usual disclaimer applies – im just havin a lil fun!
Very soon after the three strangers arrived, they were led up yo the Golden Hall, to see the King himself. Over the years, I have heard many stories than I could flick my tail at about what happened in there. What seems obvious though, was that our King had been betrayed by his advisor, Gríma Wormtongue, and was under the spell of Saruman the White.
When I first heard this of course, it made very little sense to my mind. The betrayal of Gríma was easy to accept – just about everyone in Edoras had known he was up to no good.
I simply couldn’t understand the rumours of Saruman. All I knew at that point about the wizard was that he dwelt at Isengard n the north-west of Rohan, and that he was a friend of the King. This led me to trust him, for if our King could, then so could the King’s people.
Yet Gandalf the White, who before was grey so that I was confused even more, proved me otherwise. I don’t know exactly how, because of course I never saw it, but somehow, he released King Théoden from his spell. I have heard that the moment the King rose, tall and proud once more from his throne, was something that could rekindle hope and courage in the faintest of hearts.
The next part of the tale I did see, for my stall was by the entrance to the stables. This way, I had a clear view of the Hall once the stable doors were open. Two guards came hastily out from the hall, and threw a black-robed man mercilessly down the stone steps. It took me a second to realise that it was actually Wormtongue.
Then came the King. The last time I had seen him was before Théodred had died. He had been old and crippled before his time, bent with age, his eyes misted with doubt and his hair wispy white. Yet now, as he advanced upon the traitor, the lines on his face were gone, replaced by radiating anger. All through the city, the people stopped to look and felt the power emmiting from him. His eyes, now clear and seeing, were burning, seething with a bright cold blue flame. He still walked a little unsteadily, but Wormtongue squirmed and wriggled at his feet like the witless snake he was.
“I’ve only, ever, served you my Lord.” he whimpered desperately.
“Your witchcraft, would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!” Théoden replied fiercely.
“Send me not frmo your sight.” the worm pleaded pathetically.
“Aaarrgghhhh!” roared the King and raised his sword high above his headto smash the worm’s skull.
“No! No, my Lord!” Aragorn came flying down the steps, and as Théoden’s hand came down to deliver the fatal blow, he jumped before the King and stopped his arm.
“No, my Lord – enough blood has been split on his behalf.”
I was amazed. Aragorn had seen the pain, the suffering, the evil the Gríma ahd brought to Rohan – and yet, he could still find it in his heart to pity the wreched thing. Gríma now owed him his life – and I couldn’t help but to wonder, just how kindly Lord Aragorn would be repayed.
“Get out of my way!” Wormtongue shouted, and push ed past the people to my stables. He glanced fleetingly at me – but I neighed and reared angrily. I would carry no traitor on my back. He sneered at me, knockingover a stable boy who was brushing down a handsome back gelding. Jumping on, he galloped out of the stables and sped like the wind out of the city before anyone could stop him.
Back up on the steps, one of the knights cried out, “All hail Théoden King!” Each and every person bowed low before him – Aragorn released the King and knelt at his feet.
But Théoden didn’t seem to notice. He was canning the crowds the hall – and then he said it.
“Where is Théodred? Where is my son?”