Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just like to write about it.
When we arrived at the edge of Fangorn Forest, I abandoned all hope.
Though inflicted with bloodwrath, I have never developed nerves of steel and the scene that so hideously greeted us had me on my knees, holding back my breakfast. Half-charred bodies laid piled on top of one another, and the thought of Merry and Pippin, buried somewhere beneath the stinking pile, had my eyes watering.
Aragorn took aim at an orc's helmet, kicking it with all his might and letting out a cry of failure, loss. I heard Gimli's blubbering in the distance and Legolas's voice raised in a mourning song. But all I could look at was the dead orcs, the ones on the edge only half-burned, they seemed to be reaching out from the darkness of the ashes, trying to escape the shadow that was cast on their fellows. Merry and Pippin. My little Careless. The nickname came back with a stab of pain.
I rose to my feet slowly, turning into Legolas's arms, embracing me. It was a horrible time for me to think how much I liked it, yet I did, a horrible time for me to yearn for more, yet I did. I buried my face in his shoulder and left it there, so I wouldn't have to look at the orcs.
Aragorn started saying something, his voice low and sad. I didn't want to listen. It hurt too much. My mind, disconnectedly, wondered how I had become so involved, so melded with these people's feelings, how their loss was suddenly mine. I guess it was just the companionship that I had for so long lacked, I didn't remember it as I used to, if I had indeed ever had companionship like this before.
Suddenly, Aragorn's voice was faster, staccato, excited. I glanced up at him as Legolas let go of me to follow him. He was scurrying on the ground, his eyes lit up by some unknown force. Aragorn was so strong, the strongest man I had ever met. He kept going in the face of tragedy, kept functioning.
Now he was running, Gimli and Legolas trailing behind him, both of their steps bouncy and hopeful.
"They're alive!" Aragorn crowed, his face for a moment so happy that it outshone the sun. He had somehow tracked the movement of the hobbits by indents in the grass and decided that they had escaped the battle. Impossible. I could not even bring myself to consider the scenario Aragorn had suggested, even as he and the others dashed into the forest, following his insane idea. They were dead, and it hurt, but I saw no use in resurrecting hope. And I dashed after them, calling to them, telling them they were ridiculous.
Legolas turned back to smile at me, "They're alive," he repeated.
"Impossible."
"But they are. We tracked them away from the battle, into the forest!"
"That could have been anything!" I exasperated.
"A hobbit's footprint is not easily mistaken," Legolas was frowning now, perhaps realizing the wild goose chase he was on. "Why do you not believe?" Or maybe not.
I shrugged, moodily.
"They're alive, Laira! Be joyous!"
"Not quite yet, my elf friend," Aragorn called from ahead, "Fangorn is a dangerous place. We have yet to find them. But they are alive, Laira, I can assure you that."
"Or they were last night," I grumbled. All three turned to look at me, fearful again. Whoops. I should've kept my doubts to myself.
"Right," Aragorn said, sobered. And then without another word he turned on the trail again. Legolas stared sadly at me for another moment. He was about to say something, but I pushed past him, and I could read on his face that he was saving his remark for later. Great.
We hadn't gone far until Aragorn's trail turned cold. A chill ran down my spine. I didn't like Fangorn. It was dark, ominous. All of us were feeling the edginess, the tension in the air.
"The trees are angry," Legolas said, his voice trancelike.
"Gimli," Aragorn whipsered, "Lower your axe."
A tingling spread from the nape of my neck to my toes. Sixth sense, my intuition, told me someone was behind us. I quickly and quietly jumped onto a tree branch and climbed until I was directly over my friends.
"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas said softly. In unison, my companions whipped around, Legolas shooting off an arrow, Gimli chucking his axe, and Aragorn drawing his sword. I held my position. The arrow and sword were knocked away by some invisible force, and with a yelp of pain Aragorn dropped his sword. A white light blinded us, hid the intruder from our eyes. Hidden by broad daylight, what a wizard thing to do.
"You are tracking two young hobbits," a deep, booming voice said.
"Where are they?" Aragorn asked. I didn't know if the wizard was intending to put a spell on us, or if he had already. But I figured now his defenses were probably down, whatever had deflected the other weapons, so I leapt silently from my branch, my scimitars pointed at the center of the light
For a moment, I was airborn, and then I hit the same wall the others had. I crumpled to the ground, coughing, trying to get my breath back. I rolled to my knees, glaring at the lighted figure. I had the feeling it was "tsk-tsk"ing me.
"Who are you?' Aragorn demanded. He was under no spell.
The white light faded, and out of it stepped an old friend. My jaw fell open so much that I was surprised it didn't hit the forest floor. For the second time that day, the only thing I could think was: Impossible.
"Gandalf," Aragorn choked.
"Yes, Gandalf the Grey," he smiled slightly, as if musing over some humorous forgotten memory, "That was my name. Now, I am Gandalf the White."
Before I knew what was happening, I was sprinting at Gandalf, hugging him.
"Ah, our little mystery elf. I had hoped you would have been of some use on this journey." I could tell by the sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes that he was joking.
"More than a little," Aragorn commented.
"Gandalf," I repeated, "Gandalf. You're back."
"Yes, I'm aware of that," he smiled again, "But now we have work to do. We must ride to Edoras, home of the Rohirrim, and rid it of the evil that has sprung there."
As we rode towards Edoras, Legolas drew his horse by mine and called to me," Have we taught you yet to hope, cynical one?"
I grinned at him, "Not yet, miracle man!" He shook his head at me, but I saw the smile on his face.
"We will, before this journey is over!"
I had never been to Edoras, either, having only once crossed to the other side of the Misty Mountains to visit Lothlorien all those years ago. I hoped that it would be a better experience than Fangorn, but as we entered the city perched on a hill, the streets seemed dead.
"Watch what you say," Gangalf warned," The city is wound up to a breaking point with tension. Do not look for much welcome here."
I saw faces peeking out from houses or from around corners, staring with dead eyes at us.
"I will not find my hope here, either," I whispered to Legolas. He didn't respond. The king's hall sat on the highest point, and we climbed many stone steps to reach it. With each step, I dreaded it more. There was an aura of evil about the place, almost a tangible one. And the fact that it had once been steeped in glory made it all the worse.
Two guards blocked our entrance to the hall.
"Remove all weapons!" they commanded, but I could hear the false bravado in their voices.
We obliged, hesitantly and only after Gandalf relinquished his sword. I almost considered waiting outside rather than giving up my scimitars, but I sucked it up. I saw Gimli give the same longing glance to his axe.
"And the staff, wizard!" one of them screeched.
Gangalf scoffed, 'Will you not let an old man use his walking stick?" He cradled it to his chest.
The guards glanced at each other, unsure, but let us pass.
Inside the grand hall, a withered old man sat atop a thrown, and a dark shadow sat at his side. I gaped at the man, presumably the king. I found myself wondering if the old derelict was even really alive, and the last time someone had checked to make sure.
"The courtesy of your hall is lessened of late, King Theoden," Gandalf surmised, his voice smooth.
The shadow whispered something, and then the old man croaked, "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf?"
The shadow stepped forward to reveal a pasty little man, who hissed, "A just question, my king. The hour is late, trickster, and you travel with a most unusual band."
Silent!" Gandalf boomed, tapping the end of his staff on the floor, 'It is not you I have come to speak with, Grima Wormtongue!"
"The staff!" Grima squeaked, turning frantically to the guards, "I told you to take his staff!"
The guards rushed us, half-heartedly. In no time at all we had taken them out, as Gandalf approached the thrown and the old man it held.
"Theoden, King of Rohan, too long have you been poisoned by the shadow. I will save you." Gimli squatted on Grima, holding him in place as Gandalf came face to face with the king.
When the king's voice yet again sounded, it was as if another voice was speaking through him, a stronger voice.
"You cannot do that, Gandalf the Grey," Theodon cackled. Gandalf threw back his cloak, revealing the white one underneath. He was glowing with fury. A lady rushed to help the king, who had shrunk back in his thrown, but Aragorn wrapped his arms around her.
I didn't understand what was happening. Gandalf was calling the king Saruman now, bandying words with an entity that wasn't present. These things were over my head.
Gandalf raised his staff, calling out mystic words, and slammed on the ground. The king shuddered, and I thought he was going to be torn in half by the dueling powers within him. And then he slumped forward.
No one in the hall moved. Except for Grima, who attempted to squirm out from under Gimli.
As the king slowly sat back up, I witnessed the third miracle of the day. No longer was he a decrepit old man, but a straight-backed, handsome king. His jaw and cheekbones were strong, his eyes bright. Now, I believed he was a king. Gandalf dropped to one knee.
"King Theodon. Welcome back."
"Thank you, Gandalf, for freeing me," the man smiled, and then called for his sword. The lady that Aragorn had been holding back ran to the man, kissed his cheek in joy. As soon as the sword was in his hand, his strength returned. He strode from his thrown, grabbing Grima Wormtongue by the collar of his shirt and striding him towards the door.
Throwing him out on the steps, Theodon said, "If I ever see your miserable face again, Grima, I will not hesitate to cut it off. Go."
I watched all this, the king getting news of his son's death and Aragorn telling him our tale, as a stander-by. Legolas, Gimli, and I stood off in the shadows, letting the kings, the important people, discuss things. We were no longer lonely questers on a desperate mission, and I began to really feel that all this was bigger than me. Everything had been radically changed, and I now had no idea where I stood in the tale.
A/N: Reviews? I know it's been half of forever since I updated, but I hope some people out there are still interested in my story. Let me know.
