Tolkien Fan Fiction
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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognizable characters; I am only borrowing them for fun for a little while. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. |
| The guards shoved him roughly through the open doorway and he staggered but remained upright, steadying himself against the rough hewn rocks that made up the walls of the cell. The barred door slammed shut behind him and he heard the key turn in the lock with a loud clank. The sneering voice of the head guard made him turn and give the man a frosty glare, though it did no good. “Enjoy your stay, Éomer son of Éomund. I’m sure it’ll be short. Gríma will see to that,” he gave a short bark of harsh laughter. Éomer did not bother replying, but he took a menacing step towards the door, his eyes burrowing into the man who, in spite of the locked door between them, took a hasty step back. The three guards with him, for it had taken four strong men to restrain Éomer, also retreated, edging towards the stairs. At a sign from the head guard, the three men left quickly. After one last mocking look at Éomer, the head guard spat on the floor at Éomer’s feet before following the others. Éomer yanked hard on the door but it merely rattled slightly on the strong hinges. Silence filled the small prison then. Éomer slumped down in the corner of the small cell near the door and listened intently. He needed to find out what was happening in the Golden Hall, but he could not hear even the ghost of a sound from upstairs. The only sound he heard was the beating of his racing heart. He took several deep breaths to calm himself and to help him turn his mind to more useful thoughts – like how to escape this prison. Éowyn was in grave danger and he did not know exactly what Gríma had planned for Théoden King, but he knew it was something that would endanger both the king and Rohan. The silence was deafening and Éomer leaped to his feet and began pacing, his hand automatically reaching for his sword and he scowled when his hand fell on the empty sheath. He paused in his pacing, staring vacantly out the window that opened just across from his door and looked down on the plains of the Riddermark. Perhaps that man… Aragorn would come as he had promised. Éomer slowly resumed his pacing as he thought of him and his strange companions. He was not sure what they could do, or would be willing to do, if they did show up in Edoras. But this…this heir of Isildur did not strike him as someone who would stand back and let evil go on if he had the means to stop it. No, he would willingly help - if he came to Edoras. And then Éomer remembered the look in Aragorn’s eyes as he had given his word to come to Edoras to return the horses they had borrowed. And in the silence, hope began to fill Éomer’s heart. |
Written for the Middle-earth Express Challenge on the AragornAngst Yahoo board. Prompt #14 – Silence. |