On the Question of Magic:
(Here follows a page of theory about Ardan magic, skip down if you want to, it's not that important to the story, but might clarify a few things)
Fantasywind: Vark's statement was made with imperfect information, the protagonists of stories are not always right, this is an instance of it, furthermore, the protagonists only know about some of the things that we as readers do, wait and see about the issue of magic, that will be explored later in greater detail, but for now I'll address a few of your complaints.
In Arda, there are many different species which are intrinsically magical, for instance, a cave troll cannot exist in a biological sense, this is because when you scale up what is effectively a hairless ape it becomes more dense be an order of magnitude, to explain this further, really big (particularly bipedal) things such as a troll or a giant simply wouldn't have the muscle mass to move at more than a quick shuffle, if the cave troll we see in Fellowship of the Ring is anything to go by, what should have happened if it tried to tackle something, or even lift that club it has, would be that the troll's body would collapse in a heap.
Similarly, elves are seen as being faster and stronger than normal men, in Two Towers Legolas moves 'quicker than sight', elves are also immortal, this means either their biology is fundamentally different from Humans, or that their strength is mystical in nature, I am inclined to believe the later, given than basically every hominid in Middle Earth can interbreed, meaning their genetics are close enough to merge, without their abnormal abilities getting in the way.
Therefore, in the case of elves, eagles or trolls, the muscles and bones would have to be incredibly strong to enable them to move as quickly as they do in the case of elves, or actually move at all, in the case of trolls and eagles. Given that no evidence is given for this in the books or films, I conclude that some mystical force helps them do this.
Now, that fairly long discussion of possible genetic theories of Arda was leading into something, the people of Arda are not magical in the same sense as those of Azeroth, my explanation for this was that the Titans did not interfere with the planet, as they did with Azeroth.
Azerothians of almost every species can harness magical forces, be this arcane magic, shamanism, the Light or fel magic. Ardans however, are intrinsically magical, magic is at their base level, this allows them to do things they couldn't do without magic, eg, the trolls being able to stand, elves moving quickly, and dragons flying without gravity taking more of an interest in them.
Ever since about level 20 in WoW the character you're playing is wearing a set of 'magic' armour, it's a pretty casual thing, even random farmers have magical stuff just lying around to give to adventurers, this isn't so in the LotR 'verse, magical items are few and far between, Narsil 'flames' as Elendil wields it, the Dwarves have 'runes of power' on their doors, and Shadowfax can run at incredible speeds. However, none of these are overtly magical, the Dwarves' runes are obviously a normal thing for them, Shadowfax is explained as being 'one of the Mearas' and therefore special, and the Númenóreans can make incredible things anyway, it's like their thing.
Galadriel explains it quite well with this quote: 'For this is what your folk would call magic. I believe; though I do not understand clearly what they mean; and they seem also to use the same word of the deceits of the Enemy. But this, if you will, is the magic of Galadriel. Did you not say that you wished to see Elf-magic? '– Galadriel clearly considers 'elf-magic' as a normal everyday things, and it's widely accepted that elves are just elves, you can't really explain them. The "Magic of Galadriel" is obviously just her, doing her own thing, rather than what Taelan might call magic.
So, the statement "Magic doesn't exist here." Was not referring to the unnatural things that abode in Middle Earth, but rather that the fel, and indeed, arcane forces don't exist on Middle Earth.
Think as well about how a warrior/rouge/hunter can craft magical items without themselves being magical? How does someone who uses Rage as a resource make a pair of +3 Agility trousers out of a few bars of metal? Same with enchanting. Not magic, it's a profession, means that the most non magically inclined barbarian can craft 'magical' items out of fundamentally mundane matreials.
Oh, and also, I know Sauron isn't a big eye, he does have physical shape, but not many people in Middle Earth know that, this is another example of imperfect information. Since no-one's really been in Mordor, or seen Sauron in person, I should think people assume he's the big eye.
Feel free to send me a PM if you disagree or have any questions.
In other news, thanks the other people who followed/favourite Liberation, here's the next chapter.
Liberation
Chapter 12
By FractiousDay
The Lady Éowyn drew her cloth across a mail coat, water streamed off it as she cleaned the dirt away, the rust would be taken care of later, along with the other coats sitting by the small stool at the edge of the Snowbourn. The river gurgled along, issuing from a spring in the hill of Edoras, running down into a pool, which when full, released water into the river. The Snowbourn ran down the plain, circling in a wide arc toward the south-east, part way down the river it bended greatly, and in this way sand and gravel was deposited at the apex of the bend, whilst the inside was eroded.
The rings rasped and ground together, and the cloth was dipped in the bucket again, then Éowyn dragged it across the cloth once again. Small brown rivulets ran down the coat, whilst further up, pure, cleaner water sparkled as it hung in droplets. She held it up to the sun, the morning air chilling her hands. Judging it reasonably clean, she let it drop into a barrel by her side, it clinked on the other pieces of metal. Then, using a short spade, Éowyn took sand from the riverbank, and filled the balance of the space inside the barrel. She motioned behind her and two small boys who had been playing in the grass came up and hefted the lid, one using a mallet to secure it, the other holding it steady. The two then toppled the barrel, and rolled it slowly along the beach, the sand inside it wearing away any rust on the armour within.
Éowyn set her cloth down and stood, walking up the bank into the long grass of the western plains. She glanced behind her, shielding her eyes from the sun rising in the east, a hunting party were coming in, dragging the carcass of a large animal on a stretched made from their spears lashed together. The Lady walked a short distance, warming herself from the coldness of the water. She heard laughter behind her and smiled at the innocence of the two youths.
Éowyn stood there for several minutes, looking west. Snow dusted the peaks of the White Mountains to her left, it gleamed in the sun, and the plains were bright with the light. She saw a speck moving off west, traveling parallel to the Mountains and between them and the river. She watched it, a rider it seemed, coming back to Edoras after scouting perhaps. As she watched the rider came closed very quickly, he seemed to be galloping; eventually she could make out the figure of a cloaked man, his loose clothes streaming behind him in the wind. The rider made directly for the ford and to cross the river, his horse slowing as he came to the bank. On the other side, Éowyn stood and raised her hand in welcome, the rider saw her, and began frantically motioning for her to get back, safe on the far side of the river. She wondered at his actions, but at that moment the man threw back his hood and drew a long sword, wheeling his horse about and facing back where he had come from.
Then a warg-riding Orc came over the bank, the warg standing at the lip, teeth bared and snarling at the rider. The Orc gave a command and it leapt forward, the Orc's scimitar meeting the rider's sword with a clang. The warg snapped at the horse and the two warriors fought, the first rider was slowly pushed back toward the river, the water running over his mount's fetlocks. Suddenly the horse stumbled, its hoof slipping on a stone. The rider was pitched sideways, into the water, the Orc jumped from his own mount, intent on finishing the man as his warg chased the horse away from the battle. The Orc sprang again at the man, but the stroke was parried by the man's sword, and the scimitar was trapped, the man shoved forward with his shoulder, bowling the Orc over. Then the man went on the offensive, pulling a dagger from his belt with his free hand he dispatched the Orc, the rose, his dagger buried in the Orc's chest. He gave a shout to attract the running warg's attention, then stood ready in the centre of the river for its charge. It came forward, and came at him, but he rolled, the water slashing and slashed at the animal's flank, the warg yelped and retreated, but the man had reached it, and with a single stroke clove its head from its neck.
Éowyn went to the fighter's side, ready to thank him for his heroism, but he had already run elsewhere himself, to his horse, and drew from his saddle there a bow which he then strung, then he went to the far bank, a brace of arrows clutched in his other hand. He planted them in the ground, then taking one he turned to Éowyn.
"Back Lady! There is another still about." He called, but then cursed, and drew the bowstring to his ear, sighting on another warg rider that he noticed coming toward them. The second was coming closer, but still out of bowshot, or so Éowyn believed, but evidently the man thought differently. He raised the bow and loosed, the arrow arcing through the morning air, then, traveling more than five hundred paces, it plunged unerringly into the rider's neck, he fell from the warg, and the animal bolted. The man stood ready for some deception, or other enemies to appear, but none did so, and at length he lowered the bow.
As the man unstrung his weapon, Éowyn looked at him more closely. His hair first was bound at his neck, and he had a short beard, both were a dark brown or black colour, and his eyes grey. He was dressed sombrely, a green cloak over a leather jerkin, bound about his shoulders with a pin wrought like a rayed star. The man waded into the Snowbourn, and pulled his dagger from the Orc, washing the blood from it in the river. He replaced it in a sheath at his lower back, and retrieved his sword from where it had fallen, sheathing it also. He then came back across the river to Éowyn, and, bowing, introduced himself.
"Greetings Lady," he said, "I am called Nine and am come out of the North, and have been pursued by these foul things", (here he paused to kick the carcass of the warg)"for many days. I had hoped to reach Edoras as soon as possible, is that city there Edoras? For I am only recently come here, and a stranger in these lands."
Éowyn was pleased by his courteous speech, and answered him in kind. "I thank you Nine for your bravery, and for my protection. I am called the Lady Éowyn and abide in Meduseld, the golden hall in yonder Edoras, the city which you seek." Éowyn paused, "If I might ask, what business have you in Rohan?"
Nine's face fell, "That be best left to the King's ears Lady, but, if I may catch my horse, I shall explain some of it to you."
Éowyn was confused at the suspicious behaviour, but followed after Nine as he walked over to his now grazing horse. It shied away from him and ran a little way away every time he got close. Éowyn then went to it and calmed it with words, stroking the animal's mane and flanks to calm it.
"Thank you." Said Nine, "He is a good beast, but frights easily."
Then Éowyn heard the thundering of hooves, and turned, no doubt the guards of the city had seen the skirmish and come to help. Though late was their coming, if Nine had been any less skilled a fighter he might have been overmastered, and fallen to the Orc's blade.
Of the score or so of guards the leader wore a long while horsetail as a crest on his helm and Éowyn recognised her brother, Éomer.
The riders skidded up and Éomer dismounted, handing his red banded spear to another rider Éowyn did not recognise.
"One warg escaped, it was out of range before I killed him, but the rider is dead." Reported Nine.
Éomer nodded, and motioned for some of his riders to go off in the direction the warg had escaped to. Then he turned to his sister.
"You are unhurt?" he asked, checking for injuries.
Éowyn smiled at her brother's protectiveness, "I am, but only thanks to the Lord Nine." She said. Éowyn did not know if he was actually a lord, but his bearing was gracious and lordly regardless.
Éomer turned to Nine, holding out a hand, the man grasped it, gripping firmly. "I thank you." He said, "I am called Éomer, Third Marshal of Riddermark, who are you and what are you doing in this land?" he asked in the Common tongue, rather than the speech of Rohan.
Though his sword was not drawn, Éowyn could tell her brother was distrustful of Nine.
"My name is Nine, I am a ranger out of the North, I seek the King in haste." Replied Nine
"But for what purpose?" asked Éomer proudly, leaning back on his heels, his hand resting on his sword's hilt. "It is the will of Théoden King has decreed that none may ride without his leave in Rohan save those who know our tongue and are our friends. You clearly do not speak the tongue, and you are a stranger in these lands. Come now, what is your errand to the King of the Mark?"
Nine began to open is mouth to speak, but Éowyn overruled him. "Come brother, the Lord Nine is weary from his battle, and his story is no doubt a long one, why not let him give his tale within the city."
Éomer saw the sense in this, and nodded to Nine, then remounted. Then reaching down for Éowyn he pulled her up in front of him and the troop rode back to the city, Éowyn noticed that two other riders had the two boys who had been helping her clean the armour on their saddles also. They rode back at a gentle pace, for there was no rush, and there was no reason to push the horses, for the Rohirrim were kind to such beasts.
At the gates the door wards sprung apart to admit them, and they passed under the wooden gatehouse and watchtower. As they continued through the city some folk stopped to stare at the bright mail on the riders, noting the dripping figure at the end of the line, clad in greys and greens.
Eventually they reached the highest tier of the city, the barracks of the soldiery contained within Edoras, mostly men of Éomer's own household. Leaving the horses to grooms the group split, Éowyn, Éomer, Nine and two others went to Éomer's rooms in the hall, whilst the others who still had duty on the walls went back to their posts, calling farewells over their shoulders. Éomer unbuckled his sword, and Nine too laid his own weapons against the doors of the hall, for gear of war was forbidden within the dwelling places of the Rohirrim as custom long set down.
Sitting at table just as the meat was being set to board they proceeded to the furthest end of the hall and to the place of honour, as was custom in the Mark, the central seat was reserved for the King, should he deign to visit. Éomer sat to the right, his sister beside him, whilst the two other riders drew up seats either side of Nine and opposite Éomer.
Éowyn noticed Nine had brought a bundle from his horse, and it was stashed under his chair, about the size of a head. Éomer took bread and a little cheese, and a draught from a mug on the table, then motioned for Nine to speak.
Nine also drank, draining the vessel, then wiped his lips on a sleeve.
"My tale begins in the North and West, on the far side of the Misty Mountains. We were hunting Orcs, myself and a ranger of the Dúnedain named Fáer Briunnìn, he walked about that land helping folk as was his wont, and his duty, I had followed him for many months, for I was of the North myself, and had some kinship with him. We came upon a village in the mountains that was oft-times raided by the Orcs that dwelt in the Misty Mountains, Fáer had been there some time, but for my part I had only recently arrived."
Nine paused for breath, and a piece of bread. Chewing, he swallowed and spoke again: "Arriving I greeted my friend warmly, and we stayed there some time, sometimes going out into the mountains with some men of that land to scout. Soon we found many tracks of iron-shod feet, larger than those of Orcs which we had come upon and fought before. This worried us, and Fáer feared some knew monster out of the black caves in the hills. We tracked the beast for many days, and in a clearing by a running stream we came upon him. It was a troll we thought, but of a lesser stature and more intelligent, Fáer sprang upon him and I pinned him with many arrows, but we were overmastered!" The troll-thing scorned our assault, and though it bled from many wounds, it leapt at Fáer and bore him down, seemingly to bite at him with its terrible fangs. Seeing his plight I myself ran forward and hewed at its neck with my sword, but its hide turned and notched the blade, and the troll struck me, sending me flying across the clearing, but my assault gave the ranger time to strike, driving his blade into the troll's vitals. He rolled away and came to stand beside me, the thing roared at us but we stood firm. It assaulted us quickly and made to bear me down as it had Fáer, but I too struck at it, and black blood wet the grass."
As Nine told his tale, the men of the Household of Éomer came to stand behind him at the bottom of the short steps at the bottom of the dais. They listened and cheered as Nine retold his battle with the valiant Man of the West, and Éowyn knew this chronicle would spread through the halls before the sun was set upon the golden hall of Meduseld.
"But at the last the troll sprang for me, I stood, hoping for a final blow to slay the thing and save my friend, but as I struck my friend pushed me aside, taking the blow himself."
Many of the men of Edoras more involved in the story made cries of despair then.
"When I rose, I saw the foul creature stooping over the body of my friend, I took up my dagger, for my sword was broken, and struck at him again, eager to revenge my comrade. My blade took the troll's eye, and finally he fled from me, making back into the woods. My first thought was to pursue him, but then I looked back and saw Fáer lying upon the grass, dyed black with the troll's blood. I went to him, and found that he was not dead as I had though, but yet lived. Happy was I then, but my joy fled as I looked upon his wounds, for though the Men of the West are said to have great skill in healing with herbs and such, I, alas, am not of that folk. But Fáer lay dying even as I tarried, and looking to him I knew he would not long survive his hurts. And with his last breath he spoke to me:"
"'Nine' he said 'mighty was thine strike, but I fear I will not join thee in thy last combat' he laughed then, and his breath slowed to a rattle, 'Take now my sword, for thine is sundered, and take too mine star, that is the mark of mine people, for thee are as a brother to me, go forth, and continue mine work, I lay this duty upon thee.'"
"Then great sorrow was upon me, for my friend was dead, fallen to the strikes of a cowardly beast. But I did as he bid, for a fury on vengeance was upon me now, and, taking up his sword and the star of his people, I made off in search of the trail of our enemy, and finding him making for the mountains I made after him. Long was that chase, but at last I came upon him at the edge of a great cliff, and swiftly set upon him. And it was he this time who was overmastered, for I felt strength flow through me, and at the last, I dealt him a great blow, and cast him over the precipice."
A cheer went up from the assembled men, and Éomer leant forward in his seat.
"Weary then was I, and back down the mountain I went. Later, I discovered men living in that place had heard out combat from afar, and went swiftly to the clearing, they then took Fáer's body and bore him away from that place, lest the beast return they thought. Then when I came upon them and told of the tale and they looked upon me in wonder, for my injuries were heavy, yet I had travelled many leagues following the troll. We then buried Fáer beneath a great holly tree, some miles from the village."
As Nine ended Éomer sprang from his seat, "Mighty was the fallen!" he cried, "And meet was his ending, and a horn shall be raised later for him." Many warriors pounded the tables in a rolling chorus that shook the rafters.
Nine nodded, "Verily, I would have that he lived. But, alas, it was not so."
Éomer sat again, "But then Lord, why should you come to be here? I do not begrudge your presence certainly, for rumour of war in the East has come to us from Gondor, and the land is unsettled." Murmurs of agreement came from the tables at that, and Éowyn herself thought to the fate of her own mother, long years before. "For a Lord such as you would be a help unlooked for the Sons of Eorl."
Nine nodded magnanimously, but Éowyn thought she saw something flash across his eyes. "I thank you for your kind words, and stay I would, for here my duty falls now." He said.
Éomer puzzled. "But what duty now binds you Lord?"
Nine sighed, "After I buried my friend, I rested near the mountains for a time. But six weeks ago, sudden doubt came upon me. 'Whence came the beast?' thought I, therefore I travelled back to the sight of the battle. As I came once again upon the thing's tracks I noticed there were many of them, as if the beast had been about that place long. But this was not to be believed, we fought it and drove it off, and it came not again. I then was troubled, was there more of these beasts I asked myself, and fearing that it was so; I followed once again the tracks. They lead down south, along the foothills of the Misty Mountains. For many days I travelled all alone in the wilderness, following the trail, stopping only to hunt and to sleep. Weary was that journey, for my prey was swift, but eventually I came upon a camp of sorts on the borders of Dunland. The land was dark there, and the trees fearful, like the calm before a storm."
Éowyn thought she felt the hall grow colder, and the wind swept around it like a gale, howling about the rushes on the roof. Many men grumbled at the name of Dunland, but were quieted as Nine continued:
"As I crept closer I saw a great gathering of men, Orcs there were to, but few of them, and they bore a strange badge on their armour that I had not seen before. At the edge of the camp I soon learned all I could, for the sentries did not speak with one another. And I decided then I must infiltrate the camp."
Éomer laughed, "Doughty is the man who will walk into the enemy's stronghold with a smile upon his face!"
"Truly," replied Nine, "But I did not smile, for it was no child's game, and I barely survived. I am dark of hair, as many of the Dunlendings, and that helped me some, but before the moon had risen in the sky I was almost found out. I came upon a council of sorts. There stood my prey, a great troll-like beast, like to the one I had slain, but unlike, for this one appeared less tall, and less fierce. It spoke to, and I endured long with the sound of that Black tongue there. At the council there was the troll, many chiefs and champions of the Dunlanders, and three large Orcs. Man-high they were, and their armour and weapons were fell. With them stood an old man, hooded and cloaked, and he spoke both the Dunland tongue and the Black Speech, of which I could not understand. After long speech the old man held forth a dagger, and the Dunland chief cut his palm upon it. Then the old man gave unto the chief a standard. It was black, upon a black staff, and emblazoned upon it was a white hand."
Cries of dismay filled the hall, Éomer sprang again to his feet, knocking over his chair and upsetting the food on the table. Shouting from the lower tables overwhelmed Éomer's own oaths and Éowyn gasped. Nine only was unaffected, sitting as he had in his seat.
"This is evil news!" said Éomer after the noise had died down. "Gandalf Greyhame came to us many weeks ago and brought that news, but it was not to be believed, for many a day had Saruman the White been our friend and ally."
Nine drew breath but Éowyn spoke first, "Speak not the words of Wormtounge in this hall brother." She warned. Many of the Rohirrim agreed with her, and some directed looks toward Éomer.
"Nay, nay" he said, holding up his hands, "Surprise it was only, not disbelief, for no doubt the Lord Nine speaks truly, but it is a heavy blow to us, that one so mighty has fallen so far to consort with Orcs and trolls and other such beasts." Éomer sat again, a hall-guard behind him having picked up his chair. He gestured for Nine to continue. But Éowyn was certain that she had seen something in his eyes then, a sense of triumph, but also of irony, she say his lips twitch upwards in a smile.
Nine first nodded to Éowyn, thanking her, then lifted the bundle of cloth from beside his chair, "First Lord," he said to Éomer, "Perhaps it would be best to close the doors of the hold, for if there are others such as this craven 'Wormtounge', we would not want them to overhear."
Éomer nodded, "Let it be so." And the doors were closed, the guards outside drawing them by the large inlaid handles.
"After I saw the banner, I too thought of the Wizard Saruman, and looking upon the standard and the old man, guessed that it was the man himself. Therefore I purposed to get away from that place as quickly as I could, for I thought of only one people who the combined powers of Orthanc and Dunland would attack, the Sons of Eorl in their green fields." Nine was forced again to pause as the assembled men clamoured. "I took a horse from the paddock, and it came willingly, for I do not think the Dunlendings to be kind to beasts such as he, and I was thankful for the speed a mount would give me. But then, at the edge of the camp, I was discovered! I made away down the mountains with all the speed I could, pursued by a score of warg riders, hiding in a defile I killed two in an ambush, and then fled southwards again, soon I came to the Fords of Isen, and slew many with sword and bow and dagger there in the swirling water. The black blood wept into the stream, and it ran brown for a mile. Then some made off back down the trail, and I was glad, for there was still four riders to contend with, and both myself and my good horse were tired."
"Would that the King had not ordered the patrols back to Edoras." Lamented Éomer, "If not for that your battle would not have been as perilous, for a troop of riders would have ridden out of the hills to your aid!"
"I doubt it not Lord," replied Nine, "but I was hard pressed, as I rode from the Fords to Edoras I shot two more from the saddle, and upon sighting the golden roof of Meduseld from afar I rejoiced. But coming across the Snowbourn I came upon the Lady," he said, nodding to Éowyn, "Then I knew I must needs turn and fight, for I had only two arrows left, and my quiver was almost spent. Had that not been, I would have ridden in sight of the walls of Edoras and there fought them, so that the Rohirrim might have made a sortie out and given aid, but alas, I could not have left a Lady to fair to perish under an Orc scimitar. So there I made my stand, on the banks of the Snowbourn, the pure water washing about my feet."
Éowyn smiled under his praise, "And such a battle brother," she said in a loud voice as she stood, "The Orc came down the back and leapt from his wolf, and the Lord Nine killed him in the shallows, then the warg came at him also, but Nine cleaved it's head from its neck in a single strike!"
The men pounded the tables again; some with the pommels of their eating knives, some with their fists; even Éomer and the men of the guards join in, clashing spear against shield.
"Then the Lord stood on the bank, and drawing a great bow of yew he shot at the other rider." Spoke Éowyn, "Such a shot, greater than four hundred paces across the plain, into the throat of the rider, and such was the terror that was on it, his warg fled before his throat too should be pierced."
The noise rose again, shaking even the rafters, dust fell from them because of the vibrations of the music, and someone in the hall blew a battle horn, summoning the men of Edoras to fight, luckily its noise was masked by the cheering, or there would have been a great clamour outside the hall as well as in.
Nine smiled at the praise of Éowyn, and at the honour the men of the Rohirrim were doing him, he stood, and taking the bundle again, he spoke:
"The deed was but the least I could do, and happy was I to have done a service to the Great Lords of Rohan, even as I was doing a service to he who had fallen." He paused then, his head cast down.
Éowyn raised up a horn from the table,
"Bealocwealm hafath freone frecan forth onsended
Giedd sculon singan glaomen sorgiende on Meduseld"
She spoke, the Rohir chant for the dead, that in the common tongue ran:
"An evil death has set forth the noble warrior
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels in Meduseld"
And the men of Edoras assembled there took up their horns and drunk too, repeating the words in their rolling speech. Then Nine continued:
"I thank you again Lady Éowyn, for though I do not speak your tongue, I know its message." And he too raised a horn and drunk. "But to raise a horn was not my purpose here, I bring a token to give the Lords of the Mark, and also, if they would have it, I offer my sword to."
Another cheer went up from the men, and Éomer turned to Nine, "I would have it gladly, for already you have done service to mark you a knight of the land of Rohan, but what token do you bring?" he asked, looking warily at the bundle.
"Only this." Replied Nine, and cast aside the cloth, letting it fall to the rushes on the floor, and holding up what he had carried long.
It was an Orc helm, small, for Orcs were smaller than men generally, but atop it in a white paint, already crusting away, was a white hand.
He gave it to Éomer, the Third Marshal accepting it with unsteady hands, seeming not to accept the declaration of war Saruman had unwittingly made. The men of Rohan gathered around the steps, none sat at the benches now, and the guards that normally stood at the walls came forward also, craning their necks to see. Éomer finally raised the help above his head with a hand, showing it to all, and the men raised their voices again, this time in anger. No talk was this, nor report unverified, Nine had brought them physical proof, and now the Men of Rohan were wroth.
"This is a sore blow." Said Éomer, "and even in the King's Council now we must now be wary, the men of Rohan must be prepared for sudden war, but not arouse the suspicious of the Worm."
"This is so." Replied Nine, and took the help from Éomer's unresisting hands, tossing it down the stairs to be examined by the men, he then took his seat again. "My Lord, let all the folk that hold with you, and hold with the King go about and tell the land of this treachery, for if the gather I saw was true, many people's unite against Rohan."
"It shall be!" cried Éomer, jumping to his feet again, and again knocking over his chair, though no one saw, the guard standing behind him rolled his eyes and wearily maneuverered the chair into place again. "Let you folk go forth, and take with you the token, speak only to those loyal to Rohan, and let it also be said that the Lord Nine shall now be one of the Rohirrim, a knight of the land, for he has done great service to us. Forth Eorlingas!"
And the men went about the town that day, lighting the fires of a conspiracy in the people's hearts.