A/N: Enjoy this new chapter! Special thanks to the winner of our little Stag contest…but wait, I'm not going to announce it yet! You'll find out…eventually. Ain't I a stinkah?

There was no recognizable path through Fangorn forest, merely little clearings grouped together by rambling trails which looped back on each other or stopped for no reason at all. The undergrowth was thick and thorns clung at Amy's ankles, snagging the skin and tearing it. The branches swooped low, hung with lichens and fuzzy moss, barring their way. The whole forest seemed intent on smothering them. Above, the leaves had melted together to form a dense canopy that let in little sunlight but plenty of heat. Amy felt sweat pooling on her temple as they trooped through the undergrowth, listening to the eerie groans of the forest. Sam boldly thrust her way through the bushes, ignoring the sharp purple thorns which tore nicks in her arms and neck, focusing instead on the jagged trail she was creating for the rest of them. Occasionally, she would cup a hand 'round her mouth and bellow for Merry and Pippin, startling dull gray birds from branches. The whole forest seemed to roar with her, the groans and cracks increasing until Amy wanted to scream. Everything was too loud. She forced her way through a particularly thorny bush, shielding her eyes with her hands as twigs snapped and grabbed tiny wooden fingers at the hem of her tunic.

Legolas's fingers were still tingling where Amy had held them. It was a gentle buzzing feeling that was sweeping through his arm, making his head light and his fingers hum. He had no idea why a human was having such an effect on him. It was the lack of feminine company, he decided. He hadn't gone this long without female companionship in many years. Surely that was the only reason. Surely he couldn't be developing ... he shuddered ... feelings for a human? No, he decided. As soon as he was back in Mirkwood, his head would be set on straight. Amy was a temporary distraction, he told himself sharply. She was a girl, a human, and not even from this world! Legolas would not sacrifice his immortality for any creature, despite a woman who had managed to enchant him. He would not allow her to alter his focus, even if her red curls roiled prettily down her back and her hips swayed gently ... Legolas cursed himself up and down for being a thrice-accursed fool. This could not be happening!

Aragorn was right behind Sam, clearing away some of the bushes with his arm as he waded through the muddy forest floor. Strange noises and red eyes glinted through screens of undergrowth, and his right hand automatically found the pommel of his sword. Something menacing stirred here, an ancient anger which had steeped into the very soil. Roots threaded ghostly fingers from the ground and grasped feebly at his boots; trailing vines fell heavily on his shoulders, slowing him yet further still. Gimli was cursing eloquently in Common and Dwarvish, hacking away at several limp strands of lichen that were intent on blocking his view. With every sweep of his axe, the forest grew louder. Finally, Aragorn wheeled around. "Gimli! Will you cease cutting away at these trees and get a move on?" Aragorn hissed between his teeth. Gimli gruffly lowered his axe, slotting it into his belt reluctantly. The groans lightened after a moment, but the noise was still thunderous.

All of a sudden, everything went silent. It was the pressing, harsh kind of silent that hurt your ears and made your head ring. The birds which had been warbling mournfully a moment ago suddenly hushed, grouping together apprehensively. The trees froze, roots slowly retreating, their groans ceasing. There was no footfall, but suddenly everybody knew that something was approaching. Something old, powerful, and undeniably magical. Amy licked her lips nervously. She had absolutely no weapon, and there was really nothing she could do except throw mud and hope it would blind whatever beast was coming closer. Sam unsheathed her dirk, eyes glittering angrily, her brown hair loose around her face and giving her the look of a half-wild animal.

"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas whispered, his voice hushed in the silence of the forest. Aragorn laid a finger against his lips, asking for absolute silence. His hands gripped his sword, unsheathing it was a metallic rasp. Legolas flighted an arrow against his cheek, drawing his bowstring back hard, back arching in effort as he waited. Gimli readied a throwing axe, his stocky body tense as he prepared to spring. Amy, woefully unequipped, began looking around for trees to climb. Deep in the heart of the trees, bedecked fabulously with ribbons of lichen, stood a dim figure, hooded and cloaked; a staff was clenched in his fist. At the same moment, all hell broke loose.

Legolas let fly with his arrow, Gimli threw his axe with deadly accuracy, and Aragorn sliced with his sword. There was a savage growl from Sam as she hurled herself towards the dim shape, dirk held aloft as she prepared to drive it home. The dim figure suddenly flared to life, pure white light shining like the light of a thousand suns, blinding them all and stunning them slightly. Legolas's arrow snapped in midair, Gimli's axe suddenly veered and buried to the hilt in a tree trunk, and Aragorn's sword hilt grew hot as a brand. He dropped it with a shout, swearing over his scorched palm. A voice, rich as chocolate and deep as a brass bell, suddenly rang out, sharp and accosting.

"You seek two Hobbits, do you not?" the voice demanded. Sam bared her teeth, scrubbing furiously at her eyes and looking around for anything dark to ease her burned retinas. A feral snarl built in her throat and she swiped at the hideous light, blade flashing in the extreme white brilliance.

"What did you do with them, you murderer?" Sam shrieked, still brandishing the knife. Amy whimpered and fumbled her way over to a tree, hiding behind it, blinking hard. Whatever was going to kill them, it was going to start with Sam. She couldn't bear to watch her own friend's death. But to her amazement, the voice that answered had lost some of it's crisp harshness, and a subtle note of amusement had slipped in.

"They met someone they did not expect to see," the voice answered. "Will that suffice?" The light began dimming slowly, and Amy peeked around the tree, multicolored images still dancing in her recently lost vision. A white figure with a gray cloak was standing before them. Underneath his outer cloak, a robe of shimmering white shone hard and clear, a smooth white staff gripped in his fist. A long white beard - pure white, without a streak of black down the middle - descended to his waist, along with his hair. It was the twinkling blue eyes which suddenly made Amy inhale sharply.

For, standing before them in flesh-and-blood, was Gandalf the Gray. But not as he once was. He looked stronger and healthier, more vibrant and wholesome. There was a lessening of the lines around his mouth and eyes, and a new joy was alit in his bright blue discs. Aragorn was staring at him, mouth agape, jaw slack. Legolas knelt reverently, bowing his golden head in awe as Gimli hastily copied. Amy was rooted to the spot, frozen with shock. Her friend; she had mourned his death. She had shed tears over his passing. And here he was, standing before her.

"You fell," Aragorn said hoarsely, and the sentence sounded ridiculous even to his own ears. "I saw you. You fell." He sounded warped and uncertain. Gandalf chuckled lightly.

"A wizard's task is never finished. 'Tis true that I fell, but I fought even as I descended. From the lowest dungeons to the highest tower, we dueled. Many wounds did he inflict, many horrors did I suffer, but at last I reigned victorious. I smote his ruin upon the mountainside, and passed into shadow. I do not know how long I lay there, dead in the snow, but my task was not complete. They sent me back." Gandalf sounded pleased with himself. Aragorn collapsed tremblingly onto one knee, a hand outstretched to his old friend.

"Gandalf..." he whispered. For a split second, Gandalf looked puzzled. A dim light flowed over him, as though remembered a long forgotten memory. A new twinkle emerged in his eyes as he helped Aragorn to his feet.

"Yes. That was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Gray." He sounded ponderous, as if this was an absurd name. At last, he smiled. "I am called Gandalf the White."

Amy felt her legs unfreeze, and before she knew what was happening she had thrown herself at Gandalf and hugged him tightly around the middle. She heard his surprised laugh, felt his hand patting her back, but she didn't care. Tears welled in her eyes. He was back, really and truly! She could feel him, touch him, smell his peculiar scent of earth and tobacco. Her friend, Gandalf, was back! She almost cried, but caught herself. If Gandalf was back, there was no need to cry. She felt safe now. Gandalf would keep off even the most vicious attacker. The horrible Balrog had been unable to keep him down.

As Amy pulled herself away, she felt as though they might have a chance after all.

09

Lizzie stood in the room, fingertips stroking the simple satin dress which Saruman had provided for her. To speak truly, not many females had passed through his gates, and had been hard pressed to find anything suitable for the girl to wear. But with a little magic, anything was possible. Lizzie liked the way it slipped over her skin, like dry liquid, cupping her plentiful curves. The neckline plunged and dripped from the shoulder, exposing most of her back and collarbones with sleeves that twisted sinuously down her arms to end in sweeping, tattered cuffs. Her hair had been scrubbed of all filth, and it was rippling down her shoulder, a stark contrast to the beautiful dark gown which she was wearing. She passed her fingers through her golden waves and waited for Saruman to arrive.

He did so promptly, disguising his appreciation for the slender, beautiful girl in front of him. He glowered at her, dark brows drawing together. "Well?" he barked, glaring at her harshly. She seemed supremely undeterred, serene, confident. She sidled up to him, perfecting her catwalk strut, rolling her hips suggestively. Her lashes fluttered, lowering slightly, making her crystal blue eyes smolder.

"I can tell you things you would love to know," she said, rolling each word around in her mouth before pronouncing it. "Things like exactly how you're going to lose the war."

Saruman snorted. "Lies, contemptible lies! With Sauron's might and my power, nothing can stop us!" he boomed impressively. Lizzie checked her nails, buffing them on the scrap of material that was called a dress. She looked at him with a 'oh, really' look, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, I know," she sighed. "But here's the thing, sweetie; I'm not from Middle Earth. I'm from a different world. Where I come from, your whole plan is a book. Yep, a book. Anybody can read it. Everybody read it and cheered when you died."

"I shall not die!" Saruman thundered. "I am immortal! I shall never die!"

"Very nice," Lizzie said, bored. "But the fact remains you're going to lose. Unless you listen to me." Saruman looked at her appraisingly.

"You shall speak to Sauron," he retorted. "And see if he believes this wild tale of yours." He gestured towards the palantir which was lying innocently on the stone pedestal. "Merely touch the palantir and you shall see him," he said snidely. Obviously, judging by the smirk on his face, he was going to enjoy this.

Lizzie gripped the palantir hard in both hard, allowing the world to dissolve around her. Colors blended together, fading down the walls and erecting new, harsher, blacker colors. A bleak landscape stretched for miles around her, neutral gray colors washing together and fading out. A mountain with thousands of carved stairs was beneath her feet, and she realized she was at the pinnacle of a tower. There was no sun above her, nothing but a blackened sky shot with red, like an infected wound.

Speak, human.

"I'm Lizzie," she began. Now was not the time to be frightened. Now was the time to act. "And I have information for you. I come from a different world, a different time, a different dimension. In this alternate reality, this whole world is a book. A story. Everything in it is fictional. I know how the story ends; therefore, I know how you fail. I can keep that from happening." She paused for a lengthy moment. "For a price."

Why should I believe a cringing worm like yourself?

"Because I'm telling the truth, that's why!" Lizzie snapped, beginning to get frustrated. "I know that the guys from Rohan go to Helm's Deep. I know that you send a bunch of troops there. And I know that you lose. Gandalf shows up with a ton of guys and you get creamed. I know that Isenguard crumbles. I know everything, okay? I know that Frodo destroys the One Ring of Power. I know that you die, Sauron. And I can stop it."

There was a long, pregnant silence. Then -

Name your price.

Lizzie felt a triumphant smirk slide across her lips. "I want to rule the world," she crowed. Here, with the wind whipping her hair and an ethereal voice in her head, it did not sound impossible. It sounded like a tantalizing apple within her reach. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it. "I want to rule the world, and I want the One Ring."

You shall have it.

It never occurred to the mistress of double-crossing that she was being double-crossed.