And In The Darkness Bind Them

Arc One: Lord of the Rings

Chapter Seven

W-857

It was hilarious! His face was even funnier, and I so wish I'd gotten it all on video. Mark always played the most entertaining pranks. And they're even more catastrophic when he collaborates with Jacqueline.

Tomas told me they weren't always like this, though, the two of them. They were actually kind of mellow, he said, if not a tad mischievous. Apparently, they only truly started pranking and whatnot soon after I'd come around. Which makes me think back on my time here, at the bungalow. When I'd first stumbled upon the place, I remember being in a right state. I was, but I don't remember much after that, before I passed out right on their front porch. Right embarrassing, that. But the point still stands. I'm happier here, more than I've been in a long time.

But it seems like that's not enough for Mark, or Jackie. My happiness is a quiet thing, to them. And my smiles even more sparse than my laughs. They appear to want my joy to be louder. Perhaps more unrestrained, like their own. They even seemed to have gotten little Evelyn in on some of their pranks, and Tomas wasn't happy about that at all. She's only five! He says. They were being bad role models, he says. But the color of his face at the time, purple, made me laugh. Tomas' face seemed to soften up a little, then. I think that's why Mark and Jackie got off easy, that time.

But these pranks are getting more eager, it appears. Can't they see that I'm happy, here with them? I don't need to laugh or smile, being content is enough. They shouldn't go farther, it could get someone hurt. I don't want that to happen. I'll have to speak with them about it tomorrow...


W-1111

I actually never thought I'd ever get to number a world this number. Even though I've long since given up on dying and leaving this life. It just never occurred to me that I'd see this day.

But, in this world, just like in the last eleven-hundred-and-ten, I seem to play a key part in it's early development.

That makes me feel better, somehow. To know I'm raising an entire race into greatness, if I play things right, teach them correctly... just a little better, but things don't seem so bleak, now.


Seems just like all the other places, but Hank wasn't too sure, so he made us check the back. Well, me, at least. Evan was distracted by his obsessive need to get the smudge from the windows he'd rubbed clear off his sleeve, pronto. When I got back, the two were roughhousing. Apparently, Hank had pulled a prank. Hank! Making a practical joke! Imagine that. But Evan should have known better. Zombies aren't real... At least, not in this earth...

But, I'm really glad they seemed to have made up. It was just strange, seeing one of the brothers around in the Hamptons, without the other. They're usually attached at the hip...


other news, Jean bought me three books from Goodwill today, while she'd gone out shopping. She said I seemed a bit bored, lately, what with my sitting around in silence like I've been. She told me it was unnerving them all, since I was usually such a 'chatterbox.' I was interested, nonetheless. They actually seemed to be books I hadn't read, not yet. Of course, I can't be once to claim having read every piece of literature on the planet, but it's a close call, and to have found even three I haven't read—even out of boredom—well, Jean's always been a miracle worker.

Even better, all three were murder mysteries. Everyone knows I love a good murder mystery.

But, she said I couldn't have them unless I helped out with the yard-work tomorrow with minimal complaints! How rude!


W-8390

Miku got in trouble with Master today. It was almost kinda funny, but in a quiet way. None of us would say anything, we just watched as he let it all out on her. I think she was going to cry, too. Len and Gakupo seemed awkward, to say the least, but Kaito is a bit more like me and we managed to keep our faces blank. The girls were huddled up in the corner watching. Rin and Luka seemed especially sympathetic as they glanced to where Miku hunched down a little, before Master. After Master left, no one really said anything. Miku just looked over at us, let out a sob, and ran off to her room. It was actually a bit heart wrenching.

I was surprised, though. And I don't think I was alone. Miku's always been the goody-two-shoes, the obedient one. She's never gotten in trouble before. I don't understand what's happened...

Master's assistant came in sometime later and told us that Gakupo, Kaito, Luka, and I are scheduled to do a MV together. The song title was 'Konagona ni natta mado,' "Shattered Window," and the meanings behind the lyrics were interesting enough...

Len, though, seemed a bit put out that he wasn't chosen to join, especially since Master said there wasn't going to be another 'guys-only' MV for a while yet. I told Rin to take him out for a spin on the Road-Roller and maybe buy some ice-cream. That ought to make him feel better. The twins always have been childish. Like toddlers, really.


I don't understand why this is happening to me... It's not fair! I've tried every method I can think of, and them of them work!

I just.

Won't.

Die!


a miracle she's alive, really, since she shouldn't be. Her neck snapped, such an odd angle to see, never seen it on anyone else but me, but it looked quite disturbing and I now understand why Scylla ran screaming that night. But still, she should have died, Marie. That wound... for a normal person... She should have died.

And I'm suppose to be alone...

I'm so confused!


W-92

Parker's always going on about chinchillas, I don't see what the big deal is! They're practically rodents! And what's his deal with the carbonated soda's the canteen just loves to give out? I bet those cooks just hope everyone dies. Of, like, soda poison. It's bad for them! Unhealthy, I tell you! There's not even cereal bars in the mornings, and coffee's just so nasty, I don't see how anyone can stand it. Jackson's such a giant...


Boromir snapped the journal shut with a low groan. He'd been searching through the little book for ages, and he didn't understand how it could hold so many damn pages! Must be some magic spell of Viper's. He glared at the offending object, wanting to just toss it down the ravine, but two things stopped him. This book was the only things he had left of Viper, and there wasn't any way he was about to throw it away. The other reason being the small chance that the entries held some information about the stone and it's properties. He needed to know. The rock just... baffled him.

Tharbadir chortled from beneath him, and Boromir cast the animal a scowl. Of course it would be laughing at him. Him and his very real inability to find the first entry! The earliest he'd found was the first entry for world six—at least, that's what he assumed the 'W' and numbers stood for. No matter how far back he kept flipping, more pages kept appearing. It was like he was getting absolutely nowhere in the book! And he'd stopped trying to understand all the otherworldly references that popped up in each entry he read. What was a phone? Or a video? What did the letters MV stand for? Gakupo was a completely strange name...

Without Viper here to explain, the words remained meaningless to him.

With a shout of frustration, the Son of Denethor threw the blasted book back in the back and glanced at his left hand with a look of absolute fury. He'd tied it against his palm for fear of accidentally loosing his hold, but the fear remained, and so his knuckles were white from his grip around it. He couldn't let go, he had to reach Gondor, or—or anywhere else! He needed medical attention. He had to live, he had so many plans! He had to reconcile with Faramir, he had to stand up to his father, he had to help with the fight against Sauron, he had to live to watch Aragorn, his new brother, become king...

And this stone...

It was the only thing keeping him alive out here, alone in the wilderness.

He spurred Tharbadir on, faster, glad that the stone kept pain from reaching him as the ride would have been quite bumpy and jarring otherwise, and ignored the irritated sound the animal made. It sped into a gallop anyways.

He had to make it...

oOoOo

They stood atop a steep hill overlooking the valley they'd just escaped from, the pair of them together. The view was breathtaking, and perhaps not entirely in a good way.

Frodo took a deep breath and spun around to look at the other side of the hill, which they would descend. Another breathtaking view met his eyes, and it was even worse than the one he'd just looked away from. Sam came to stand behind him.

"Mordor." Frodo told his friend, and still traveling companion. No matter how much he wished Sam hadn't followed him, he was ever-so grateful the hobbit was here with him now. It made him feel better, to know that Sam would never leave his side. With such a determination, maybe Sam could even refuse the Ring, directly. The thought was strengthening, to say the least. Still... "I hope the others find a safer route."

"Strider will look after them," Sam assured him, almost right away, and Frodo graced his friend with a smile, before it turned sad.

"I... don't suppose we'll ever see them again." He said, as he realized just what exactly the situation they were in meant. And it was true. They really could die on this quest. In fact, it seemed inevitable that they would. Suddenly, having Sam here with him, along for the journey, seemed even less appealing than it had before. He could die. Sam could die...

But then Sam placed a warm, calloused hand on his shoulder and nodded firmly. "We may yet, Mister Frodo. We may."

And the corners of Frodo's mouth seemed unable to stay put as they twitched upward. He turned and gave the other a warm smile.

"I'm glad you're here with me, Sam." To be honest, he was. Completely. He just... was so scared, terrified, that Sam would die because of him, too. Just like Viper had. And Gandalf.

Frodo shook the thoughts from his head and steeled himself, taking the first few steps forward. He would make sure neither of their deaths had been in vain, and he would absolutely make sure that Viper's, the poor young teen, would be known as a blessed word for the rest of time. He felt Sam pause behind him, and then the gardener was following after him at a slow but unhesitant pace. Frodo Baggins smiled as the two descended into Mordor. He could do this.

oOoOo

Merry let out a small oomph as his Uruk-hai mount jostled him a little, and knew for certain he'd have a nice collection of bruises after all this was over and done with. He glanced over at Pippin who was attempting to lean as far away from his own captor as he possible could without getting roughly pulled back. It'd happened before, and the Took had gotten a face full of horrid-smelling orc as his face collided with the thing's shoulder. Merry cringed at the memory and the face Pippin had had when he'd pulled back with a strangled cough. He'd avoided squirming since then. Both of them had.

Soon, they appeared to have arrived to wherever the monsters were taking them. More orcs, the normal kind, emerged from behind a few outcroppings of rock.

"You're late!" One of them sneered. "Our master grows impatient. He wants the Shire-rates now."

The two Halflings bristled at being called rats, but the Uruk-hai just growled.

"I don't take orders from Orc maggots," the leader sneered. "Saruman will have his prize. We will deliver them."

As they went on, Pippin tilted his head o the side. "Merry!" He whispered.

"Hello, Pip."

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. What about you?"

Pippin was about to respond, but the biggest Uruk-hai lifted his grubby nose to sniff at the air. The others paused in their marching to glance over t him suspiciously.

"You smell that?" He grunted to his friends.

"What is it?" One of them demanded.

"Man-flesh," he spat.

Pippin and Merry exchanged wide-eyed glances.

"Aragorn!" The Brandybuck hissed.

"They've picked up our trail!" The lead Uruk-hair howled. "Let's go!"

The evolved orcs marched on across the dry-grass field. Pippin bit his lips and frowned at Merry with a hard stare. Merry furrowed his brows and titled his head. Pippin pursed his lips and settled down into the orc's hold, still frowning, almost a pout. Slowly, he hunched his shoulder and bit down on the elven broach attached to his cloak. He leaned to the side, glancing around, before dropping it to the ground. When he straightened again and looked back at his friend, Merry was hiding a vicious smirk.

"What a Took," the hobbit breathed, and Pippin stuck out his tongue. He quickly pulled it back in though, making a disgusted face. Orc's were already terribly smelly. He didn't want to taste them, too.

oOoOo

Viper took one look at the congregation sitting around them, and stepped aside in a futile attempt to hide behind Gandalf.

The old man only chuckled and pushed him forward, the bastard. Viper didn't want to talk to the imposing figures that were gathered here. They were slightly intimidating him. And no that wasn't just an excuse.

"Viper, the one who watches." One of the figures, who sat in the middle throne-like seat spoke. The hooded man, dressed in all white tilted his head—but not like when he did it. No, even the man's head tilts were intimidating. A far cry from Viper's, which were adorable and endearing. "Or should I say, Harry James Potter?"

Viper stiffened, shoulders tensing, but he gave no other sign of his sudden discomfort or uncertainty. Though, the wariness was there to see. "Well, when you say my middle name like that, it sound like I'm in trouble," he shrugged carelessly, and a few of the hooded figures smiled.

"No," the head one spoke again. Must be Manwë, Viper needlessly thought. Something to keep his mind running. He shifted and glanced up again. Manwë's lips turned up at the corners slightly. "You are in no trouble... unless you count your... predicament. Then, I would consent in calling that a problem."

The immortal teen blinked, then gave up and fell to the ground, sitting cross-legged and leaning back against Gandalf's legs. The aged wizard cast him an amused look. He ignored it.

"If you mean my not-dying thing... then yeah, I'm not talking to you people anymore. How rude, to just bring it up like that! Have you no tact?" Viper huffed, sounding offended. He crossed his arms.

But the figures' eyes softened and their smiled became sad.

"Yes, " the figure to Manwë's right, a woman, said. "We understand that no one has explained anything to you?"

Viper slowly took in a breath, and pulled his legs up to his chest. "Ha. No." She shook his head, bravado completely gone. The smiles disappeared completely and some of the figures even frowned in concern. Viper didn't get it. He blinked.

Manwë took in a breath of his own, nodding. "I see. I am so terribly sorry, child."

Viper stiffened again, ready to growl out... but he paused. It felt different, when this man said it. When others said it, they meant it in a way that he was lower than them, either in age or experience. It always hurt, and angered him. Because he was neither! But when this man, Manwë, said it... It didn't sound that way. It spread a warm feeling in his chest. He looked up from his knees to see Manwë kneeling in front of him. He barely kept himself from flinching back, but he knew they saw the twitch and Manwë's lips turned down slightly. The deity reached out his hands to cup Viper's face, and the immortal teen blinked, biting his lip.

"You, your soul, nor your body were suited for this existence." Manwë began. He stared into Viper's silver eyes and neither seemed to be able to avert their gaze. "Immortality is something you're born with. To gain it in such the way that you did, having it forced upon you, was a terrible crime and the deity who was responsible was punished quite severely. However, there is no way for us to reverse it. Not to our knowledge... and for that, I am sorry."

Viper slowly understood what the man meant. It took some time and a few more explanations, but he eventually got the gist of it. His body wasn't created to be immortal, and it was taking a lot of his magic to form a link with the Hallows to keep him sane. That was one of the many reasons a few of his spells were no longer available to him. Like the temperature spells. Or transportation—apparation no longer worked for him, and he had lost the ability to create portkeys. And floo—well, he'd never actually learned how to make that. It would be useless anyway, since there was no Floo Channel to register locations anymore anymore.

However, the force of the Hallows having to co-exist with his magic, to keep his soul intact, stressed his magical core in a way that was like exercise. His core was expanded and that was why he could pull of feats he hadn't been able to do back in his earlier years.

Still, despite the fact that his magic and the Hallows were working together to keep his soul intact and his sanity untwisted, his mind was still stressed. Immortality really wasn't something that was natural for his biological or mental make-up. He was slowly going insane, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. It wasn't the type insanity he was thinking, though. More like, he was becoming something of a... highly functioning sociopath. With some bipolarity mixed in just for kicks.

And that didn't exactly make him feel any better.

The Valar's over affectionate attitudes toward him made him a bit uncomfortble. And he just didn't know how to handle it. One of he woman, Nienna, reminded him of his first and best friend's mother—whose hair he'd compared with Gimli's. And, oh, was that ever painful. She was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had, and he'd never allowed anyone to replace her, not even in this world.

"Are you thirsty?" Nienna asked, running a hand through his hair, fingers flitting over to fix his hair clips. They were really only there because, for some reason, he just hated having hair in his face on that side. Plus, he thought they looked good with this image.

Viper blinked slowly and turned his silver eyes up to her face. "Hm. Kind of."

"You're hungry too, aren't you?" Lorien, the brother of Mandos("Call me Námo, son"), intoned knowingly, and Viper's face brightened.

"Actually, yeah! Sorry," the immortal teen bowed his head sheepishly. "I forgot again."

Yavanna, bff of Nienna, petted his hair and moved his bangs out of his right eye. "It's no problem dear. We just wish you'd keep your own health in mind!"

Viper bit his lip and smiled apologetically as what looked like very happy servants flooded the room. A long table appeared, like in the dining hall of the elves, and they covered it with platters of food, then took seats for themselves. The Valar sat down, Gandalf to to the right of his teacher, Nienna, and she and Yavanna forced him into the chair between them, Yavanna's husband Aulë sat to her left. Then, not even a word spoken, everyone dug in. Viper, however, didn't move a muscle, since the two Valier who sat on either side of him piled food onto his plate themselves. He glanced down at it, growing slightly queasy at the amount—which continued to grow until he finally had to asked them to stop—but he was literally starving, so he started eating anyway.

Eventually the Valar and company began dragging him into conversations and Viper suddenly felt legitimately shy for the first time in ages. All of these people here were so freaking happy, happy to be with each other, happy to eat with each other, happy to talk with him...

He wanted to be this happy.

He wanted it so bad.

And his heart broke because he realized he couldn't.

So Viper just bit his lip after he'd finished his plate and crossed his arms on the table top in front of him, staring down at his lap. The others sensed his mood and didn't bother him, but he didn't notice the lull in conversations or the sorrow-filled gazed that many sent his way.

oOoOo

"The world is changing," The white clad elder spoke, his aged voice graveling its way out of his throat, almost as if they didn't want to come. "I can feel it, around me. The air itself is evolving. Into something greater... I can see it."

He held his hand out over an orb as it glowed and frothed inside—almost in a soothing manner, but the pallid, sightless darkness it seethed could almost be touched—from where it was set in a dais.

"Who, now, has the strength to stand against the armies of Isengard and Mordor?" The wizard intoned, an eerie smile not-quite stretching it's way across his pale, worn face. "To stand against the might of Sauron and Saruman, and the union of the two towers?"

He took in a slow breath, letting it fill his lungs before pressing it out. "Together, My Lord Sauron," he called, "we shall rule this Middle-Earth."

Even from here, in his state of something that was not quite existence, but not nothing either, he could feel the orcs beneath him as they worked in the caverns of Isengard, his tower. "The old world will burn in the fires of industry."

He closed his eyes, running deft fingers across the orbs surface. The Palantír. "Forests will fall. A new order will rise. We will drive the machinery of war with the sword and the spear and the iron fist of the orcs."

From behind him, the two orcs who stood as guards looked at one another uneasily. They were generally stupid creatures, savage beasts they were. One or two might have a sound mind for strategy somewhere under all that madness and blood lust, but the vast majority held less intelligence than a nail's head. They were hard enough to control, as it was.

Saruman breathed in again, lifting his fingers from the Palantír and opening his eyes, the image of Isengard's pits still fresh on his mind. "We have only to remove those who oppose us."

He spun around to face the two orc guards, who immediately straightened when they noticed his attention was on them. "I want them armed and ready to march within two weeks!" He announced. They blinked.

"But my lord!" One of them hesitantly began. "There are too many! They cannot be armed in time, we don't have the means."

But Saruman was having none of it. "Build a dam," he managed to spit. "Block the stream and run the furnaces day and night."

"We don't have enough fuel to feed the fires!" The other tried.

The wizard sneered at them. "The Forest of Fangorn lays on our doorstep." He said. "Burn it."

The orcs paused, then swapped sudden grins of anticipation. "Yes!"

They left, and Saruman rolled his eyes in annoyance. He had a conference to ready himself for. With the Dunlending.

oOoOo

Sam tugged the rope again, and gave an exasperated sigh as the ugly creature tied to the other end began it's struggles tenfold.

"It burns!" The creature shrieked,with a voice akin to a dying duck. "It burns us! It freezes!" Sam took a moment to admire the contrast of the creature's words, before tugging again with an absentmindedness he most surely had inherited from his aunt's side of the family. Always ones to be distracted, those Goodchild's were.

"Nasty elvies twisted it!" The little brute grappled with the rope tied around it's neck. "Get it off us!"

Sam rolled his eyes and tugged once more. "Quiet you!" He shushed.

Frodo stood off to the side, looking half horrified and half amused as the creature continued to scream, an inhuman sound than echoed eerily off the sides of the stone and rock that surrounded them.

"It's no use," the Baggins bit his lip. "Every orc in Mordor can probably hear it, the racket it's making."

Sam pulled his attention away from the irritating little knobby-kneed thing and raised his eyebrows. "Why we even taking him along, Mr. Frodo? Let's just tie him up and leave him! More trouble than he's worth, the thing."

The creature let out another unholy shriek and fought against the rope in a futile attempt for freedom. It began to mutter under it's breath about "hobbitses" and how they "always cheated, the ugly meanies." The two hobbits present cast one another bemused glances.

Sam reaffirmed his opinion. "Tie the brute up and let's leave, Mr. Frodo. We have a mission and this thing'll only delay us, ain't that right?"

The creature, Gollum, finally realized what Sam was meaning, and began to scream anew. "No! That will kill us! Kill us!"

Sam cast the creature a disgusted glance and shivered, scowling down at it. "Nothing more than you deserve, death is!"

Frodo took a slow intake of breath through half pressed lips, trying his best to filter the ghastly order of Mordor from the oxygen that he needed, and gave a shake of his head. He suddenly remembered what Viper had said once, back in the mines of Moria. "Now that I see him, I do pity him. Maybe he does deserve to die." The Baggins thought aloud. "It would be the merciful thing to do."

Sam nodded his head in agreement. "Like the kitten Mr. Viper was talking about." At the mention of the dead teen, both hobbit's hearts sunk lower. Sam missed the bright atmosphere that the enigma brought along, and Frodo despaired. He missed the younger man terribly, and felt guilty. Viper had died because of Frodo, he was certain. And Frodo—Frodo was on this mission to make sure he, nor Gandalf, had died for nothing.

But Sam had felt a sort of bond with Viper—and unknown to him, so did the others of the Fellowship. He felt like an older brother, with the childish air Viper usually had around him. He'd been so scared down in Moria, but so brave, throwing his terror away to fight. Sam admired him. He felt responsible for Viper, like a big brother should, and the fact that the teen had died, far too young, meant he'd failed at those responsibilities.

Gollum, meanwhile, saw a chance and snatched at it with his spindly, long, twisted fingers. "We be nice to them if theys be nice to us. Take it off us!" The creature whined, tugging the rope. "We swears to do what yous want! We swears!"

Frodo's sudden mood grew worse. "There is no promise you can make me that I can trust!" He spat at the creature. Oh, he knew what Gollum had done. And the fact that the Ring had been the thing behind Smeagol's fall from grace only made him sick. That could have happened to Boromir. To his other friend. Sam, Sam was strong but could he fight the Ring? Smeagol hadn't been able to.

Gollum shook his head frantically, fixing a beseeching gaze upon the hobbit. "We swears to serve to Master of the Precious!" The creature pleaded, grubby hands patting the ground as if he was blindly searching for something that wasn't there. It was more than a little disturbing, and Frodo once again cringed at the thought of having the thing that did that to this creature touching his skin. He reached down and absently slid the ring in between his shirt and his cloak so that it wasn't actually touching him. "We will swear on—" Gollum looked around, as if looking for something to lay an oath of, before his bulging eyes zeroed in on Frodo's chest. As if they could see right through his cloak. Frodo shuddered.

"On the Precious!" The creature crooned, almost happily. Frodo swallowed the bile that threatened to crawl up his throat.

He pinned Gollum with a scathing look. "The Ring is treacherous." He said sternly. For he knew, oh yes he knew. "It will hold you to your word." And more, he didn't say.

But Gollum didn't seem to get it. "Yes... on the precious," the creature hissed almost lovingly. "On the precious..."

"I don't believe you," Sam growled, tightening his grip on the rope and tugging it back harshly. Gollum was jerked back, away from where he'd approached Frodo. "Get down!"

But Frodo thought hard and long on what to do. He considered what both Viper and Gandalf would do, and finally decided to mix them together, Viper's philosophy still outweighing what Gandalf had told him—at least, in his mind. He looked down on the creature who rubbed at his throat, where a rope burn was sue to be.

"You know the way to Mordor?" He began, slowly, starign down at it.

Gollum looked up, and blinked those big, bulging eyes that might have once belonged to a good looking young hobbit who had his morals mostly straight, but were now set in the skull of a pathetic monster. "Yes."

"You've been there before?"

A slow, sly smile spread across the creatures face, and Frodo and Sam shared a slow, long look that carried many words. "Yes!"

Frodo, with swift choice, almost took the rope from around the creatures neck, but paused. No. He glanced back at Sam and the gardener caught his eye. Sam smirked wryly, then approached. Soon, Gollum's hands were tied behind his bony back, and the creature stared up at them hatefully.

"You will lead us to Mordor," Frodo ordered Without any other choice, the pathetic sin scrambled along the rocks ahead of them, the opposite end of it's leash in Sam's firm hands as the two hobbits followed after.

oOoOo

Aragorn laid on the ground, his ear pressed to it. He felt a slight vibration—but couldn't be sure. He jumped to his feet with nimble agility and turned an imploring gaze to the elf of their group.

"Use your elf eyes," Aragorn asked. "Do you see anything?"

Legolas turned his stoic gaze out over the plains, before he blinked and focused back on their closer surroundings. The elf shook his head. "Vaguely. They seem to have quickened their pace however, from what I could see. They caught our scent."

Aragorn nodded, biting his lip. "We have to hurry, then." He jogged on ahead, and Legolas turned to the dwarf of their small company. "Let's go, Gimli," he called, and almost exasperated tone to his voice.

The ginger—Legolas couldn't think of anything else to call him anymore, not in his mind. Viper's nicknames were easily quite catchy... or had been. Legolas felt a dull pang deep within his chest and his breath hitched slightly. He refused to shed a tear, though. Now was not the time. He'd mourn their friend later.

The dwarf grumbled. "Three days and nights pursuit... no food, no rest, and no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell."

"I saw them ahead of us," the blond elf snapped, impatient. "And if we don't hurry, we'll loose them. Merry and Pippin need us."

But he couldn't help missing Viper and Gandalf both. Gandalf had been around since he was a young elf, not quite an elfling but not exactly considered even a teen by his people. The wizard had been full of advice and experience for all the elves and other races. If the elves followed the Man's custom of godfathers, then Legolas was sure Gandalf would have been gifted such a position by many and elf. His heart ached for the Istar's death.

And Viper. For someone so young, barely a child, he'd been so full of a wisdom that didn't come from sitting on ones own and doing nothing. The teen had to have been just filled with stories of adventure and learning. But now no one would get to hear them. Not for the first time, Legolas wondered what exactly had happened to Viper's family and friends. The way the teen had held himself had made it seem like he was the last of his kind, but he was clearly of the race of Men.

Legolas shoved the thoughts to the back of his head. They clearly would never know. And the very fact tore at his heart.

He paused and glanced down. Gimli thumped a hand against his arm. "Don't sulk, elf. We can do that later. If you keep it up, I'll beat you to the hobbits!" And the dwarf strode... waddled... scuttled ahead of him, with Legolas staring after him. After a moment, the elf started walking at a brisk pace once more, an odd smile on his face.

The three hunters raced across the plains, following the group of Uruk-hai that had captured Merry and Pippin, hands white-knuckled on their weapons.

Perhaps a day later, Aragorn stood ahead of them, the elf and dwarf crouched behind them. They spied down the view of a valley. Aragorn clutched a golden clasp in his hand.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," the ranger and heir to Gondor's throne spoke, turning the golden leave over in his fingers. It was Pippins.

"They might still be alive," Legolas said, trying to keep their spirits up.

"And less than a day ahead of us," Aragorn followed up, finally standing and making his way down into the valley at a pace one would reserve for most horses. "Come!"

"Come on Gimli," Legolas called behind him. "I thought you said you would beat me? We're gaining on them!"

"I'm lost on cross-country." The dwarf grumbled even more. "We dwarves are natural sprinters. Very dangerous over short distances."

Legolas snorted, very un-noble like being the elf prince he was, and raced ahead to catch up to Aragorn. He rolled his eyes once he was facing away from the shorted male. Dwarves.

The three of them eventually paused on a vast plain, outlooking a rocky cliff; one that went down deeper into the valley. Legolas strained his eyes to see before them into the distance. He turned to Aragorn. "The Uruks have turned Northeast. They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!" He shouted over the winds that howled in their ears.

Aragorn stared out across the valley to where he knew the orcs were. And he knew exactly where they were headed. Or better yet, to whom.

His eyes narrowed.

"Saruman."

oOoOo

She looked out at her village from her large window, cut into the side of her country house. It was a cozy little establishment, and all the neighbors were quite kind and giving toward one another. The children absolutely loved to frolic together in the fields, and the way the villagers had raised them, they were very willing to help with the chores. It wasn't a time of grumbling like it had been when she was young, back in Rohan. It was a fun time of games and laughter, work still getting done. She loved it here. The wind of the plains had been gentle that morning, but they chased off the baking heat of the sun. The village was quiet and peaceful, the children chasing each other in a game of tag.

Or, it had been.

Now, she cowered below her window, hands gripping the edge as she cautiously peered out into the village. A village that burned, fire blazing in place of the winds—gentle winds that only made the flames grow. Screamed came from the other villagers, her friends, her family. Children cried and howled in terror. Some in pain.

The Wildmen had come. And they were as savage as she'd once heard.

She turned and rushed out her back door. Thankfully they hadn't reached her own home yet. She pulled at the reigns of her family's steed, calling out to her children.

Èothan," She called, and the nimble boy leaped onto the horses bare back. She hadn't the time to saddle him. "Èothan! You take your sister. You'll go faster with just two." The small girl who'd been clutching her skirts was lifted to sit in front of the boy.

The tiny girl frowned, looking around apprehensively. "But Papa says Èothan must not ride Garold. She's too big for him!"

Morwen held her daughters face tightly in her hands. Desperately. She ached inside, knowing she might not see either of her children again. "Listen to me! You must ride to Edoras and raise the alarm. Do you understand me?!"

Èothan nodded furiously, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Yes, mama!"

Freda, though, didn't understand exactly what was happening like her brother did. "I don't want to leave!" She sobbed. "I don't want to go!"

Her baby's tears tore at her heart, but Morwen rubbed them away with her thumbs. She made a decision and determination filled her to the core. "Listen to me! I will find you there!" She promised, face so severe that both children stared silently with wide eyes, Freda choking back another sob.

Sounds of clanging metal and roaring flames erupted back from the streets of the village. She looked back at her home, before shooting a stern glance toward her children. "Quickly!"

Èothan spurred Garold into a gallop, and the horse took off away from the village. Morwen watched her children flee, a desperate look of heartbreak taking over her pretty face. "Go, child!"

And form a distance away, the two children look back on the village as it s consumed by flames. Freda let out a broken sob and buried her face into her brothers chest. Èothan's face was grim as he held the reigns of Garold and made to Rohan.

oOoOo

On the banks of the Isen river, bodies of men and horses lay in the rain, the water soaking the corpses that were strewn about with scavenged belongings. The sound of horse hooves sounded, coming closer and closer until another company of riders approached the scene. The lead horsemen raised a hand and they pulled to a stop before the bodies.

"Théodred..." He murmured, before turnign to his men. "Find the king's son!"

The men obeyed instantly, dismounting their rides to search among the bodies with barely withheld looks of contempt.

"Mordor will pay for this," one of the riders murmured, scathingly, to another, and the rest looked up with agreeing eyes before returning to their search.

Their leader watched them search for a moment, before looking among the bodies himself. He saw the bodies of what exactly had been the downfall of these riders, and felt smug knowing they took some of the monsters down with them. But then, he frowned. Something wasn't right. Something was different...

"These orcs," he realized quietly. "They are not from Mordor..."

He kicked on of the orcs over, and was curious to see a white hand print of it's armor.

But the hand print was strange.

It wasn't big enough to belong to an orc.

His heart sank as he realized what this meant.

"My Lord Èomer!" One of his riders called, and the man looked up. "Over here!"

Èomer rushed over to the rider and looked at the body that lay at their feet. He quickly crouched down and rolled the corpse over, only to realize... it wasn't a corpse.

Èomer frowned in worry, but felt relief flood his heart.

"He's alive!"

oOoOo

Èowyn raced up the stairs that lead to the Golden Hall of Meduseld, worry and fear tightening in her chest. Her heart was beating rapidly with terror, and she hoped dearly that good news was awaiting her in the chamber she was about to enter.

She came to a stop and stepped into the room, out of breath. She looked to see a figure laid out on a bed, sweating and shivering, unconscious. Another figure knelt next to the bed, head bowed. She knew who these men were. They were—they were family. And...

She moved over and knelt next to the man, he brother. They looked upon their cousin, and Èowyn felt she throat constrict.

"Théodred!" She breathed, worry consuming her. She looked to her brother, and Èomer gave her a meaningful look full of grief. He looked back at their cousin, and Èowyn pulled back the covers.

She barely withheld a scream of heart wrenching horror.

Because Théodred's wound was fatal.

He would die.

And she would loose him, too...

Èowyn released a quiet sob, and buried her face into her cousin's sweaty and trembling arm.

oOoOo

Èomer stood outside a room, the door shut. He was in the infirmary corridor of the castle, the beds separated by rooms instead of all set in the same hall, like many other establishments had it. He wondered about the man behind the close door he stood before. Such an odd circumstance surrounded his arrival, and the healers had had such a large workload put upon them to stitch up the mans many wounds. Wounds he should have died from.

He and his cousin—along with his sister, once or twice. Èowyn was also quite taken with him—had enjoyed long conversations with the man... before Théodred and his company had been labeled missing in action. And now his cousin was dying...

He pushed open the door, and the man inside the room looked up to meet him with a friendly wave. "'Ho, Èomer my friend," Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, greeted him. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Èomer smiled dryly. "I'm afraid I've bad news. Though, the first of it might be good news, to you."

Boromir waved him into a chair across the table from him, and the sandy-haired man raised an eyebrow and he sat. "Well? What news is this?"

"I'm afraid the steed you arrive here on has fled from the stables. We have not seen him since, but one of the stable hands witnessed him leaving the castle grounds. I was under the impression that you were not fond of one another, however."

Boromir scoffed, waving a hand and closing the journal that sat before him on the table with the other. Èomer also wondered about the book. Boromir was loath to allow anyone but himself to even touch it's leather binding. "Ah, best to leave it be. Tharbadir was always a free spirit, and only Viper ever tamed him. The animal has probably gone off on it's own adventure!"

Èomer graced his friend with a smile. Boromir was always speaking highly of his friend, this Viper. He seemed like an interesting lad, from what Èomer could tell... Sadly, Èomer suspected the teen had perished. Boromir wouldn't speak of it, when Théodred had once asked where Viper was, and Èomer had deducted Viper had died in the Fellowship's journey. Perhaps along with Gandalf—he'd been filled with sorrow to hear the endearing wizard was now gone. And in such dark times...

"What other news have you, Èomer?" Boromir's face became serious, all joking aside. "I can tell it is not well..."

Èomer let out a sigh. "Theodred's has been found. His company is all dead, and he's been wounded." The blonde bit his lip and Boromir's eyes widened. "Fatally."

He looked up, their eyes meeting. And Boromir knew exactly what he was asking.

"You want the stone?"

Èomer reached across the table to clasp Boromir's hands. "Please, my friend. I will get down on my knees and beg you, if I must. I love my cousin so dearly, as does my sister. We cannot bear to loose him. And if my uncle was of sound mind, I assure you he would say the same."

Boromir hesitated, but grasped his hands back. "I want the same as you, Èomer. Théodred is my friend, though I cannot claim to be as close to him as you. But, I must warn you. I do not know much about the stone, nor it's powers. I cannot promise you anything. Please, be careful."

Boromir's eyes held Èomer's for a moment, before the blonde nodded. "I swear it upon my father's deathbed, Boromir. As soon as Théodred is stable you will have it back."

Boromir stared a moment longer, before nodding and releasing Èomer's hands. He leaned back in his seat and placed the journal on his lap. He ran a callused hand over the leather cover, before looking up. "I've not heard much about what ails the king." He started, and Èomer bit his lip. "I'm not asking you to tell me, exactly, Èomer. But I want to know."

Èomer took in a deep breath. Then, he nodded. "My uncle the king is... far older than he should be. His hair is gray, almost white as Gandalf's had been. His beard is long and his skin is worn."

Boromir blinked and Èomer shook his head. He released a sigh. "Gríma is his advisor. I think him in league with Saruman the White—and Saruman has created new orcs that follow his rule."

Boromir's face became grim. "The orcs are called Uruk-hai. They are what split the Fellowship. They are what almost killed me. Should have killed me." He absently rubbed his shoulder, where a deep scar was. Èomer winced, remembering how bad his injuries had been.

"They are stronger than your average orc."

"Yes," Boromir agreed. "By a mile. Seem vaguely more intelligent , too. As smart as an orc can be, at least. More blood thirsty, too." The sandy-haired man leaned forward to brace his arms against the edge of the table. His fingers clasped together in thought. "If this Gríma is with their maker, then Saruman is most definitely behind whatever is plaguing the king. If we rid ourselves of Gríma... perhaps we can stall long enough to get the king aid."

oOoOo

Soon, the two siblings stood side by side in the throne room, before the kind. Father of their cousin and uncle to them, Théoden. Their hearts ached for him and their minds cried out in sorrow. He was aged far beyond his years. It wasn't fair.

"Your son is badly wounded, my lord," Èomer began. He knew the man most likely couldn't even hear him, but he hoped beyond hope that there was even a possibility... "He was ambushed by orcs. If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

Beside him, his sister took in a sharp breath.

But a voice shouted from the shadows. A voice they both had learned to despise. "That is a lie!"

The kings 'advisor' stepped from the shadows where the words had originated from. He sent the siblings a scathing look that somehow had a smug angle to it, and made his way over to the king. "Saruman the White has only ever bee our friend and alley," Gríma told Théoden gently, angling hi head to the side to see what the man did. The king only mumbled feebly in return. Gríma's smile turned vicious.

The golden haired siblings, niece and nephew to the king, glared despairingly at the scene. Èomer decided to try again. "Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged... killing at will, my lord!" He tossed the helmet in his hands to the ground and gestured to it. "And a new kind. Stronger, far larger than normal. They bear the white hand of Saruman."

Gríma looked down his nose at them, and Théoden didn't even twitch at the words of his nephew. Èowyn bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?" Gríma asked of them snidely. "Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering."

Èomer stood straight, as if he'd been struck. "Warmongering?!" He repeated, incredulously. Èowyn raised her head to watch as he stepped across the throne hall and shoved the black-clad advisor against a pillar, holding him there. "How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead you would take a share of the treasure?!" His voice rose in volume, hate and pain filling it.

Gríma's eyes shifted to the right, watching Èowyn as she straightened and began to make her way out f the room. She stopped to look him in the eye for a moment, before pursing her lips and departing.

Èomer's gut twisted, and he felt sick. He grabbed Gríma by the jaw and forced the man to look him in the face.

"Too long," he growled lowly, voice sharpening to a dangerous edge, "have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps!"

But Gríma didn't seem to be listening. The advisor had looked to the left, and he relaxed. Èomer frowned, confused, before he was suddenly pulled off the other man by Gríma's guards. They force him back in front of the throne with his arms held behind him. Èomer growled again. What was this...?!

"You see much, Èomer son of Èomund." Gríma said as he went and stood once more beside the king. "Too much."

At those two words, Èomer's chest tightened and a chill went down his spine.

Gríma straightened up, clearing his throat—as if he were resisting the urge to rub where Èomer had grabbed him. "You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan, and all its domains, under pain of death." He spoke, and Èomer's jaw dropped.

The king's nephew stood up against the guards hold on him. His eyes were wide with rage and hurt as they began to drag him out of the room. "You—you have no authority here!" He shouted back at the smug Gríma. "Your words, they mean nothing!"

But Gríma only shook his head, smile disappearing and a stern look overcoming his features. "This order does not come from me." He said, and Èomer paused in his struggles, once again confused. Gríma's smile appeared again.

"It comes from the king."

The man held up a paper, an official document complete with the sunburst seal of Rohan's ruling figure and a scrawled signature—a signature Èomer knew quite well— and Èomer's gut twisted in a different way.

Not disgust, but hurt. Betrayal. His eyes flickered to the motionless Théoden, sitting on his throne with unseeing eyes, and his hatred tripled in intensity.

Gríma watched the guards drag him out of the hall, and their eyes connected just as the doors were about to close. Gríma waved the document in an almost carefree manner. He smiled.

"He signed it this morning."

The doors slammed shut.

Èomer howled.

oOoOo

Èothan spurred Garold on once more, seeing that the horse was slowing. They'd been riding for days, but after that last glance neither he nor his sister had dared to look behind them. Freda clutched a map of their homeland in her dirty hands and he held one arms round her, pushing Garold as fast as he could go. He'd slowed to an exhausted trot now, and Èothan clenched his teeth. He didn't blame the creature, he too was tired, but they had to make it to Rohan!

Suddenly, Garold shuttered and fell to the ground, Èothan let out a yell, tumbling off, and Freda awoke with a shriek from where she'd been napping against his chest. He scrambled upright and set her aside, reaching his hands out to steady Garold, rubbing his head. The horse let out a moan and twitched a few times, before getting up and dragging himself toward a small stream nearby.

Èothan let out a sigh, and looked back to Freda. She clutched the map to her chest and stared at the ground, eyes crusty with dried tears. He walked over to her and drew her to him in a short embrace. She looked up and he let a tired smile grace his face. "You should go clean up."

Freda handed him the map, and he took it from her, slipping it under his belt. When he looked up again, Freda was still in front of him, staring up at him.

"Is momma dead?" She asked quietly.

Èothan's eyes widened with horror. "What? No!" he shook his head and held his little sisters dusty face between his hands, looking down into her pretty eyes. "No, she is not," he repeated more firmly. "Momma promised to meet us later! She just had us go on ahead so we'd be safer."

Freda's eyes filled with new tears. Èothan wiped them away with sure fingers the moment they spilled. "B-But the bad men were in the village and I d-didn't see momma leave. Did they kill momma?"

"No, they didn't," he decided. "Momma's still alive. And she'd be disappointed that you didn't believe her—after she'd made a promise, no less!

Freda blinked up at him, eyebrows raised in alarm. "No! No, I believe momma!"

Èothan instantly felt horrible. He knew Freda's worst fear was disappointing their mother and he'd just used it against her. But if that reassured her that their mother was alive, he decided it was worth it. He used his sleeve to scrub some dirt from Freda's nose, then gave up and was about to order her to to the stream when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Your horse looks like it's dying! I don't think you've been taking good care of it..."

Èothan spun around and shoved Freda behind him. She clutched the back of his shirt and peered around him. There was a young man dressed in black clothes leading Garold back to them by the reigns. The horse looked sleepy from his recent drink. The man looked young, probably around the age of the young men in Èothan's village who were just about ready to move out and start their own life. His face was very clean, like Èothan's had never been. And his clothes were soft looking, rich. He had two daggers sheathed on either hip and even the hilts looked like they belonged to royalty. The teen's face looked like it belonged to a noble, too. His hair was onyx and silky, made up in a strange style Èothan had never seen before—but it suited the man. His skin was like ivory and his eyes were like silver, sparkling with mirth and mischievousness.

"Who are you?" Èothan ventured hesitantly. He hoped to whatever deity that was listening that the man was a friend and not a foe.

The man smiled gently and held out Garold's reigns to him. "My name is Viper! What are you two doing way out here all by yourselves?" He seemed concerned. "Do you have parents somewhere?"

Èothan shook his head. "Our village was attacked. Momma sent us to go to Rohan to warn the king. The Wildmen are with Saruman, she says!" He reached over to take Garold's reigns in his own hand.

The teen, Viper, straightened up, alarmed. He took a small step back and bit his lip. "So, Saruman's with Sauron on this, is that it?" He seemed to be talking to himself. He looked down at them and nodded. He pursed his lips and let loose a shrill whistle.

From further down the stream, a black blue appeared in Èothan's sight. Soon, though, he and Freda stared in amazement as a beautiful black stallion showed itself, trotting up to Viper and nuzzle the teens neck. Viper laughed and rubbed the horses head.

"He's so pretty!" Freda announced, awed. Èothan silently agreed.

Viper patted the strong back of the stallion, covered only by a sewn skin and furs. He looked back at them and nodded again. "Come here. I'll take you to Rohan."

Èothan's eyes widened, but Freda jumped forward. "What about Garold?!"

Viper's eyes slide over to the chestnut horse, who was now nibbling on some nearby weeds. "He can stay here. He'll find his way home eventually. That is what horses do!"

Freda's bottom lip trembled. "B-But what if he gets lost?"

Viper made his way over and crouched down to her level. Èothan kept his sister behind him but let her look around to see. Viper smiled. "Garold looks like a very very smart horse, I think. Don't you think he could make it back home?"

Freda blinked slowly, and studied Garold for a moment. "Um..." She nodded. "Yeah, Garold is very very smart!"

Viper smiled happily, holding out a hand to Èothan. "Yes, I think he is too! But my horse, Tharbadir, is very smart and strong—" Èothan could have sworn he saw the stallion straighten up and puff out it's chest in pride. As if it could understand that it's owner was talking praise about it! "—and he is also very fast! He can get all of us to Rohan in no time! And then, if you want, I'll send him back to see if your Garold made it home! How does that sound?" Viper looked imploringly at Freda with big silver eyes, and Èothan could practically see his little sister's heart melt. He suddenly didn't like Viper. Freda had a crush on him. Was the teen using Freda's feelings for his own benefit? Èothan was sure he was! But it was okay, because Èothan would go along and protect his baby sister from mean boys that wanted her!

But at the same time Èothan knew he was just being silly. He could see Viper was a kind, young—albeit good looking—man that really just wanted to help them. Èothan suddenly felt guilty for putting such a burden on such a nice man's shoulders.

"Y-you really don't have to," he began shyly, even as he slowly reached out to take the gloved hand. "I mean, we can just wait for Garold to rest. You're probably very busy."

But Viper just waved a hand. "No, no. I really want to! You seem to be on a very important mission!" He spoke as he lifted Freda, who giggled, and then Èothan himself on to the very large stallion, Tharbadir.

Then Viper mounted Tharbadir behind them, and Èothan and Freda were suddenly enveloped in strong, sturdy, black clad arms that made them feel safer than they'd felt even at home ,when all had been peaceful. Èothan's worries shuttered to a stop, and he leaned back against Viper's chest with a blink.

Viper spurred Tharbadir into a gallop, and forward until his mouth was next to Èothan's ear as they sped across the grassy plans to their final destination, going the fastest either child had ever gone in their entire lives.

"Besides," the teen intoned. "If it makes you feel any better, I was headed to Rohan anyway!"

oOoOo

OH MY GOD I AM SO FREAKING SORRY I DONT THINK ANY OF YOU CAN EVER FORGIVE ME BUT ILL APOLOGIZE ANYWAY BECAUSE DAYUM I NEED TO AND YOU DESERVE APOLOGY BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL AWESOME AND BLESSED, REVIEWING EVEN THOUGH I HAVEN'T UPDTATED IN LIKE AN ENTIRE YEAR, READERS, DEAR READERS, AND I AM JUST A PATHETIC SCOUNDREL WHO DOESN'T DESERVE LIFE AND I JUST LET MY LIFE CONSUME MY FREE TIME AND IM SO FREAKING SORRY I DON'T DESERVE ANY OF YOU I REALLY DONT

*takes a deep breath and lets out a single sob*

No I'm serious. I totally let Life take over my.. uh, life. Yeah. Life totally stole me, and I let it, and for that I am sorry. It took me forever to get this too you and I'm terribly sorry and I'll understand if you leave me just *sniff* I'm sorry TuT

But now I've gone and done even worse. I've signed myself up for early college and *cringes away from your shouts* Now I'll have even less free time to write. And I'm sorry. Oh and I got a job. Babysitting. And now I'm looking for a more permanent job to I can pay my own phone bills and...

Ugh. I am so, so sorry I'm growing up and getting a life. I apologize profusely. I've betrayed you all.

Anyway. I've posted this and I'm going to start on the very next chapter immediately tomorrow since I have nothing better to do other than study math for my college entrance exam(dude I'm skipping the last three years of high school and I'm terrified of all the older people. Bigger than me. I'll be eaten alive) and seriously, who prioritized? Be responsible? Pffft, as if! So I'll write the next chapter and I hope to God I can have it up this week too... Honestly, you all freaking deserve it, giving my 800 reviews and keeping up reviewing even though you haven't heard form me for a year... You deserve the Noble Prize!*wipes tears away*

Um.. I don't know what else to say...

I'll think of something later. Yeah.

Read and please review(even if I don't deserve it, and I really don't!)!

:)

~Skye X