How did it come to this?
Loyal to her family, her lands and her people, Théadain, the illegitimate daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan, has little concern for the world that lies beyond her familiar grasslands. When all that she loves is threatened...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 47
It had been too long since Rohan's king had seen his hall so filled with life. The sombre tone of remembrance and mourning had given way to celebration, the contrast between life and death making the joys of the living all the more potent. The clamour of voices and grinding of benches against stone floor as people rose from their feast, the flicker and glow of the fire and candlelight, illuminating the banners of the Mark that hung from the walls, the scents of hearty food and free flowing ale. Yes, he thought, it had been too long since Edoras had been what it once was.
Longer still since he had seen his daughter smile so brightly. It was not an entirely carefree smile, this he knew, but as he had watched her move from the dais through the crowds that filled the Golden Hall of Meduseld, her step seemed lighter.
Théoden had never seen her look so like her mother. Indeed, when she had stepped into the hall clothed in the light, moss-green gown, he had almost had to look twice to assure himself that it was not Léadain's ghost that passed before him. Her fiery curls hung loose around her shoulders, only tamed by a few strands braided by her temple – undoubtably by Éowyn's hand – framing her laughing face as she stood with the two Hobbits they had recovered in Isengard, each clasping a mug of ale. These companions she had found, Halflings, wizards, elves, dwarves, men; they had changed her, he thought. She was not the same girl he remembered from the days before his mind had become thick with fog. He no longer saw her fighting to prove her worth, to show she was equal to the men she stood with and not supported by her bloodline. She had grown, she knew her worth and no longer felt the need to prove it, and it shone from her like a beacon. It showed in the way he had watched her since they had fled Edoras, commanding respect with nothing more than a quiet word, or a mere look. He could even not recall the last time he had seen her wear a dress, yet here she stood, no longer afraid that dressing differently from her men would impact how she was seen.
Perhaps it had something to do with the man whom he had seen catching her eye several times throughout the evening, exchanging little more than looks that made the king's lips quirk into a small smile. It was as if she was being careful not to be seen lingering with the Ranger whom his people had quickly accepted following the battle – as if she thought her father would forget he had seen her kiss him moments before they charged from the Hornburg.
The man in question, Aragorn, had been more subdued than his usual quiet character excused, the king thought. The words spoken by Saruman days ago still weighed upon those that had heard them. The promises of death and destruction were difficult to ignore, even in this bright, joyful hall. Théoden himself still felt the weight on his chest of the wizard's criticism; he felt it keenly, his failure of his people. Were it not for the efforts of his daughter and her companions, Rohan would have fallen under his command.
"You look as though you are a thousand miles away, father."
"Mmm?" He turned with a smile as his daughter appeared at his side, having spotted her father's faraway look and excused herself from speaking with Merry and Pippin, not without promising each a dance as the music had struck up in a far corner of the hall.
