoden crumples, falling forward. A young woman with long, wavy, golden hair runs forward and catches her king before he falls. Théoden seems to change before my eyes. Years fall away from him as colour returns to his skin and the wrinkled seem to fade away. His hair and bear become well cut and a similar colour to that of the woman who is supporting him. He is no longer a wizened old man but a much younger and stronger king. He looks confused for a moment but his eyes rest on the face of the woman by his side and a look of recognition crosses his face.

“I know your face” he says, looking at her “Éowyn” the young woman smiles, tears of joy streaming down her face. Théoden looks up now, scanning his surroundings. His eyes fall on Gandalf. “Gandalf?” he says uncertainly.

“Breathe the free air again, my friend” Gandalf says with a smile. The hall is filled with grinning people, all marvelling at the rejuvenation of their king and I find myself grinning too, it’s hard not to get caught up in moments like this. Rohan stands a chance now, their king has been restored to them. Éowyn helps Théoden to his feet and he stands uncertainly. He looks down at his hands, flexing the fingers tentatively.

“Your fingers would remember their own strength better if the grasped your sword” Gandalf says and the guard who stopped us at the door runs up, sinking to his knee before the king and holding out a sword in a scabbard. Théoden carefully wraps his fingers around the hilt of the sword and draws it from the scabbard, gazing at the shining blade. In the corner of the room Gimli is holding Wormtongue by his cloak and stopping him escaping. Théoden casts his gaze upon the sickly man and his eyes fill with anger. Upon Théoden’s command Gríma is dragged from the hall and thrown down the stairs outside it. We follow the king as he walks up to Gríma who crawls backwards, looking fearfully up at the king.

“I only ever served you my lord” Gríma says desperately. Théoden advances on him, gripping his sword firmly.

“Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!” he says accusingly, still advancing.

“Send me not from your side” Wormtongue grovels but Théoden’s face darkens with new anger. He raises his sword above his head and is about to bring it down in a killing stroke on the defenceless man when father dashes out, holding Théoden back.

“No my lord, no my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account” he says and Théoden stops his attempt at killing Gríma. Father offers his hand out to Wormtongue but the disgusting man just spits on it and scrambles to his feet, barging his way through the crowd.

“Hail, Théoden king!” a voice cries out and we all bow as Théoden looks around at us.

“Where is Théodred? Where is my son?”