A/N: I usually don't like to take quotes directly from the movie, but the exchange between Gandalf and Grima is just SO EPIC. I changed it a bit, but it's essentially the same. Ooh, look, I spot a cliff hanger! Yippee!

A crow cawed harshly once, the guttural rasp echoing around the silent city. It flapped its wings, shuffling slightly to the side as it stretched its feathered body. Amy eyed it fearfully. The whole city was eerily quiet; men and women looked at them from behind windows and doors, others stopping in the street to stare point-blank at the four horses which walked slowly up the cobbled streets. Black banners hung around the walls of several houses, and Amy wondered if there was an illness passing through Edoras. A gaunt woman was holding a thin child very close to her, and they both stared widely at Amy, not looking away. Their eyes were huge and dark, and Amy felt ashamed for something she couldn't quite name. She also felt very self-conscious; she must have looked disgusting, what with her sweaty, dirty clothes and rumpled hair. Not to mention that she was riding with a very handsome elf that didn't have a hair out of place. She averted her eyes, instead focusing on the horse's arched neck. The horse's hooves clipped the streets sharply, mingling with the raucous squawks of the crow to form a hateful harmony.

They approached the gates of the Keep. A small wall, made out of thick logs driven into the ground, had been formed around it. Rough stones had been shaped together to form thick, solid walls, and black banners hung limply in the towers. By craning her neck she could see glimpses of stained glass windows and of sweeping stone staircases. Legolas dismounted and helped Amy get off the horse, his hands spanning her waist for an electric moment. Amy felt a hot blush sweep her cheeks and she moved on determinedly, trying to move the thick block in her throat. Sam looked very pale and her brown eyes were dull. Apparently the strain of the past few days were catching up to her, and Amy noticed she was limping. Automatically, the two girls locked arms and leaned on each other, supporting themselves as they tried to ease their aching feet. Aragorn noted this with mild amusement. The girls had been through absolute hell trying to complete this quest; they had no ties to Middle Earth (although Aragorn was suspecting Amy had a serious tie to Legolas) and he wasn't quite sure why they continued following them. He had been completely confused by Lady Galadriel's insistence to bring the three girls along, and he still did not see their worth.

A guard, his beard dark and serious, stopped them at the yawning black doorway that stared ominously at them. "You are not allowed to visit our beloved Theoden-King so armed, by order of Grima Wormtongue, Advisor to the King." He looked at them all seriously, and they all waited a beat. Then Gandalf tipped his head, and they began dismantling themselves. Amy, who was thoroughly weaponless, was amazed at all the weapons Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn had concealed among themselves. First, Aragorn had his amazing sword and scabbard, which he handed over with a muttered word of warning. Then came two boot-knives, a dirk hidden in his sleeve, and a meat-knife strapped to his thigh. Legolas had his bow, a quiver full of arrows, his two White Knives, and a dagger fastened to his hip. Gimli had seven throwing axes - he had lost one in Moria - two quarter axes, and a double-bladed axe for everyday use, along with a short sword tied to his belt. Sam reluctantly handed over her dirk and her leather sheath.

"That was a gift from a friend," she warned the guard. "Lose it and I'll mess you up. Got it?" The threat rang hollow because of her pale cheeks and weak, raspy voice, but there was a fierce glitter in her brown eyes that the guard did not want to tempt. She reminded him of a tethered cougar - hungry, merciless, and absolutely crazy. The guard raised his eyebrows at Amy, who shook her head.

"I don't carry any weapons," she said. "I'm a pacifist." This was the blackest lie she had ever told in her life - she had never been combat-friendly, but she supposed that some wars were very necessary. Sam, on the other hand, thought that wars were very underrated and that there should be a lot more of them. The guard extended his hand, palm up, to Gandalf.

"Your staff." He ordered. Gandalf leaned on the intricately carved wooden staff, the lines suddenly deepening around his mouth and eyes. His merry twinkle was dimmed for a split second, and Amy thought he looked very old and worn out.

"Oh, but you would not deny an old man his much-needed walking stick, would you?" he asked, the twinkle emerging despite his best efforts. The guard looked him over, and then grunted in his throat. Reluctantly, the guard led them into the great hall of Theoden-King, who had been recently stricken with an unseen illness.

All of the thick wooden shutters had been bolted, despite the weak sunlight filtering through the scudding gray clouds. A fire crackled lowly in a bronze brazier, flames leaping up to taste the air with fiery tongues. Massive oaken pillars stood sentry at regular intervals, supporting the heavy ceiling. Guards stood between every one of the pillars, and Sam suspected several more were hidden in shadow. The flagstones were rough, and they feet made soft scraping sounds on the unpolished floors. Ahead of them, a simple throne of ancient mahogany stood majestically, the arms worn from constant usage. But sitting on the throne was the most decrepit man any of them had ever seen. His hair had been coming out in clumps, but what remained was wiry bristles which were shockingly white. His blue eyes were filmed over and glassy, sightlessly staring at the group of newcomers. A ribbon of drool hung from his thick, purplish lip, and Amy thought she detected a snore. A crown had been perched lopsidedly on his head, but this somehow made him see more pathetic. They could see traces of the strong, virile man he once had been, but now the muscle and sinew lay wasted beneath moldy furs and rotting flesh.

"My Lord, Gandalf the Gray approaches," the guard announced. The King did not stir, but there was a gentle movement behind the shadows, as if some rat was sniffing the air suspiciously. Then, a snakelike voice hissed lightly into the air.

"He is a herald of woe, my liege..."

Gandalf cleared his throat, still leaning on his staff. "The temper of your halls have been somewhat lessened as of late, Theoden-King. There were days where I would be welcomed in to a warm fire and a tasty beer."

Skulking around the simplistic throne was a small man, his black hair hanging in greasy curtains around his sallow face. He had black circles underneath his eyes, as if he had not slept for many days, and his eyes were watery and sharp as flints. A thin white hand moved to stroke the arm of the throne absently as he peered at them, lip curling disdainfully. "He is not welcome," Grima hissed silkily into Theoden's ear.

"Why...should I welcome...you...Gandalf...Stormcrow?" the king panted, words tumbling from him with an effort. Then he turned his sightless eyes to Grima as if for approval. The short man rewarded his puppet with a mirthless smile.

"A just question, my lord," Grima purred, stealing down the hall towards the little knot of people. "This conjuror has arrived decidedly...late, to this gathering. Lathspell I name him, for ill news is an ill guest."

Gandalf lost his temper. "Be silent! I did not pass through fire and death to exchange words with a forked-tongue worm!" He growled. Grima backed up hastily, scuffing at his thin mouth with his black sleeve.

"His staff, you fools! I instructed you to take the wizard's staff!" Grima snarled. Instantly, the guards moved forward. Amy drew closer to Legolas and Sam with a little mewl of distress. She realized that she was being a bit of a baby, but the idea of tackling big hulking guards was not appealing to her.

It was proved right away that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were more than competent without their weapons. And what Sam lacked in size, she made up for tenfold in ferocity. Sam wasted no time in kneeing one guard, jabbing another in the solar plexus, elbowing another in the throat, and stamping down hard on the toes of another. The aura of the room shifted as Gandalf threw back his robes, the blinding white glare startling everybody. He seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills with Theoden, who was grinning barbarically. Amy found herself suddenly distant from everybody, and a rough hand clamped down on her arm.

I am so sick of being grabbed by people, Amy thought bitterly to herself. I just wish everyone would go away and leave me alone. This was a big breakthrough for little Amy. Normally, when she was in trouble - like now - she wished herself away. Now she was wishing someone else would leave. So, when the guard pinned her against a hard wooden pillar, instead of crying, she brought her small foot down hard on his booted toes. He slackened his grip just enough for Amy to turn around.

Sam and Legolas actually paused in their fight to see Amy tackle one of the guards in a football style fumble, ramming to the floor with a sudden turn in speed. The guard, winded but still annoyed, was not about to compromise his honor and hit a woman. His honor was severely tested when Amy began punching his cheeks with tiny fists, hammering on his chest with her arms. While undoubtedly impressive, she was doing more damage to herself than the guard, because hammering a metal breastplate was not the smartest move. However, she had blacked the guard's eye and ribbed him hard in the waist before he got up. The guard looked at her bewilderedly, and then waited until Amy stopped pounding on his chest. She blew inconvenient loose strands of hair out of her face, a stripe of red hair cutting across her freckled jaw, and glared at the guard. "DON'T EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. It was surprisingly loud in the large room, and for a split second Amy wondered what banshee had just shrieked to the heavens. Oh, yeah, duh, that was me.

She missed Legolas's lightning grin which skimmed across his mouth. He decided he had just found another facet of her personality.

They fight slowed to a stop, and Gimli tackled Grima with a flying leap. He shook a fist in the sallow-skinned man's face. "I'd stay still, iffin I was you," Gimli warned. Apparently he didn't need his massive battleaxe to look menacing. Not to mention he was just about Grima's size, and undoubtedly more buff.

The king was changing. His white hair and beard were growing out, replaced by thick golden waves. The lines melted on his face, taking away ten, twenty, thirty years. His blue eyes became shockingly sharp and they blinked dazedly, looking around as though just woken from a long sleep. A young girl who had somehow become entangled in Aragorn's strong grip tore herself free and threw herself at the king. He took her face in his hands, brushing her tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, looking at her with confusion and dim realization. "Eowyn...Eowyn, I know your face..."

"Oh, Father," the blonde woman sobbed into his chest, calling him the title which she had bestowed upon him at a very young age. Amy noticed Aragorn looking at the blonde woman with subtle interest, and a little emotion pricked at her. The blonde woman - Eowyn, or whatever her name was - would suit Aragorn very well, she thought. And then, Theoden looked up, confused.

"Where is my son?"

The funeral was beautiful, Amy thought. Sparse and quiet, with Theoden looking at his son's grave for a long time. Starry white flowers, their white petals pouting under the overcast sky, trimmed his grave. The weather had darkened appropriately for this grief-stricken time, for the father who had missed the last hours of his son's life. Amy sniffled, swiping at her nose, fighting the urge to cry even thought she had never met Theodred. Aragorn and Gandalf were speaking to Theoden for a long moment, their voices muted under the oppressively dark sky. Amy scuffed at her eyes, deciding once and for all that she was a total mush. She had no idea, but everything was so damned sad in this world. Why did everyone have to die? Why did good times have to end? Why were people torn from their loved one's arms long before their time? It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. Amy hated Fate, and Life, and Time, and any other thing that might have broken this already shattered family even further. She bowed her head and recited a few Hail Mary's for the bereaved father and his departed son.

Sam hadn't cried since she was seven years old, and she wasn't about to start now. Sure, she felt bad, but she had never met the guy who died, and therefore, she didn't feel much remorse over the fact. She was far too interested in the chill which was skating across her arms, pebbling the skin and making her shiver. She kept her teeth from chattering by clamping her jaws together, and she rubbed her forearms briskly, igniting a bit of warmth in them. And then she felt it. The unmistakable prickle that swam down her back whenever that damned stag was near her. She whirled around, eyes narrowed, looking for the majestic silver stag which would stand out in the scenery like roses in a snowbank. She caught sight of him by the grave, pretty white flowers pooling at his slender legs, his dark eyes saddened when he looked at the sobbing Theoden. He dipped his long, powerful neck and nuzzled the back of Theoden's cape, breath huffing over his skin. And then the stag looked up, straight at Sam.

My Master has a message.

Oh, no way in hell was she hearing voices.

He bids you come.

If you heard voices from only one animal, did it still mean you were crazy?

Come.

If that stag thought she was going to follow him, he was crazier than she was.

But he trotted off, once more delicately leaping from tuft to tuft, hooves skirting the mud daintily. Sam looked at her weary friends. It would take her two seconds, and then she would find out once and for all if she was nuts or not.

Silently, she took off after the stag.