Finally! A chapter for you, my dears! This one took a fair amount of research, because...well, you'll see. I'd like to thank the screenwriters of Lord of the Rings: The Return of The King, for the script, Howard Shore and Renee Fleming, and, as always, JRR Tolkein. Much of the dialogue in this chapter is of their devise, and I take no credit for it.

Our company moved with haste through the somber trees of Fangorn. It took us some time to mosey through those silent boughs, even with the surprisingly keen mind of Gandalf leading us on.

But I was in no hurry. Despite the anxiety and adrenaline that accompanied meeting the one who had caused my people such great suffering, I was comfortable beneath the lichen and sunbeams that spread between elegant limbs.

But such things do not last forever.

It was Legolas who pulled me from my reverie some two hours into our travels.

"Calahdra, teach me Rohirric," he said to me.

"Why?"

"Because I hear your men speak it all the time about me, and I hate not knowing what they're saying. I'm not use to not knowing a foreign language. I guess I'm spoiled in that way...,"

I smirked. "I'm fluent in five languages. How many have you learned?"

"Five as well. What is that you have not learned?"

"Quenyan. I know that it is a shame, but I cannot pick up the tambour of it. I know enough to read and translate it, but to speak it...," I shook my head.

"Well, I will make you a scholarly offer. You teach me Rohirric, and I shall teach you Quenyan,"

We both agreed that this was a fair deal, and we decided that since he asked first, that I would tutor him first.

"The most important thing to keep in mind when learning Rohirric is that our language was never developed to impress or teach. It is not like Sindarin, or even Westron, in that way. Both of those languages developed from streams of many different native dialects, all culminating into one vast and superfluous stream of language that was used as a means of power. Those who master such languages can only do so if they are wealthy, well-bred, and well-taught.

"Rohan has never cared for such things. We are herdsmen, farm folk. We have no true written history. No single tome depicting our speech. Our legacies are passed through oral tradition. The old ways are held sacred through tongue, not ink,"

"And therefore our language is both simple and powerful. We do not speak unless we have something to say, and when we say it, we add only the cadence, metaphor, and adjectives necessary to convey whatever subject we speak of. Do you follow?"

Legolas looked impressed, but also studious, like a young boy sitting at a table across from his tutor. He nodded, and with a gentle smile, he asked me to continue.

I thought for a moment, not entirely sure of how to continue. I had always been the student in these scenarios, never the teacher. But I was so comfortable with him that I knew that no matter what course I took, he would understand.

"The most powerful words in our language are names. They do not describe nor do they infer importance. Instead, they chronicle a heritage in but a few syllables.

"What then does your name mean? For I thought Tarliyn meant 'red dawn'...," Legolas interrupted.

"It does. That word itself was created in honor of the red dawn. It is not an adjective, nor some noun thrown at some object so that it might be known to man by some name. It is representative of a red dawn. It casts the picture of a red dawn. But it is not the red dawn that the word inspired, nor shall it be any other,"

Legolas looked lost. Terribly, terribly lost. I searched desperately for a different way of describing it.

"Take my true name, for example. Calahdra means 'noble fire'. One day, a man or woman saw a fire that had been started in honor of a great man. It was his funeral pyre, and upon it they saw his ashes. And so, to honor this great man's passing, they named the scene itself 'Calahdra', like the title of a song or a book. Similarly, my father's name is Cahlan. The word 'calhan' means 'the one who starts the fire'. The root, 'calh' obviously means fire, but when used as a name the word is representative of the first man ever to have made a fire. Does this make more sense?"

"Somewhat. So what you're telling me is that names do not represent nouns or adjectives, but rather they represent memories?"

"Precisely," I said.

"Calahdra, you still have not begun to teach me how to actually speak he language," he said.

"I know that," I said, looking deeply into his eyes. "But before you can know the language, you must know what the language means to its people,"

Legolas looked at me for a moment, and then, realization, and even perhaps a bit of humility, came to his eyes.

"I am sorry, Calahdra. I did not know how powerful your speech was,"

"Well, now you know. And now you can begin to learn,"

And so I began to teach him the deep, earthy cadence that was Rohirric. Grammar, definitions, accents, punctuation...all of the things that came so naturally to me as a child were now suddenly quite challenging, both to learn and to teach.

But Legolas learned quickly and with panache, and by the time we had passed through the desert wasteland and had entered the last thicket of trees before we reached the gates of Isengard, he had progressed rapidly in his learning of the language.

When we finally reached the Wall of Isengard, no such wall remained. The jagged shards and splinters of the once great fortress jutted out from the flooded remnants of the city. The sight of such ruin almost made me pity the broken abode of Saruman the White, but such emotion would not come to fruition.

And yet among all of the wreckage and devastation was a sight as foreign to my eyes as it was gleeful.

Two tiny men, one dozing and the other smoking, sat atop a boulder once part of the wall. About their muddy frames was a wide array of meats, fruits, and drinks.

Our entire company froze as they were confronted with the sight. The silence that followed was palpable...until the smoking one sprung to his feet.

"Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" he exclaimed, snapping an arm behind him to gesture at the tower of Orthanc.

Gimli, mouth agape, shook his head in wonder from behind Legolas. "You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and...and smoking!"

The sleeping one, having stirred, now sat and stared at Gimli with a look of benevolent satisfaction upon his face. "We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork?" the dwarf murmured. Beside him, Gandalf muttered what sounded like an angry curse.

Theoden prodded Snowmane forward. "May I ask, young masters, exactly who you are?"

"I, my lord, am Meriadoc Brandybuck. And this here," he said with a kick to the smaller one's shoulder, "is Peregrin Took. We're under orders, from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard," he explained.

"And where is Treebeard, Merry?" Gandalf asked. I looked at the wizard with incredulity. How had they met? Were they close friends? And what was this 'merry hunt' Gimli had spoken of?

"Beneath the great tower," Pippin said whilst shoving a few strips of meat and a hunk of bread into his jacket.

Gandalf bid them down, and the two were hoisted up onto the backs of Eomer's steed, Firefoot, and Shadowfax. Together, our company pushed beyond the crumbling gate of Isengard and waded into the flooded courtyard.

Legolas brought Arod up beside me and reached out to me, brushing my leather brace with his hand.

"They were taken from us by a group of Urukai," he whispered. "We ran for many leagues after them, for they were all that was left of our fellowship. We thought them to be dead not a week ago. To see them alive is a merry sight indeed,"

"Legolas, a child could have inferred that," I said, my anger spewing forth in a murmured hiss. "What is this fellowship you speak of? What is this quest that seems to hold such an air of secrecy? Am I not trust worthy enough to know such things? Or has it simply slipped your mind that I might care at all for your secrets when I have given forth all of mine?"

Legolas merely stared at me, blinked once, and then turned and shook his head.

"I forget your temper for but a moment and it strikes me like a snake,"
And with that, he and a silent Gimli fell back amongst the other soldiers.

By then, a great wooden mass had happened upon us. Its eyes were what proved to me that it was one of the creatures we had seen two nights before. Great globes of a somber flame dwelt within the knotty compounds of its face.

"Huraroom ... Young Master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a wizard to be managed here ... Locked in his tower," the great Shepard said.

Aragorn, having neared me, growled impatiently, "Show yourself,"

"Be, careful. Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous," Gandalf said to us all, looking warily at the great tower.

"Let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli grumbled from behind us. I turned to see him fidgeting with his axe behind Legolas, who was staring blankly at the tower abroad.

"No," Gandalf murmured, quietly enough that I was sure only one other set of ears could hear it besides my own, "We need him alive. We need him to talk,"

A moment of silence passed, and the horses shifted with trepidation as an evil descended upon us from the highest spires of the tower. Saruman's voice followed this malice like a wake.

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Theoden king. And made peace afterwards. Can we not take council together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

There was a moment of silence. The men in the vanguard seemed to sway, as if they enjoyed the sound of peace more than any thought of revenge. Even I, for a moment, imagined turning back and allowing Theoden to parlay with the wicked sorcerer in the hopes that we would not have to confront him ever again. And for a little while, at least, I feared that Theoden, too, would sway once more under the poison of Saruman's powers.

It was Eomer, now close to the right of Theoden, who spoke out. "Lord, hear me! Now we feel the peril that we were warned of. Have we ridden forth to victory, only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? Remember Theodred at the Fords, and the grave of Hama in Helm's Deep!"

Saruman turned upon Eomer with fury in his brow. "If we speak of poisoned tongues, what shall we say of yours, young serpent?" said Saruman, "But come Eomer, Eomund's son! To every man his part. Valor in arms is yours, and you win high honor thereby. Meddle not in policies which you do not understand. But maybe, if you become king, you will find that he must choose his friends with care,"

My temper flared once more as Saruman disparaged Eomer, who one day would be my charge as Theoden would.

"Speak not of friends or foes, wizard!" I cried, meeting the liar's eyes. "It matters not what Eomer's title may be or may become. To every man, every woman, every child of our country, you are an enemy. We, as a people, hold you with naught more than the same countenance as an arsonist of life,"

"Speak not to me, whore!" Saruman spat at me, "What title is it that you hold that gives you freedom to speak at a council of kings and men,"

I fell silent once more, my teeth grinding with such a passion that I could not hear the noise of Meleare's feet as they angrily pawed at the water.

"So tell me, Theoden, what say you of this peace we might set to weave?"

"We shall have peace," Theoden murmured, his voice wavering with such emotion that I wished to reach out to him. "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,"

If it had not been for the eerie dark radiating from the eyes of the wizard now peering down at us, I would have cheered. But instead, only a silent bath of hatred washed over the heads of the soldiers and me now staring at the murder who had so elegantly raped our people.

"Gibbets and crows...," Saruman growled, "Doubter! What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess, the key of Orthanc, or perhaps the keys of Barad-dûr itself? Along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel!"

"So you have come here for information? I have some for you," From the white sleeve of the wizards robe rolled a single black orb, no larger than a melon. And as the wizards fingers caressed its marbled surface, a red spark grew from its middle, alighting the orb in a sinister flame.

In my mind, a single, fearsome eye burned as it whispered my name, along with all the names of those it wished to destroy. My soul splintered for but a moment and Meleare snorted as she felt my body fall forward in single tremor.

"Something festers in the heart of middle earth. Something that you have failed to see. The Great Eye has seen it. Even now, he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon,"

As I raised my head, I saw the honesty in the madman's eyes. "You are all going to die,"

In the moment of silence afterwards, I relayed my status to him. I was careful to do nothing more than graze his consciousness with my own as I passed on my titles and my accomplishments. I felt that then was the time to prove to him that I was indeed a sorceress and a protector of my people and that I would see no such fate come to them.

"Ahh," he said, straightening a little, "Calahdra, daughter of Calhan. You are the one they call Tarilyn, the red dawn. The fury of Rohan, the siren of her people, Shieldmaiden, even, to whatever vagrant claims title to the throne.

"And here it is that we find the greatest liar of the lot! You are nothing. You are filth. You are no star, rising upon the crimson dawn. You are a shard of glass that cracks as it sits in the night sky while all else turns about the sun. You are the mangled mess of two races doomed to die. A mutt. No goddess, no warrior, nor even a sorceress. You are a vagabond bitch meant only for death and despair. You shall rot in the heavens, Tarilyn," Saruman spat, "and you shall drag all whom you love into the abyss with you. And that, like all stars, is how you shall perish,"

My grip upon the hilt of my sword lessened with each one of his words.

For the things he said to me echoed many of my own thoughts.

"Such council you keep, my old friend. Orphans and outcasts all impregnated with the thought that they might stand a chance against the evil that will devour them. But you know this, don't you Gandalf?" Saruman's eyes turned to Aragorn, "You cannot think that this ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows will never be crowned King,"

The look in Aragorn's eyes was one of blatant disregard. He met Saruman's eyes with pride, and with a clenched jaw. The wizard, perhaps seeing this challenge as a true threat, turned his attention to Gandalf.

"Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him. Those he professes to love. Tell me? What words of comfort did you give the halfling before you sent him to his doom? For the path that you have set him in can only lead to death,"

"I've heard enough!" Gimli growled. "Shoot him," I heard Gimli then whisper to Legolas, who drew an arrow in agreement.

"No! Come down Saruman! And your life will be spared,"

"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!"

A great wave of flame descended from the tower unto Gandalf. I gasped and Meleare leapt back. I feared the worst until I realized that Gandalf was well, and that he had repelled the shell of certain death.

"Saruman," Gandalf cried as the flames dispersed, "Your staff is broken,"

And so it was, splintering in Saruman's hand at once. Behind him, a dark figure approached.

"Grima!" Theoden called out, recognizing the figure before I. "You need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan!"

Grima shook his head in fear, as if tempted but unwilling to risk the reactions of others besides the king.

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman hissed, "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn were brigands drink in the reek while their brats roll on the floor with the dogs. The victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Theoden Horse-Master! You are a lesser son of greater sires,"

Theoden's patience proved to be far greater than my own. He took a deep breath and looked back again at Grima, who shriveled behind Saruman with each passing second. "Grima, come down. Be free of him,"

"Free?" Saruman roared, "He will never be free,"

"No," Grima mouthed, and he walked towards Theoden, rounding Saruman.

"Get back! Cur!" Saruman said, and then slapped Wormtongue like a child.

"Saruman! You were deep in the enemy's council!" Gandalf repeated, panic now in his voice upon seeing the rising madness of Saruman's disposition, "Tell us what you know!"

"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!"

And suddenly, Saruman slumped over. Grima, having finally lost the will to follow his slave master, had planted a dagger savagely in the wizard's back.

Legolas let fly a single arrow, which landed firmly in Wormtongue's heart.

But Saruman fell, tumbling over and over until he was speared on the spoke of a wayward mill. The gruesome sight brought forth moans and grimaces from the two hobbits, as well as a shocked sigh from me.

Gandalf spoke quickly, seemingly unaffected by the wizard's violent death. "Send words to all our allies, and to every corner of Middle Earth that still stands free. The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike,"

Theoden did as Gandalf bid, and called forth three riders. "Send word to the outer fiefs. Tell them to ready their guards and messengers,"

I noticed that Theoden said nothing of alerting our allies. But if Gandalf took note of it, he said nothing.

"The filth of Saruman is washing away," Treebeard said, ignoring any talk of war and instead expressing his own nonchalant sentiment on the death of the murderer.

A splash caught my attention, and I turned to see Pippin wading towards a shimmer nearby.

"Well bless my bark!" Treebeard exclaimed as Pippin raised a dark globe from the murky floodwater.

"Peregrin Took! I'll take that, my lad!" Gandalf said, holding out his hand to the globe as Shadowfax neared the small figure. "Quickly, now!"

Silently, our company exited the floodwaters, but only after Gandalf whispered explanations to several Ents that had chosen to show themselves after Saruman's death. Back through the Fangorn and over the desert we traveled.

The silence continued until later that evening, when we set up camp once again at the same spot as the night previously.

I crouched nearby the river and washed my face. The icy droplets that skipped down my back cleared some of my fatigue, and a feeling of mock peace settled over me.
With a sigh, I stood only to be caught by a pair of iron arms.

My immediate reaction was to turn away, but I fell limp into the embrace.

"You are utterly spent," Legolas said to me.

"I have never felt worse in my entire life,"

Carefully, Legolas lifted me into his arms as he often did and carried me beneath several trees on the outermost border of the Fangorn. I stared deeply into the bath of stars now swathing us.

Legolas rolled his arm around my waist and pulled himself to me. I hid my face beneath his jaw and let only one eye peer up at the sky.

"I ngîl cennin erthiel. Ne menel aduial, ha glingant be vîr, síliel moe," I whispered to him.

He frowned, and ran a single finger through my hair.

"The second verse is not so optimistic," he murmured.

"No. But it is beautiful nonetheless,"

Legolas smiled, and wrapped his hand in mine. "No matter how many times we are like this," he said, squeezing my fingers as he brought them to his lips, "it never spoils,"

"That is the way of love," I said.

"It is also the way of hate," I looked at him quizzically. "Hatred lasts forever, too. And it eats away at a person's soul, much like how love builds a person up,"

I looked away.

"I am full of so much hate," I murmured.

"I know," he answered.

The stars, upon their eternal canvas, remained mute.

"I ngîl cennin erthiel
Ne menel aduial,
Ha glingant be vîr
Síliel moe."

translates to:

"I saw a star rise high in the
Evening sky,
It hung like a jewel,
Softly shining."

-Twilight and Shadow, by Howard Shore and sung by Renee Fleming