Hello, folks!

Enjoy and review with a cookie or two. :D

And for things that might have seemed a bit confusing: I know how Elves and horses get along quite easily, but Arod ain't your typical horse. He's quite...stubborn and stupid when it comes to that. And sorry about Eomer and Eowyn being Theoden's kids, I forgot (silly me) - they're Theoden's niece and nephew. Heh heh. My bad.

Hmm. I think I might have gotten some of the events wrong in this chapter. Haven't watched the movie in literally ages. So if you point out any errors in the order of events here, please tell me quickly and I'll fix it! :D (And yes, that means I'm writing this story partially on memory and using a script online of the entire movies but they don't really specify if Arod is in the scene or not.)

So yes. I may have gotten something wrong. Sorry.

And thus ends The Two Towers and onward to The Return of the King!

But on to the story anyways!

~littledragoneyes

Chapter 6:

We totally kicked Orc butt that night.

To our panic, Orcs did happen to get into Helm's Deep. And even into our stables. They didn't really kill any of us horses, luckily, but they took one good look around our stalls to see if there were any remaining humans left, hiding. This was rather stupid of it, because it would come near enough for us to give it an enthusiastic kick and bite each. Even a foal did it proudly.

Though it was frighteningly suspenseful and intense, we managed to make it through the night without any of the horses getting hurt. We stood there, tense and alert, listening to the horrifying sounds of battle outside. There was a horrible stench of blood and death lingering outside that drifted into the stalls when a gust of wind came by. There would be cries of pain or anger, followed by shouts and yelling. And lots of pounding.

If this battle even sounded this gruesome, I wouldn't stand a chance watching it. And that's coming from me, Arod, a war horse who've seen lots of battles myself.

The rain came a bit before the first battle roar. It was nice attempt from Mother Nature herself, wanting to wash away the fear and nervousness and dread in the air, but good Mearas, it did no good. We were still jittery and scared, waiting in the barn, not wanting to hear screaming and blood. At least the horses that weren't war horses didn't want to hear them.

Me? I was quite used to it.

Then there was this huge explosion that rocked the very ground beneath our hooves. It was nothing that I've ever heard before. It was both loud and terrifying and very much uncalled for.

We didn't know exactly what it was, or what was happening. We all knew that something bad had happened, whether it was for the Uruk-hai or the men.

However, the next best thing that happened in Helm's Deep was -

WE GOT TO FIGHT TOO!

The soldiers had to act quickly. The Orcs had already beaten many people, and had already entered Helm's Deep. Legolas quickly explained to me that we were going to ride out and fight. Which was perfectly fine to me. I'm a war horse. I'm proud to fight and defend.

As Gimli blew the horn of Helm Hammerhead, the horses were brought into the room, as Orcs and Uruk-hai alike both battered at the inner door, roaring and snarling and trying to break it down.

Legolas rode on my back, without a hefty Dwarf, which wasn't half-bad. I mean, Gimli's not that bad anymore...I guess he's grows on me at times.

"Forð Eorlingas!" Théoden shouted loudly, his voice echoing in the deep.

Everyone else let out their battle cries, and the doors broke down. Orcs and Uruk-hai stampeded into the room, knocking over the items and large objects that were used to block the door and keep it closed. The King led us out, sprinting across the room, with Aragorn, Legolas, and the men hot on his heels, fighting and cutting down our enemies as we swept past them.

We fought all the way down the causeway, easily knocking off the Orcs that ran up there with their swords. We crashed right into the Uruk army, not caring a single bit. All we were focused on doing was to kill and take back Helm's Deep to protect and defend.

And it went like that for a mighty long time, that is, until I saw something spectacular.

Far up and away, was a rider on a might white horse, rearing, on a tall hill. I squinted and stopped my stomping and trampling of Orcs. "Gandalf? Shadowfax?" I whispered. I wasn't sure if it was them, but I hoped it was.

"Théoden King stands alone." Gandalf said, surveying the battle scenery with particular interest. Then Èomer rode up alongside the old wizard, determination and confidence in his eyes. "Not alone," he corrected, before lifting up his sword, and shouting, "Rohirrim!"

I let out an audible gasp. "Firefoot!" I yelped with joy when I saw that familiar gray stallion, grinning down back at me.

Théoden let out a yell of happiness. "Èomer!"

Èomer shouted, "To the king!"

Gandalf and Èomer charged down the hill, a huge mass of Rohirrim soldiers running and following behind them, not wanting to miss a single Orc or Uruk-hai. The Orcs turned around to see another army charging straight towards them, unafraid. They bared their teeth and weapons, but soon had to look away and groan as the sun rose, from behind the new Rohirrim army shone down on them, hurting their eyes as they were accustomed to darkness.

And then they did crash right into them. And we defeated them, and Helm's Deep was saved.

But the best thing that really happened - was that I got Firefoot back.

The best night of my life.

First, we won the war.

Second, I was surrounded by horses I knew and friends.

And third, Firefoot was back!

Oh, and I got to fight. That makes me happy.

That morning, we were brought back into the stables, everyone tired to more than just exhaustion. Like everyone else, then sleep came without our consents.


The very next morning, I was awaken by a loud snoring.

I groaned and blinked groggily against the sunlight. How long have I slept? A day? The air still smelled like a war had been raging last night - which was exactly what happened - the rain must have washed away some of the blood and scent of death, but it was still rather stinky and smelly.

Some people arrived to the barn, a little stunned to see full stables. But they coped with it, I guess, and then when they came into the shadows a little bit, I could see them all properly without the sun's glare.

Legolas patted my head gently, and I had to remember Hasufel's words to prevent myself from biting his hand off. Which was what I usually did.

He looked fairly pleased and interested that I didn't make a lunge for his hand, and led me out of the stables.

Brego was already outside with Aragorn, and Shadowfax with Gandalf. Éomer and Théoden were there as well, so I greeted both Firefoot and Snowmane with a happy grin. Gimli was waiting for me too.

Once everybody was ready, we set off to Isengard. It was a fairly long ride, and quiet as well. Nobody spoke much, except for Brego, Firefoot and I, who exchanged a few words but nothing else. Snowmane and Shadowfax were quietly conversing between themselves. But I couldn't really care. I was fine with the peacefulness, trotting along besides friends. Wistfully, we passed the place of the Orc fight and where I had left Caruryn for death. The air didn't smell of smoke or death anymore. It was just a pile of ashes of the dead with memories that still haunt me.

I shook my head of those saddening thoughts and continued forward to follow Shadowfax and Brego into Fangorn Forest.

The trees still whispered and spoke to each, their heavy brown gnarled branches covered with green moss swaying in the light breezes. Everyone was a bit wary and cautious about it, though. The low sounds coming from the tall, ancient trees were a little startling. Sunlight didn't reach very far below the canopy of leaves, but it was enough for my eyes to adjust mildly.

Somehow, my heart felt peaceful and calm as we walked, not at all for what I was used to. There was no danger at the moment. Given the moment was quiet and serene.

As we broke through the clearing of ancient trees rooted to the spots they were given, my ears pricked forward at the sound of laughter. It was like tinkling silver bells on a frosty midwinter's day. We approached the crumbled gates encircling Isengard.

I cocked my head slightly at the two figures not far away in front of us, apparently smoking on their pipes and enjoying themselves as they sat, waiting for us. What interested me the most were that they were short, like children, barely like adults. Yet they looked full-grown. I looked at Brego, and he answered, "Hobbits. Remember the battle at Fangorn Forest? I nearly trampled one of those."

Ah. Those little...er, halflings.

Wait. Let me get this right here. I was given away from the Riders of Rohan to those fellow travelers just to look for two little men?

What a rip-off.

One of them hopped up with a grin, and said, "Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard!" I heard Brego snort behind me. I glanced behind me, chuckling when I saw him roll his eyes in amusement. Aragorn grinned above Brego.

"You young rascals! You've lead us on, and now we find you feasting and - and smoking!" Gimli finally found his voice and began scolding them, and also adding more funniness to the situation. I was delighted to hear irritation in his gruff voice of his.

"We are sitting on the field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts." One of them said smugly, while the other merely smirked at the pouting Dwarf. "The salted pork is particularly good." He said, emphasizing that sentence to tempt Gimli. I looked to my left and side-glanced the Dwarf on my back. His eyes lit up, fairly interested.

Yep, it worked.

"Salted pork?"

I sniggered.

Gandalf shook his head. "Hobbits." I heard him mutter.

They kept speaking, as if nothing happened at all. "We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard."

The water was knee-deep, making me wonder exactly where it came from. I looked around curiously, taking in the ruined environment. There were metal machines of some sort littered everywhere, some toppled and broken. There were two giant towers standing in the middle, towering over everything. Orthanc, the tower of Isengard...looked quite battered.

"Young master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a Wizard to manage here; locked in his tower." A giant talking tree said. His voice was low, yet gentle, like the trees back at the Fangorn Forest. I stared at him. Could he be from there as well?

Hmph. That's something you don't always see everyday.

"That is Treebeard." Shadowfax whispered to me. I nodded. His voice was mighty yet ancient, and you could tell there was wisdom and age behind it clearly.

The group looked around warily. I felt my skin tingling.

Aragorn spoke loudly, "Show yourself."

"Be careful; even in defeat Saruman is dangerous." The old wizard warned quietly.

Apparently Gimli didn't think the same. Snorting, he said. "Well, let's just have his head and be done with it." I neighed in agreement, but of course, men as they are...they don't consider horses to be very "intelligent". Which made me pout.

"No, we need him alive." Gandalf corrected him. "We need him to talk."

I grumbled to myself. I would've been delighted to see Gimli cleave Saruman's head off right this instant.

And then there was a voice. Scared the pee out of me, it almost did, if only Legolas' firm hold on my reins wasn't holding me steady. I looked up to see another old man, a Wizard actually, standing on the top of the tower, looking down at us with particular disgust. "You have fought many wars and slain many men Théoden king, and made peace afterwards."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Can we not take council together, as we once did, my old friend?" Saruman asked. I felt awkward looking up at a wizard. A defeated wizard in this case, who stood high up. "Can we not have peace, you and I?"

Théoden was the first to answer, softly at first. "We shall have peace."

But then he quickly became more assured. "We shall have peace… when you answer for the burning of the westfold, and the children that lie dead there. We shall have peace, when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows… we shall have peace."

"Gibbets and crows? Dotard!" Saruman snapped.

"Who says dotard these days?" Brego mused.

"What do you want Gandalf Greyhame?" Saruman asked. "Let me guess: the key of Orthanc, or perhaps the key of Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

Though Gandalf did not answer his question, he replied, "Your treachary has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk, but you could save them Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's council."

I winced. That wasn't the best thing to say. And Saruman must've figured it out as well, because he grinned, realizing that now he has something to bargain with. "So you have come here for information. I have some for you." He said.

Then, from his robes, Saruman pulled out something. It was an orb, a sphere. A glowing one too.

"What is that?" I heard Firefoot ask.

"A palantir." Shadowfax said. He seemed to know many things now. Probably from his nonstop adventures with Gandalf. "They are also known as Seeing Stones, used for the purpose of communication in Middle-Earth and beyond." He explained.

"Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon." Saruman said.

Shadowfax makes an instinctive move forward. I kept watching.

Saruman said, "You're all going to die. But you know this, don't you, Gandalf."

"I didn't either," I muttered to myself.

Aragorn was then caught by Saruman's gaze. "You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor." He spat. "This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king."

Brego glared at him with cold daggers. "Now you wait just a second, you maggot - " He retorted, but Shadowfax silenced him with a sharp look.

Luckily nobody could understand the horse language. "Gandalf does not hesistate to sacrifice those closest to him, those he professes to love." Saruman said, taunting us all. "Tell me… what words of confort did you give the halfling before you sent him to his doom?"

Gandalf sighed, but did not answer.

"The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

Gimli was impatient, though. "I've heard enough." He grunted. Then, he said to Legolas, "Shoot him. Stick an arrow in his gob."

I nodded a little. "Yes, I would like that." I said.

I felt Legolas reach up to his quiver for an arrow, but Gandalf said "No." Assuming that it was meant for him, Legolas didn't shoot.

Turning to his used-to-be friend, he said, "Come down Saruman, and your live will be spared."

Saruman snorted, obviously turning away his offer. "Save your pity and your mercy; I have no use for it!"

Then, using his staff, he shot a fireball, hurling it straight towards Shadowfax and Gandalf. It was pure flames, the color of red and gold mixed. "Shadowfax!" I heard myself, Firefoot, Snowmane and Brego yelled all at the same time. My eyes widened in fear and terror as hot flames engulfed the horse and rider together, though the great white horse didn't make a single twitch to move. Nor did Gandalf.

All four horses backed away from the heat, and the riders alike winced from the heat.

Then, miraculously, the flames died out, revealing an unscathed Gandalf and a greatly unconcerned Shadowfax. I let out a sigh of relief as I found the horse lord fine.

"Saruman." Gandalf said casually. "Your staff is broken."

And to prove his point, the staff did break. Saruman jerked his hand back as the staff shattered to a hundred pieces, and from behind him, a hunched, familiar pale person appeared.

All four horses, but not Shadowfax included, let out a similar growl and snarl. Gríma Wormtongue decided to show up for the show.

With some recognition, Théoden called up to him, his voice surprisingly more gentle than he was before. "Gríma, you need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan! Come down."

No, let him fall down to his death. I revised his sentence in my mind.

Both men on the tower were speechless for a second, before Gríma bowed down to Théoden. Saruman obviusly did not think so, though.

"A man of Rohan? What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and rats roll on the floor with the dogs? Victory at helms deep does not belong to you, Théoden, horsemaster! You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Snowmane was not delighted in Saruman's answer for his master. "You watch your fat mouth!" He snarled up at the wizard. "You -"

"Be quiet!" Shadowfax scolded him.

But still Théoden persisted. "Gríma, come down. Be free of him."

"Free?" Saruman looked perplexed. "He will never be free."

"No." The pale man said, a look of anger striking his face.

"Get down, cur!" The wizard spat at him cruelly. I smirked.

When the pale man did nothing, Saruman slapped Gríma on his cheek, sending him sprawling on the top of the tower floor.

"Saruman, you were deep in the enemy's council. Tell us what you know." Gandalf said. I think he's oblivious to the fight above.

Gríma draws a dagger from his robes, fury in his expression, clearing etched. "You withdraw your guard," Saruman snarled, "And I will tell you where you doom will be decided."

Gríma lunged towards Saruman, his dagger ready to stab. "This might be interesting." Firefoot said brightly.

"I will not be held prisoner here." Saruman said.

But then, the two were blocked from my sight of the towers, and I heard there was quite a struggle before Gríma stabbed Saruman in the back, twice, due to the fact I heard two gasps of pain.

"Yes!" Brego, Firefoot and I cheered.

Finally, Legolas' hand darted to the quiver, and with his bow and keen eyes, he shot down Gríma, who fell down, dead.

"YES!" Brego, Firefoot and I cheered louder.

And Saruman, feeling his life leave his body, fell off the tower, all the way down, and hit the spoke of a large wheel, impaling it.

Neither Brego, Firefoot or I could let out a loud "YES!" as we gazed in disgust as body lay on a particular large spike. "Ew." was the only words we could utter.

"Send word to all our allies, and to every corner of Middle-Earth that still stands free." Gandalf proclaimed, "The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike." The wheel began turning due to the sudden force that impacted it, turning Saruman's dead body under the water. Then there was a plop! sound as the Palantír dropped into the shallows of the water.

Treebeard, who was watching everything, decided to come back into the scene. "The filth of Saruman is washing away." He remarked gently. "Trees will come back to live here. Young trees, wild trees." His voice was cheerful and happy.

Though I was little unaware of it, Pippin spotted the glowing orb in the water. Curious, he dismounted from Aragorn's horse for a closer look. Aragorn noticed, and yelled, "Pippin!"

I looked around, and saw the young Hobbit pick up the Palantír. Treebeard, seeing that the attention was now on Pippin rather than him. "Bless my bark!" He said instead, looking surprised to see that round orb.

Quickly, with some sort of nervousness in his voice, Gandalf said, "Peregrin Took, I'll take that, my lad. Quickly now!"

Reluctantly, the hobbit handed it to the old wizard, who quickly stole it away beneath his robes. Staring curiously at it, I hastily looked away when Shadowfax turned to stare at me back with that penetrating gaze of his. With a sigh, I looked up at the tower, and smiled at the thought that Fangorn Forest was going to live. More trees were going to grow. And maybe Middle-Earth did have a chance to live after all.


The men celebrated tonight. And we decided we would too. At least try, though. Just for the sake of it, but as they were celebrating, we didn't feel at all like celebrating. We were too tired to. But we did take the joy of listening to more stories and relaxing easily.

Yet I wasn't interested at the moment.

I took the privilege of musing to myself and staring out the stable windows in my stall. There wasn't much to look at, though it was peaceful and quieter than inside the barn. Nobody was outside at the moment, except for some roaming guards. The sky was streaked with pinks and blues as the night sky loomed overhead, covering the earth as a dark, soft, velvety blanket.

Flicking my ear to swat a fly, I could hear the noises of celebration coming from inside Helm's Deep. There were laughter and much talking, and singing as well. I rested my head lightly on the window sill, looking at the night sky.

And then there was a quiet voice in my head.

"That one looks like a horse with wings."

Looking upwards instinctively, I didn't see a horse with wings. What was that sort of creature anyways? I sighed, glaring at the sky. What was I doing, looking at the stars and thinking of random shapes for them? It was pointless. There was nothing in the stars. Hasufel was just...I don't know.

Shaking my head, I swallowed back a mutter and brought my head back to reality.

"Hey Arod?"

I looked around to see Firefoot looking at me with a friendly gaze. "What?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing." He seemed like he wanted to say something. But I shook that thought off and returned to staring outside and enjoying the fresh air.

"Are you gonna eat that or what?"

I had to stare at his gaze to see what he was looking at. A lone bucket of oats stood in the corner of my stall, untouched.

"Can I have your oats?"

Slowly, I turned and stared at him with a perplexed look, eyebrows raised.

"What?" I asked mildly, cocking my head to the side and taunting him a slight bit.

"Er, can I have your oats?" He repeated, looking rather sheepish.

I pushed the bucket towards his stall slowly with my hind leg, watching his expression, and sniggering, while Firefoot stared at it hungrily.

"Knock yourself out."


There you go, sixth chapter posted. I'll be back with a seventh chapter sooner or later. After I think some things through. But anyways, story's almost over, don't ya think so? You pretty much know where the story line's going to travel to, and soon Brego's going to sing:

"Weeee're off to Mordor...the land of living crap of Middle-Earth...!"

Hmm. One must not simply follow the yellow brick road to Mordor.

Ah well.

DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! That little blue-purple link right there, yep, click that. Don't worry, it doesn't bite. ;D

Cheers,

littledragoneyes