This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!

Chapter 20

"You don't have the men my Lady," Aragorn told Eoywn bluntly. The Regent of Rohan was currently pacing the length of the Golden Hall, her frustration and worry evident to all the observers.

"We can't sit around and do nothing either," she responded sharply, her temper crackling around her, "My people are being slaughtered and Saruman's orcs roam freely across Rohan. I cannot sit idly by and watch my people suffer." The fire was obvious in her entire bearing and though Aragorn could admire the determination she possessed, he knew that what she was suggesting would be nothing less than a suicide mission.

"And what would you have happen?" He countered swiftly, "You do not have the troops to hold Edoras against an assault of any large force, let alone face any group of Uruk-hai in combat without cover. The townsfolk are doing an admirable job of holding the walls but they are not a trained force, and they would not last long on the open plains. There is nothing we can do to remove the threat until your brother returns with the Riders."

Eowyn seemed to sag slightly at the pronouncement, and to Aragorn's eye it appeared as if his words had just confirmed what she knew to be true but that she had not wanted to admit to herself. But in the next moment she seemed to collect herself and she turned back to them, her jaw set stubbornly, "I will not abandon my people my Lord Aragorn. Not while I still draw breath."

"I would expect nothing less my lady."

Eowyn blinked once, and Aragorn could see the statement had unsettled her. She had been preparing to argue but his response had been the opposite of what she had been expecting and it showed, but she recovered quickly. "But why then should I not fight for them?" She demanded, her temper flaring at the surface but Aragorn remained unmoved by her fury. He had faced the fury of Kings before and he understood the need to protect that was driving her, for the same desire burned in his blood but he had more experience of the battle field and he understood more about leadership in desperate straits than she.

Therefore his voice was calm when he replied. "I do not say do not fight for them, for there is no power on Middle Earth that would prevent that. But not all fights are fought, and won by the sword, and I advocate caution. You do not have the troops to hold the villages of the Westfold against the Urak-hai but that does not mean you cannot help your people."

"How?" The question was tart but the hope behind it was painfully obvious.

"Evacuation." It was Boromir who had spoken. "You can't defend the villages, but you can make sure the people do not suffer. The villages may burn, but as long as the villagers do not burn with them they are no loss."

"They need a warning, but all that takes is one messenger. Your people will be safe, and when your brother returns you can ride out and cleanse these lands."

Eowyn had been listening intently and now she nodded, "Your counsel is wise, I can send the order that the people are to evacuate to Helm's Deep. But what of their evacuation itself?"

"We cannot protect them as they evacuate my lady. Just as you do not have the troops to defend the villages neither do you have troops to guard the people as they evacuate." Aragorn paused for a moment, looking hard at the Regent of Rohan. Over the past day he had learnt a great deal about Eowyn, and one thing that was becoming painfully obvious was that she was no tactician. He knew she was a skilled fighter but it was clear that she had never been schooled in battle tactics or taught how to lead and govern during war. He could see she was fiercely devoted to her people and to duty towards Rohan, but this was her first taste of war and command and she had not been forced to make the decisions that determined who lived and who died and had to face the awful truth that no matter what you wished and how hard you tried, you could not save everyone.

"Considering the circumstances it is the best we can do for them. Your people are fierce fighters and will defend themselves if they attacked when travelling, and by leaving the villages they will be less of a target, for Saruman, no matter his powers cannot track the people of every village simultaneously."

There was a long silence and every eye in the hall was fixed upon Eowyn. Eventually she nodded slowly, though it was clear in her eyes that she did not like the plan and turned to one of the nearby servants and barked out a sharp command before returning to her seat and sitting rigidly, the tension in her spine giving away her unease.

It was an unease shared by all the people in the room. They did not like the fact they had to abandon the Westfold and other villages with little more than a warning and a command to evacuate to Helm's Deep, but they could do nothing else. Wormtongue's ploy and the subsequent attack had robbed Edoras of almost all its loyal, trained warriors. And no matter their zeal, blacksmiths, farmers, farriers, and stable boys were no match for the Urak-hai in open country, with no cover. Until Eomer returned they could do nothing but wait and hope and it was a situation that was not easy for anyone.

Gandalf had pushed himself up against the back wall of his cell, letting the rough stone support his weight. As the hours had worn on, the trembling in his limbs had increased and he knew he had little time before he returned to Valinor, but he was determined that he would take Saruman with him when he went. His last service, and sacrifice to Middle Earth.

He knew he would only have one shot but he was determined that it would be enough to make sure that Saruman's evil was forever removed from Middle Earth. It had taken practice, and more of his strength than he had been expecting but he had finally managed to replicate one of Elion's spells, and achieve the desired results. The far wall of his cell testified to the practice, the numerous craters and dents showing the explosive power of the spell. A shot to Saruman's chest should kill him, but though the hope burned strongly in his veins, it was tempered by caution and the deep throbbing pain that stole his attention.

He was dying, and his hope now was that Saruman would return once more to gloat and that would be all he needed. It was no more than a slim chance but he would not let it go to waste, for if he could not kill Saruman now there was no telling what terrors he might unleash on Middle Earth, and it would be many years before Elion's power and knowledge would let him rival Saruman.

The sound of footsteps against stone sharpened his focus. With what strength he had left he pulled himself upright raising his hand so it was resting on his chest, ready to cast at a moment's notice. Silence surrounded him, and though he was dying Gandalf felt a great calm fill him. He knew what he had to do and all that remained was for him to do it. There was nothing more that could be done, nothing more that he could try and it all led to this.

The lock clicked open and Saruman stepped into the room. Slowly, almost languidly, Gandalf raised his arm, his hand moving through the now familiar patterns as the syllables dropped from his lips, each one perfectly pronounced.

"Bombarda."

A pale jet of light sped from his fingers, and Gandalf saw Saruman's eyes widen as the Istar realised that his captive had successfully used magic. But the shock lasted for merely a second before the spell impacted the wizard's chest, exactly where it had been aimed, and the shock blossomed immediately into pain.

There was a clearly audible crack, but even though his face was drawn with pain, Saruman remained standing, though he held onto the wall with one hand to keep himself upright. Gandalf felt the first stirrings of despair grow in his heart. He had seen Elion use this spell, and he knew it should have completely crushed Saruman's chest, killing him instantly.

He raised his hand, intending to try once more, for he knew a second blow of similar strength would kill Saruman but he did not have the chance to utter a sound. With a snarl of pain and fury Saruman thrust his staff forward and the bolt of pure magic that sped from its end sent Gandalf careening back into the wall of his cell. A cry of agony left his lips as his hands were crushed between the wall and his body from the pure force of his impact, and all the bones shattered.

He slid limply down the wall, clenching his teeth in an effort to keep the cry of agony within him. He knew he was about to die, Saruman would not show mercy now, not now he had injured him and continued to defy him, and shown that he had magic that Saruman could not control, but he would not beg. He would face his death with the same resolve he had faced every task that he had faced.

It was a poor consolation, set against the physical pain of his wounds and the mental pain of his failure, but his resolve and defiance were all he had left. He raised his eyes to meet those of Saruman, his brother he had come to kill and who would bathe Middle Earth in blood due to his failure, and in that moment as he stared at him, his shattered hands making any attempt to cast again impossible, he felt a surge of pity well up in him.

It was little more than a breath, not meant to be heard but the words rang loud and clear in the cell, "My brother, how has it come to this?"

For a moment, all that could be heard in the cell were the harsh breaths of the two Istari, one lying on the floor, broken and bloody and the second propped against the wall for support, blood seeping slowly from the gash in his chest. And Gandalf felt the pity in his heart grow once again. He was resigned to his fate, his attack had been his last attempt, and he knew that he was going to die, but it was now that he truly realised what Saruman had thrown away in his pursuit of power. He might have failed to kill him, but he realised now that Saruman was already a dead man walking, for Sauron would dispose of him the moment he outlived his usefulness.

Saruman had thrown everything away, friendship and brotherhood for the life of a slave, a slave kept in a gilded cage, but a slave of Mordor nevertheless. He could only hope now that the blow he had struck to the Istar's chest would turn out to be fatal, for chest wounds were notoriously unpredictable, for it would be a more merciful death than Sauron would grant him and despite Saruman's actions he did not, could not hate him and for the sake of the man he had once called brother he would wish him a quick death.

The silence stretched as they gazed at one another before Saruman turned, his movements less elegant than they had been, and stepped out of the door. "Goodbye Gandalf," he said levelly, "It seems you were a worthy opponent. I have to say I'm surprised but no matter, you were never going to stand against me." There was a pause, and a streak of malice burned in his eyes, "I do hope you enjoy your last hours. Consider it my little gift." A cruel smirk flitted across his face, "You will be aware until your very last heart beat, you will feel every panicked and gasping breath. Do savour your remaining minutes, you have so few left after all."

The click of the door lock held a hollow finality as Saruman left, and Gandalf allowed his body to sink down onto the cold stone floor, grateful for the relief, minor as it was. And as he stared up at the stone ceiling in what would be his hast hours he felt himself wishing that Saruman had included a window in his cell.

He would have liked to see the sky as he died.

"No Elion, you hold it like this," Legolas's voice was patient as he demonstrated the correct grip for the bow once more and Elion nodded, his eyes intent as he watched before moving to copy the elf, glancing over at him when he thought he had copied him correctly. This time he received and approving nod and, carefully, his eyes fixed on the target forty paces away he released the arrow.

Green eyes watched the wobbly fight until the arrow ploughed into the ground a few paces short and Elion glared at the arrow. "Try again," the elf instructed, "But this time only release the arrow when you can touch the corner of your mouth with your thumb. That will ensure the bow is at full draw."

This time when Elion tried to shoot the arrow sailed over the target, to bury itself several lengths down the field. He sent a frustrated look at where his arrows had both buried themselves in the grass. He'd been out here trying to learn how to shoot for nearly an hour now and he'd yet to hit the target even once. He knew it wasn't going to be easy and that he would improve with practice but it didn't change the fact that if he wasn't good enough to hit a target at forty paces he'd be unable to protect anyone without his magic.

A scowl was beginning to grow on his face as he selected another arrow from the thicket at his feet, but he didn't entertain the thought of stopping. He needed to practice to get better, and he had to get better so he could make sure nobody was hurt because of him again, even when he couldn't use his magic. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the target and this time when he released the arrow it slammed into the outer ring of the target.

Instantly his bad mood vanished and a grin crossed his features. Quickly he grabbed another arrow, and concentrated once again, and this arrow too hit the target, though this one too was a long way from the centre it didn't matter to Elion. He'd hit the target again. He grabbed another arrow, but this time he was too eager and the arrow fell short.

Disappointed with himself with himself he reached for another arrow only to be stopped by Legolas's hand on his wrist. Confused he looked up at the elf and Legolas gently removed the arrow from his hand, "That's enough for today Elion," he was told.

"But..." Elion started to protest. He'd just been getting the hang of it and he knew he needed to practice as that would be the only way he'd improve and he had to improve, particularly if he had to hide his magic. He was not going to let anyone get hurt because of him, just because he couldn't use his magic without putting them in danger did not mean he wanted to be helpless. He had to practice, he had to get better because he couldn't bear it if anyone else died. Far too many had died already but nobody seemed to understand that.

"No," Legolas said firmly, "You've done quite enough for today, especially when you are still healing. You can practice tomorrow. And don't even think of sneaking out to practice." He added just as the thought had begun to grow in Elion's mind, "In fact I do not want you to be handling that bow unless Aragorn or I are with you, understood?"

"I understand," Elion replied, a trifle sullenly as he scuffed his feet against a convenient stone. If only Legolas hadn't issued that instruction, he was sure he'd have been able to convince some of the boys at the range to let him practice, for he'd seen several children practicing there with no supervision but he knew that it would have been difficult to sneak away from the Hall in the first place, a task that would only be harder if Legolas and Aragorn were expecting him to try.

Not to mention if he got caught sneaking out to practice he'd be in trouble and Legolas would stop giving him lessons, for when they had first come here Legolas had made it very clear that if Elion didn't listen and obey when he was given instructions he would not get anymore lessons. Elion knew that it was not an idle threat, and the elf would withdraw the lessons if he disobeyed, and that wasn't something he could risk, as he need to learn how wield a bow properly.

Reluctantly he handed the bow back to Legolas, knowing it would be far easier to resist the temptation to go and practice if he didn't actually have the bow with him, and he caught the elf's approving look at the gesture. For some reason, even though Legolas had seen him wield magic, and kill with it, the elf had seemed to be a little uneasy about giving him a weapon. Elion supposed it was something to do with the fact that he'd seen no children at all in Rivendell, but in the end it didn't really matter, Legolas had agreed to teach him and that was the most important thing.

An idea suddenly came to him, and Elion felt himself grin, despite the aches in his back that had only been intensified by his lesson. Giving a cheerful grin and thanks to a now slightly bemused elf Elion darted away back into the city and up to the practice ground near the Golden Hall, looking for Merry, Pippin and Gimli. The previous night he had seen the two hobbits corner Gimli, unusually serious expressions on their faces.

That more than anything had set alarm bells ringing, for while both Merry and Pippin had grown up a lot during the journey, it was still uncommon to see them anything but cheerful for Elion had quickly learnt that their way of dealing with the war, and the pain and the death was to joke and laugh unless they were in trouble at that moment, in which case they would then become as serious as any general on the eve of battle. So seeing their serious expressions within the Hall, when they were not in immediate danger had worried him and he'd quickly slipped out of his seat and headed over to them, intending to try and cheer them up, and in doing so had caught the tail end of their conversation.

Back before they'd reached Lothlorien Boromir had started to teach them to use the sword but those lessons had fallen by the wayside after they had left Lothlorien. But given the subsequent events, Elion still tried very hard not to dwell about the time they'd spent as captives, he wasn't surprised when he heard the hobbits requesting that the dwarf continued the lessons. Nobody liked being helpless.

And that was the reason that he was seeking them out now. He'd seen them practicing in the upper practice yard as he'd gone down to the range for his archery lesson and Elion thought it was fairly likely that they'd still be there. It wasn't often that you saw the two hobbits serious about something but he'd learnt that when the situation called for it they would throw everything they had at their goal, no matter what stood in their way. What they lacked in skill, they made up for with sheer determination.

And while Legolas wouldn't let him practice his archery any more, Elion was sure that Gimli, Merry and Pippin would be happy to let him join them and if he could wield a dagger too, he'd have another weapon he could use to protect those he cared for.

The battle cries and Gimli's gruff voice greeted him as he reached the yard, and Elion gave a grin at his good fortune as he saw Merry and Pippin fall back, breathing heavily as they retreated for a break. He hadn't got very close when Merry spotted him and called out a greeting, beckoning him over. "Fancy joining in?" he offered, before his voice dropped, and a crafty look appeared on his features, "Gimli is far better at this than we are Elion," he confided, "But if we caught him by surprise we might be able to overwhelm him with sheer numbers."

A spark of mischief was growing in Elion's eyes as the hobbits outlined their plan. It would be fun and he'd be able to learn a bit more about using a dagger, and maybe it'd convince Gimli to let him join in the lessons, for the dwarf seemed less unsettled by Elion's desire to learn to wield weaponry. He nodded his agreement, eyes bright however the weight of the dagger caught him off guard as he realised he'd never actually used a dagger before and the weapon was awkward and heavy for his short stature.

He swung it experimentally a couple of times, his frown slowly lessening as he became a little more accustomed to its weight and how it moved in response to his movements. Brow furrowed in concentration he tried a couple of the simple moves he'd watched the hobbits practice, back before they'd crossed the mountain and he was pleased when he managed them without fumbling them that badly. The dagger certainly seemed much easier and more instinctive to use than the bow.

Gimli had been standing at the edge of the ground, carefully inspecting the edge of his axe for any nicks. When it appeared that his full attention was focussed on his task, Merry gave a sharp nod. That was the signal, and the three of them crept forward as noiselessly as possible, fanning out to surround the oblivious dwarf. Once they were all in position a battle cry erupted from three throats and they charged forward, expecting to caught Gimli off-guard.

However they had underestimated Gimli's absorption in his task, for the moment they moved forward the dwarf swung his axe up, his eyes glittering and with a broad grin on his face. Unprepared for the sudden resistance to their attack, both Merry and Pippin faltered in their movements and that hesitation was seized on by the experience warrior, as he skilfully disarmed them.

But in doing so he had neglected Elion, dismissing him as little threat, after all he'd had no training whatsoever, and it was in those few moments when his attention was distracted by the hobbits that Elion pounced. He sprang forward, his blunted dagger outstretched and his arm reaching out as far as it could and he managed to place the tip of his weapon against the dwarf's neck.

Gimli froze suddenly, and Merry and Pippin stopped as well, staring at shock at the child who had his dagger resting lightly against Gimli's neck. None of them had expected the child to be any threat at all, in their ambush he'd been the distraction and Gimli had dismissed him as not knowing what he was doing, but now the silence stretched as the four tried to understand what had happened.

It was Gimli who broke the silence first as loud, roaring laughter burst out of his throat, before he clapped a surprised Elion on the shoulder. "Well done laddie. Well done indeed."

Merry and Pippin recovered their voices then and they ran forward, laughing as they congratulated him. A grin rose on Elion's face as the adrenalin from the fight, brief though it was, began to drain from his body, though as it left he became aware once more of the ache in his back. But he hid his discomfort, focussing instead on the dagger in his hand, his original instinct had been right, the dagger was so much easier to wield than a bow, and he knew that while he could become very good with the bow if he practiced enough, he'd always be better with a sword or dagger.

Gimli's voice broke into his thoughts then, "Well if you're going to be wielding that skewer laddie, you'd best learn to do it properly." He gestured to where Merry and Pippin were standing, their weapons outstretched as they waited for instructions.

Elion nodded eagerly, already dropping into the stance that he'd seen the hobbits practice and he was rewarded with an approving nod as Gimli continued the lesson, this time with Elion alongside the two hobbits.

Saruman's scowl was thunderous as he surveyed the Urak-hai who had brought him the latest report from the company of men he'd sent into Rohan several days previous, on orders to obtain information, for Wormtongue still had not reported in and any previous thoughts he'd had about letting the man live had been pushed to the side in the wake of this insolence. He could find another to act as a puppet, for Wormtongue's insubordination would cost him dearly.

He accepted the bundle of documents with a glare and at a curt order he sent the Urak-hai away. His Urak-hai, while they were the most powerful army on Middle Earth, could neither read nor write and Saruman wanted it that way, it would not do for his creatures to discover any of his plans or come across any ideas he had not given them. His army had been created for one purpose only, to slaughter his enemies as he seized power across Middle Earth, and for those aims he needed an army that were powerful but that would not think for themselves and would never question his orders.

However it made the business of sending dispatches far beyond their capabilities and with his temper already frayed the slightest delay or annoyance did nothing but fuel his simmering fury.

The pain in his ribs throbbed in time with his heartbeat and he cursed bitterly. He cursed the wizard in his cells that had inflicted this injury, he cursed that the elves had turned from him and would never give him the healing and aid his studies had not led him to master and he cursed the injury. The pain was doing nothing but growing and Saruman felt his facade of strength reach the verge of crumbling.

A snarl on his lips he bit out an order that he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day, and a slight malicious smile twisted his lips as he watched the remaining men and Urak-hai in his throne room cower before him and hurry out, expressions of brutish fear on the human's faces. But the brief moment of pleasure was little respite from the pain, and it was only when he was sure he was the only living being on this floor of Orthanc did he let his weary body slump down against the cold stone, seeking what little respite he could.

His rage boiled beneath his skin but he knew better than to turn his magic to his wounds. Healing had never been his area of study, power and war and the dark magics of Middle Earth had always been his passions and it had been into them his studies had delved deeply. And the rudimentary healing skills he possessed made him cautious. He knew how deadly a chest injury could be, and how fickle they were. Meddling with his injury beyond binding it for support would be foolish in the extreme for he was more likely to injure himself further than heal himself and that was something he would not risk. His wounds, broken ribs according to his diagnosis, would merely need time to heal and that would not pose a risk to his life

With a negligent wave of his staff he summoned the cordial he had mixed a few hours previously and he downed the concoction in one swallow, his expression remaining calm despite the foul taste, and soon the cordial kicked in and he couldn't help but sigh as the pain decreased in potency. In the next second he clamped his lips shut, his eyes flashing dangerously as he scanned his chambers. He was certain he was alone but he was not going to show weakness. Middle Earth was his and he would seize it by force, not by cowering from a simple injury, regardless of pain.

For a moment he pondered returning to the cell and torturing Gandalf further, the man was almost dead but that didn't mean he couldn't have his fun. A cruel smirk rose on his features as he contemplated all the tortures he could inflict, how he would make the wizard pay in blood for every scratch he had inflicted. But though the thought of the pain he could inflict caused happiness to well up inside him, he regretfully put the thought aside.

As satisfying the torture, the revenge would be, he couldn't risk it. Though Gandalf was weak, dying, the Istar had proved he was not to be underestimated. Saruman had thought him defeated before and the fire in his chest was a reminder of the consequences of that particular oversight. It was an oversight he would not make again, and therefore he would not indulge in his wish to torture the Istar, though he would take great pleasure in watching the fear and panic in his eyes as Gandalf took his last breaths. That thought allayed the bloodlust somewhat. If he could not risk torturing him, his death would be a fitting alternative.

His rage had cooled somewhat, and Saruman turned his mind to the documents in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he read the information contained there, and his fury begun to rise once more. But in contrast to his previous, fiery rage, his fury now was cold and calculating. The whelp that called herself Regent of Rohan had little idea of the powerful forces she was acting against, and Saruman would take great pleasure in crushing her spirit.

When all of Rohan had been scoured bare by flame and sword, he would laugh as she was dealt with.

Personally.

AN: And here is the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it, and thanks for all the support and reviews, I appreciate every one. See you in a few weeks and please review!