Disclaimer: I'm not the owner of Lord of the Rings. That work of genius belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and this tale was not made for the gain of profit.

Chapter 3 – The Palantír

After they departed Isengard, it was another two days before they neared the city. Passing over the final ridge, he gazed at the capital of Rohan. A hill surrounded by a mighty wall rose in the distance. Within lay many houses and at the top, a great hall of men thatched with gold. All his life, Deor longed to see Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Look how it gleams in the afternoon sun!

As they drew nearer, he saw the mounds of kings past, from Eorl the Young to Thengel, the father of Theoden. Deor noticed that another mound had been added, recently too. "Who lies within that one?" he asked Gambling.

The man was hesitant before speaking. "There lies Theodred, the King's son. He was ambushed by Orcs, at the Fords of Isen almost a fortnight ago. We had brought him back here, but the wound was grievous and he later died in his sleep."

Deor's mind journeyed back to Helm's Deep, as Theoden was about to offer him a position as his esquire. My heart bears that pain as well…

Once they passed the gate, the people gave them a hero's welcome. Flowers were cast on the road into their path, and the inhabitants waved small flags of the Rohan banner: the White Horse on the Green. They stared in awe of Gandalf, Theoden and all the others as they rode past, bowing respectfully. The hobbits shifted in their saddles, getting a better look at the city around them. Deor felt uneasy about the sudden attention and tried to remain inconspicuous.

Gambling elbowed him. "Smile," he said.

He attempted to imitate the older man's grin, and felt immensely foolish once he had done so. He had never enjoyed being the center of attention, even when he faced the other lads in their boxing game back home. He always preferred obscurity, and he just hoped that his face wasn't turning red. The crowd had followed them to the very stairs of Meduseld, where Theoden announced that there would be a feast that night, prompting more cheers from the people.

Once inside, the others moved to separate rooms to clean and ready themselves for the celebration later, yet Deor lingered in the main hall.

The splendor of the Golden Hall was just as great within, and he marveled at the craftsmanship. It probably paled in comparison to dwarven architecture, if half of the rumors were true, but there was beauty found in this place. Stones of many hues paved the floor, inscribed with ancient runes. The pillars were richly carved, gleaming with gold and half-seen colors. Woven cloths hung from the walls and banisters, depicting proud figures of history and legend. One bore the visage of man with flowing yellow hair, blowing a great horn as he led an army of horsemen across a river.

"That is Eorl, leading his men to the Battle of Celebrant to save the men of Gondor from annihilation."

He turned to gaze at a young maiden, though she was older than him by some years. Very fair was her face, and her long hair was like a river of gold. Slender and tall she was in her dress of white. Yet something in her eyes bore the strength of steel, though not unkind. She continued to gaze at the tapestry. "He led a great host out of the North over the Silverlode, driving upon the Enemy's rear when all hope seemed lost. The tide turned and they drove the Enemy off with great slaughter. In gratitude, the Steward Cirion gave the lands between the Anduin and Isen to Eorl and his folk, forming what is now the land of Rohan."

She looked to him and smiled. "I have not seen you here before. Have you some errand with the King?" Deor swallowed the lump in his throat. If facing crowds was dangerous, then speaking to women-folk was suicidal.

Leofwyn was probably the only exception…

He was still mired in his musings when he remembered that there was someone expecting an answer from him. Trying to imitate one the bows the peasants gave Theoden, he dipped his head to the maiden. "I am the King's esquire, milady. My name is Deor."

When he straightened, there was a bemused smile on her face. "I thank you, but there is no need for formalities."

And she embraced him. Deor froze on the spot, obviously not expecting this display on the maiden's part. Women, you never know what they'll do…

She withdrew and clasped his hands. "I am Eowyn, and I welcome you. Theoden has granted you a high honor by accepting you into his household. Though we are not bound by blood, you will always to be a brother to me."

He was aware that his face was turning very red and he was glad they were alone. The last thing he wanted was Gimli catching sight of this…

Eowyn smiled and called for a maid. "Please see that Master Deor is properly cleaned and dressed for tonight," she told the burly woman.

The maid nodded, seized Deor's hand and led him out. They weaved through the passages, passing many doors and rooms before stopping at the end of one. Opening the door, she pulled him into the room. The only feature of the room was a depression in the floor, five feet deep and eight across. Seems rather big for one person…

She released his arm and turned to face him. "Alright, let's have 'em."

Deor stared at her, confused by these words. "Excuse me?"

"Your armor, take it off. And ye clothes, unless ye want to bathe in 'em."

Comprehension hit him like a rock wall. "No."

The maid frowned at him. "Boy, we can do this the easy way, or the 'ard one. I'm 'fraid the Lady gave me a strict order on makin' you presentable." Her features softened a bit. "Don't worry, I won't peek."

She strode past him and closed the door behind her, but he could still hear the great shout from the other side, requesting hot water. Deor sighed, then began removing the bits of armor and padding from his body. After removing the leather jerkin, he began removing the rags that had been his clothes.

A short while later, a towel was about his waist and the maid had returned with some companions, each carrying two large buckets and pouring the steaming contents into the depression. After the others had left, Deor stood before the pool. The maid stood next to him, pouring an unknown liquid into the water that formed bubbles.

"Go on, get in."

He gazed uncertainly at the water, then over his shoulder at her, frowning. "Hot water? Are you trying to cook me?"

She rolled her eyes and, with surprising speed, whisked the towel away and shoved Deor, who gave a shout as he tripped into the pool. The heat stung at him before he kicked off the floor and surfaced, spluttering.

The maid grinned. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

He scowled at her, grateful for the privacy the bubbles offered. Still grinning, she turned to leave, but she paused at the door. "Give a holler if you find a fish." Then she left.

Muttering curses under his breath, he began to clean the dirt and blood off himself. After a while, the warmth began unwind the knots in his back. As the tension left his body, he thought of what Eowyn brought back to mind, another painful memory…

* * *

Even before in the village, he found it difficult to speak to any female, save for Leofwyn. The daughter of a drinker, she enjoyed watching the boys in their games, occasionally participating in them herself. And above all else, she seemed to have taken a liking to him. When Deor and his brother would go exploring, they would find her following them. The three of them grew close in later years, and soon they were found to be inseparable.

Until that last day. Denor had wanted to explore the ridge to the north. It was rumored in the village that it was haunted by ghosts of slain soldiers from the Second Age. Leofwyn's mother had forbidden her to even go near the place, but she was going to disobey her anyway, until Deor told her to go home. Due to her habits with ale, her mother was known for her fits of anger. He could still remember that bruise on Leo's cheek from the last beating, and he was afraid that it would feed the bonfire if she went with them.

After a heated argument with Denor watching, Leofwyn returned to the village sobbing and the brothers departed. It truly would have been an experience to remember, with the great rocks looming above them like silent guardians. After ten minutes of climbing the boulders, there were obviously no ghosts and they laughed at the foolishness of the villagers.

That was when the screaming started.

Climbing the nearest boulder and looking back, they saw the village in flames. Surrounding it, the black circle of Uruks and Dunlendings created an impassible barrier, cutting down any that escaped the fires. "Leofwyn…" He had sent Leo to her death, and every fiber of his being screamed Do something! But he couldn't. What could one boy do against so many? And he had to look after his brother, the one thing he hoped he could do right after this terrible today.

Leaping down and lifting his brother, he fled. He ran for what felt like hours, before collapsing near the entrance of a cave. Dragging himself up, he commenced a thorough search of the shelter before determining it was uninhabited for some time. He sat in the corner with Denor, shielding him from the cold as the night came. They were lost in the wilderness, and it seemed death would come to claim them both all too soon.

* * *

It all seemed vain now. His brother later departed for the next world and he had nothing left. Before coming to Isengard, he had hoped that some measure of peace would be found once the traitor was brought to justice. However, he felt nothing. Not long after the corrupted wizard's death, Deor felt an uneasy emptiness slowly take him, and he began to comprehend that he was truly alone in this world.

Save for Theoden. Deor saw many qualities that the King had shared with his late father. They both were proud and strong, yet gentile and understanding. He remembered the words of the fair Eowyn: Theoden has granted you a high honor by accepting you into his household…

The pain in Deor's heart seemed to ease a little as he contemplated the meaning of this. Saruman had stolen everything from him: his home, his family, Leofwyn. Deor could never forget, but that didn't mean he could never move on, could it? At least, he would hold on to the memories of all he once called home, the bad and the good. Now, he could move on with a new life.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he looked to see the maid return with some fresh clothes. "The feast will begin soon, so ye better hurry and dress."

* * *

Nearly all of Edoras had crammed themselves into the hall, sitting at long tables throughout the room.

Deor felt strangely out of place as he sat to Gambling's left at the front. He thought that his apparel was too ostentatious for his liking, far more than his simple clothes from his old home. A dark red shirt went over his upper torso, followed by a black vest with gold lining. On his legs were simple, but well made brown breeches, with sturdy boots completing the ensemble.

Gambling had briefly explained the customs to him about the feast earlier, saying there would be a moment when Theoden would pay homage to the deceased. Even now, Lady Eowyn was bringing forth the golden cup to the King. She knelt as she presented the goblet, then withdrew to his side once he had taken it. The crowd in the hall stood, each with a mug of ale in their hand.

"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country." The King raised the golden cup. "Hail the Victorious Dead!"

As one, they raised their cups. "Hail!" This was where they drank in remembrance of the fallen, but Deor hesitated before he raised the cup, thinking of Halas, the elves…Leofwyn. This would be his first mug of ale, and he—

A burning broth churned down his throat and he choked. He spat the ale from his mouth and he stood there, coughing. Why would men even think of drinking such poison?! Only then was he aware that an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the room.

He saw King Theoden staring at him from the front and he felt the eyes of all pressing down on him from behind. With dawning horror, he realized he had interrupted the ceremony and desperately searched for any means of escape. It was Gambling who came to his rescue.

"A man's first ale!" he yelled, clapping Deor on the back. Then the crowd cheered and drank another toast, this time to his good health. Deor saw that Theoden was drinking from his own cup, eyes twinkling with amusement as he gazed over the golden brim at the youth.

Soon the feast was well under way, and food and drink were passed out in abundance. Smiling faces were found nearly everywhere, though Deor knew it wasn't easy. Many in Rohan now shared the pain of loss, but he admired their courage as the people drank, laughed, and spoke fondly in memory of absent friends and loved ones.

As he passed through the merry masses, kindly refusing offers of ale, he noticed Legolas and Gimli at a table not far off, engaged in some sort of drinking game. As he drew closer, he noticed the many mugs and cups strewn about on the table between them as Eomer filled and passed fresh mugs to each.

"What rules are there?" he asked Eomer as he took a seat to watch.

The Third Marshal smiled as he continued passing goblets to the contestants. "Last one standing wins. Care to join?"

"No thank you, my lord. It was the first sip that nearly killed me."

Eomer's reply was cut off by a loud belch from Gimli. The dwarf then slurred some nonsense about an adventure of swimming in a lake with little hairy women. Eomer chuckled, but Deor wondered which urge was stronger: to laugh at this comment, or to regurgitate the food he had just eaten.

Legolas spoke up. "I feel something." He gazed at his hands. "A slight tingle in the fingers." The elf's eyes widened. "I think it's affecting me."

Gimli gave a drunken laugh as he set down yet another mug. "What did I shay? He can't hold hish liquor." Then, the dwarf's eyes crossed, and he toppled backwards off his stool with a crash. Legolas turned to the men, a small smile on his face. "Game over."

A tickling sensation bubbled up from his stomach and Deor soon found himself shaking with laughter. Somehow, he found that he enjoyed the company of the Fellowship, as he learned to call them. The hobbits, Gandalf, Legolas, even the now unconscious Gimli seemed to have grown on him in an unexpected way.

"I believe that is the first time I've seen you smile, Son of Daren."

Deor looked over his shoulder to see the White Rider standing beside him, a little smile peering through his snowy beard.

He simply looked at Gandalf for a moment before shrugging. "I have found little to smile about before now, Mithrandir."

"But should that stop you, my young friend?" He had to admit, the question had caught him off guard. Still, there was merit in the words of the White Wizard, and he had played a pivotal role in saving Rohan. "No, I suppose not."

"Indeed, you begin to understand." He looked at the slumbering form on the floor. "Well, I believe someone should remove Master Gimli from this undignified position, don't you?"

With the help of Eomer and Legolas, Deor lifted Gimli and carried him out of the hall into an adjoining room. There were already many empty cots inside, for many had come to Edoras that could not be fully housed within the city, to which the King had graciously allowed men to sleep in the many vacant rooms of Meduseld. A smile was on the dwarf's face as they set him down.

"I don't think that he'll be smiling when he wakes up," said Eomer.

"Especially when he learns that he lost to an elf," added Legolas.

Chuckling softly, they quickly exited the room and shut the door, leaving Gimli to whatever pleasant dreams awaited him.

It was a night that Deor would never forget. The gap in his being had been filled with joy as the night progressed, laughing and crying many of the people. Merry and Pippin were in great form, dancing on top of tables and singing of a tavern, the Green Dragon, and its superb brew of ale as someone played a fiddle. Even as he went to sleep on a cot near Gimli, the last few verses echoed through Deor's mind:

You can drink your fancy ales,

You can drink them by the flagon.

But the only brew for the brave and true,

comes from the Green Dragon!

Chuckling at the ridiculous little song, he passed into a deep sleep.

* * *

He sat on a horse as it raced across a vast plain. The sky was pitch black above him, but the sun peaked through the dark clouds in the east. A great white citadel stood to the west, and the shapes of riders moved about him, but larger shapes attacked them. Then, he saw a giant winged creature flying towards him.

It swooped down towards a rider on a white horse, giving a dreadful howl and—

"Help!"

Deor awoke as though he had been struck in the face. Sitting up, he saw Merry staring at Pippin, writhing on the on the floor with the stone from Orthanc in his hands. A red light shone through the orb and it seemed to be causing great pain to the hobbit, who was unwilling — or unable – to let it go.

Merry's shout had done some good. Gandalf was instantly on his feet, and a door flung open to reveal Aragorn and Legolas sprinting into the room.

"Someone help him!" Merry begged as Pippin began to scream.

The Ranger leapt forward and pried the stone from the hobbit's fingers. As soon as his flesh was pressed to the fiery marble, Aragorn gave a cry of pain and stumbled. Legolas steadied him, but the stone slipped from his grasp, rolling across floor.

As it passed, Deor glimpsed the source of light within.

An eye. It burned as though it were encompassed with fire, a great slit down the middle like a cat's. It whirled in the stone, gazing at each of the room's occupants in turn. As the Eye passed over him, Deor shivered and felt an overwhelming urge to hide from a great malice.

Gandalf grasped a dark cloak and chased after the rolling orb. He flung the cloth over and covered it, then the presence vanished.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf turned to gaze at the hobbit. Deor had never seen him so angry. Pippin did not answer. He looked at the lad on the floor, but he was unnaturally still.

The wizard ran to Pippin, knocking Merry aside as he knelt by the hobbit. He placed a hand on Pippin's brow and murmured unfamiliar words. After a short silence, Pippin gave a shuddering gasp, as though he had fallen into deep water. The halfling's eyes were wide as he searched the room for an unseen enemy.

"Look at me," said Gandalf.

Pippin obeyed the wizard, fear in his eyes. "Gandalf," he whispered, "Forgive me."

"Look at me," said Gandalf. "What did you see?"

Pippin was silent for a moment, then… "A tree. There was a white tree, in a courtyard of stone. It was dead. The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith?" asked Gandalf. "Is that what you saw?"

"The Gondor capital?" questioned Deor, but Aragorn silenced him with a look.

"I saw…" Pippin gazed at the wizard with terror of a nameless evil. "I saw him!"

The room grew cold and the silence deepened as Pippin continued. "I could hear his voice inside my head!"

For the first time since Deor knew him, Gandalf seemed afraid. "What did you tell him? Speak!"

Pippin clamped his mouth shut, but Gandalf persisted and he slowly spoke.

"'Who are you?' I didn't answer, but he hurt me. Then I couldn't stand it any longer and I said, 'I'm a hobbit.'" He shivered from the memory. "And he laughed at me. It was like being stabbed with knives!"

Gandalf continued to question him. "What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

"Out!"

Deor jumped. Aragorn had regained his strength and herding the men through the door. "Everyone out! Now!"

Deor sat there, amazed at this sudden change in the Fellowship in a matter of minutes. The Ranger turned to look at him and he saw a pale fire in his eyes. Deor sprang out of bed and ran past him out the door, not wishing to court the Dunedain's wrath.

The door slammed shut behind him, and he was pressed into the narrow corridor with the other men.

"What in the name of Eorl was that about?" one of the men asked.

No one answered, but all felt that something momentous was set in motion. Deor knew nothing about a 'Frodo' or a Ring, but he thought of the fiery Eye in the stone, and of the words Saruman spoke before he died.

His attack will come soon. You're all going to die!

A storm was coming, and he only hoped they were able to weather it.

* * *

There we go. That writer's block was a severe pain and I'm glad I've found a way around it.

Please review at your leisure, and thanks for reading!