DEBBIE DOES THE TWO TOWERS
Chapter Nine: Stranger In A Strange Land
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The
winds whipped across the plains of Rohan, causing Debbie the White's long,
dark locks to blow fetchingly in the breeze. She stood just a little
behind Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas, who in turn stood behind Gandalf as
they waited for the wizard to convince the town guards at Edoras to allow
them all entry to see King Théoden. "You'll have to leave all your weapons
at the door," the lead guard insisted. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli started to remove deadly item after deadly item, as if they'd all simultaneously lost a game of weapon-strip poker. Debbie tossed in her pepper spray, as a show of good faith. As she did, the guard smiled at her. "Your greatest weapon is your beauty, my lady. And I cannot possibly take that." Debbie batted her eyelashes. "How kind of you to say that...?" "Háma, my lady." "Háma. Right. And you're just on the day shift, right?" She winked. Háma turned bright pink and opened the door for them without even noticing that Gandalf had failed to surrender his staff. Debbie stepped into the hall and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. "You think these people like horses much?" she whispered to Gimli as she took in the decorations on every post and banner. "I mean, I went through a unicorn phase when I was about 13, but my room didn't look like *this*!" "Let's hope they just like them in art and transportation," he growled back beneath his breath. As they moved closer to the throne, Debbie noticed several extremely buff men in armor moving toward their little group with unsettling glints in their eyes. She smiled at one of them, who waved shyly back at her. Debbie hung back and let the others walk on. At once, ten handsome men clustered around her. "Welcome to Rohan," one of them said, bowing gallantly. "Are you staying long?" another asked hopefully. "I can show you the stables," a third offered. Behind her, Gandalf seemed to be griping about the hospitality of Théoden's hall, but Debbie had no complaints at all. These fellows certainly seemed hospitable to her. "Wow--so many hot, strapping warriors here!" she murmured appreciatively. "My name's Felarof," the fourth warrior told her shyly. "I'm Éofred!" clamored the fifth excitedly. "And I'm a *much* better rider than he is!" A petulant voice from the front of the room shrieked, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" The men ignored it. "The wizard had a staff?" Háma said weakly from his place by the door. "You'd better believe he does!" Debbie called roguishly. Suddenly there was a flash of light from the front of the room. Debbie twisted her head to try to see what was going on, but her companions blocked her line of vision. "What was that?" "Oh, just the King being exorcized," said the sixth of them. "Are you free for dinner tonight?" "How about before dinner?" said the seventh. "How about a glass of mead right now at my place?" said the eighth. At that moment a pale, unhealthy-looking man in black robes ran past the group, pursued by an extremely angry middle-aged blond man with a sword. "Who's that?" Debbie asked no one in particular. "Just the King. Nobody that important," the warriors replied in unison. The pale man did a double take as he passed Debbie, but did not pause. Théoden, Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, and a blond woman in a white dress ran after him. "I think I might need to go out there, boys," Debbie said, insistently pushing at the crowd. "You don't have to go yet," said the ninth warrior. "I'm sure the King can handle it, whatever it is," added the tenth. As if on cue, the group who had just run out the door re-entered, minus the pale man in the black robes. Théoden glowered at the men surrounding Debbie. "Your master has left the kingdom," he growled. "Be off with you!" "Awwwww!" chorused the warriors in disappointed tones. They shuffled away, pouting. ******* That evening, after a dinner of peculiar-tasting stew which she hoped did not contain horsemeat, Debbie sat in her chamber at Meduseld. The evening was chilly, and she pulled the grey elven-cloak (lent to her by Gandalf) tighter around her. "You'd think that with all the fine woodcarving, someone could make better insulated windows," she muttered, shivering. "Especially with this ever-present wind!" She was also rather bored. Théoden had called Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to confer with him, while Debbie had been left to her own devices. There didn't seem to be anything to do here, especially now that the warriors had left, and nothing to read. No wonder the King's niece had taken up swordfighting--it was probably a healthy way of releasing pent-up tension during the winter months, and keeping warm as well. Of course, with the way the girl had been eyeing Aragorn, Debbie guessed Éowyn had another plan for tension-relief in mind. Suddenly, out the corner of her eye, Debbie spotted a pale face peeping in the window at her. At first she thought she had imagined it, but then after a few moments it reappeared, recognizable as belonging to the black-robed man who had left the hall in such a hurry earlier. "I can see you, you know," she called out, keeping her voice reassuring. "Why don't you come in?" He made a pitiable whining noise in response. Debbie went to the window and held out her hand. "Come on, then." She gave the man a heave up, and soon he was standing next to her in the chamber, eagerly wringing his hands. "You're so beautiful, my Lady," he sniveled. "It is worth my death to look upon you one last time." "That's very nice--Gríma, right?" "You know my name? Certainly you must be a more powerful wizard than even Sauruman!" "Oh, I know a trick or two," Debbie answered with a wink. "I did not mean to disturb you...I only wished to see you again, though I know you could never consider one so ugly and wretched as myself...." "Aw--come on, Gríma. You're not...*so* bad..." Debbie smiled upon the wretch. "You just need a little 'image upgrade', is all." "Image upgrade?" he repeated hesitantly. "Yeah. That runny nose giving you trouble?" Gríma nodded. "I'm allergic to horses." Debbie rummaged through her bag. "Here's a Dristan. Should clear that right up." Gríma scrutinized the pill before shrugging and popping it in his mouth. "Let's see," Debbie mused as she looked him over, "I'll need a nail clipper, maybe a small scissors to trim that hair, and we'll have to get you a change of clothes somewhere. The pale skin can stay, I suppose. Some chicks dig that straight-outta-_The Crow_ look. But you really should do something about the name. Who's going to trust a royal advisor named 'Gríma Wormtongue'?" "And this will make me worthy in your sight, Lady?" Gríma simpered. "It'll make you worthy in the sight of most women, including Éowyn. That's who you really want, isn't it?" "Not any more," he answered with a pointy-toothed grin.
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