A/N: And welcome to the Two Towers arc!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkien universe.
The Fellowship had broken, but remained connected still with their purpose and soul. They left the last remnant of their unity in a forest bathed with the blood of Uruk and Man. The trees remained muted as the Four Hunters left the battlefield, embarking for another journey to save their friends. The forest stood quiet for many days—none came to know of the battle ensuing there—until a man visited. His dark cloak hid his forgotten face as he trailed the bloodied forest floor. His hidden eyes intently scanned the remnants of battle, his fingers constantly rubbing his daggers.
The man stopped at the place where the forest floor was no longer visible—covered with blood and corpses of Uruks. He knelt beside a significant body of an Uruk, studying how its death occurred. The man smirked.
"It seems Saruman has failed in such a light task," he muttered to himself, turning over the body of Lurtz. He shifted his gaze to a bloodied grass, a small knife lying on top of it. He picked the weapon and studied it, before he smirked again. "Though, it seems one member has fallen. It is quite an accomplishment… A Man of Gondor… The Captain and Son of the Steward. He deserves his death. Men are weak indeed. They cannot even resist such temptations—"
"My Lord Vrasari," came a gruff voice from behind him, uttered in Black Speech of Mordor. The man turned around to be greeted by a pack of Orcs, one bowing to him with outmost respect.
"Why are you here?" Vrasari hissed, feeling them unworthy to converse with him. He took a step closer to the Orc, igniting fear in their fallen hearts with his power and glare.
"The Dark Lord has ordered us to go to Rohan, to kill the son of the king. You must kill him, but he is guarded with many. Our Lord has told us to accompany you," the Orc responded carefully, struggling to hide its fear. It would be perilous to show fear in front of such a frightening figure. Vrasari would not tolerate cowardly underlings under his command for such an important mission.
"Kill the son of the king?" asked Vrasari. The Orc nodded, cowering under his terrifying bloodshot eyes. Vrasari smirked again, this time his grin wider than before. "If it is his will, I shall obey. I shall not fail him like Saruman did."
Vrasari turned around to the previous dead Uruk—Lutz, Saruman had called him—and stepped on its body despicably. "Perhaps, I shall pay a visit to that useless Maia as well."
She could hear rumbles, tremors of the earth echoing. They were quick, but not as fast as before. The tremors slowly dissipated, until nothing could be heard by her ears. She frowned and then lifted her head from the ground, quickly returning to her feet.
"They are pacing faster, but they are not far," Varilerin reported to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "They are still in our reach," Varilerin continued, patting her tunic from dust and grass.
"They must have caught our scent. Hurry!" Aragorn instructed as he continued running once more. Legolas and Varilerin nimbly followed behind, leaving the slower Dwarf on his own. Gimli grunted not far, struggling to keep his own body moving.
"Come on Gimli! We are gaining them!" Legolas encouraged him. Gimli panted as he pushed his feet to move, sweat trickling from his brows down to his auburn beard.
"Three days and nights pursuit," Gimli panted as he continued jogging as fast as he could. "No food, no rest, and no sign of our quarry, but what bare rock can tell!"
Legolas chuckled as he ran overran Aragorn, taking the lead in scouting for their Hobbits. Varilerin merely smirked as Gimli's breaths rasped loudly in her ears. They had been travelling without stopping since they had left Anduin in pursuit of the Hobbits, still hoping that they remained alive. The restless pursuit had been squeezing Gimli's strength the most, though Aragorn and Varilerin were affected as well. Being a peredhil, she inherited the tremendous amount of speed and endurance, and a thousand years of trained her well. The exhausting journey for Gimli was nothing more than a jog for her, though she found herself tiring slightly now. It made her envious with Legolas, who seemed not bothered at all.
They were now trailing the rocky plains, with Legolas continuously gazing to the distance. Aragorn suddenly stopped as they ran along the mountains, kneeling on the ground. He picked up an object from the grassy earth, observing it intently with the eyes of a ranger. Varilerin stopped with Aragorn, noticing that the grass around where Aragorn was kneeling had been trampeled by footsteps. They were heavy and many, still fresh and muddy from boots of travellers.
"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," Aragorn observed, showing the cloak clasp to the others. It was the same exact brooch they were all wearing, except for its bent curvatures.
"They may yet be alive," Legolas hoped. Aragorn returned to his feet and put the brooch in his pocket.
"Less than a day ahead of us!" he informed them. "Come, Gimli!"
Aragorn ran again—this time hope pushing himself faster—without noticing Gimli rolling downhill behind them. "I'm wasted on cross-country!" Gimli protested weakly as he stood up, breathing heavily under his beard. "We Dwarfs are natural sprinters. Very dangerous at short distances!"
"Then shorten your distance to us," Varilerin teased loud enough so the Dwarf could hear. Gimli grunted in annoyance as he rolled his eyes. He started running closer to them as his annoyance to Varilerin grew. She had changed, no doubt, but he did not know exactly how. She had gone terribly noisy for her own level, and sarcastic. It was better than having a companion who constantly glared at you nonetheless.
The scenery slowly changed, from the hilly and rocky plains to grassy yellow carpets. The sun scorched the Four Hunters, merciless and watchful. Despite the heat, the air became idle no more, for winds generously blew across the wide yellow carpets, spreading towards where the land meets the sky. Aragorn stopped on a hill as he observed the vast plains standing before them.
"Rohan, Home of the Horse-lords," Aragorn informed them. "There's something strange at work here. Evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us…"
"Rohan is falling to darkness, I can sense it… but there is something different in this shadow," Varilerin remarked, setting her eyes towards the direction where Isengard was lying. She could feel the evil the previously sacred place was now emanating, disgusted by the fact that one of the Wise had decided something so wrong. "This is Saruman's treachery, no doubt—" She stopped as she moved her gaze from Isengard towards the Fords of Isen. She was confused with her action herself, but she felt an uneasy feeling coming from the place.
"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked, following her gaze, though he found nothing.
"I do not know," Varilerin said, shaking the uneasy thought from her mind, at least for now. She had learnt not to forget any simple things poking her mind, but the current quest was more imperative. "Legolas, what do you see?" she asked the ellon, who undeniably had better sight than her. Legolas squinted his eyes, tracking small moving splotches on the plains.
"The Uruks turn northeast!" Legolas shouted. "They are taking the Hobbits to Isengard!"
"They're going to Saruman!" Gimli grunted. "He must have thought Merry and Pippin have the Ring!"
"Having the Ring or not, they are in danger. We need to hurry," Varilerin suggested, leaping downhill to get closer to the moving Uruk pack. Aragorn and Legolas followed, far behind them Gimli struggling to match their pace. They moved like wolves across Rohan, fast against the fierce wind. The sun continuously rose and descend as their journey continued. Time seemed to have no meaning to them, for their minds were occupied by the safety of Merry and Pippin. Saruman might be a Wizard once, but he was now the servant of Sauron. Wise and powerful, he had once been, but even the strongest could fall. He was equally merciless, perhaps even more heartless if he know that Merry and Pippin did not have the Ring.
"Varilerin!" Legolas shouted as he threw a piece of lembas to her. She caught it skilfully, surprised by his action, though she accepted it gratefully with a glance over her shoulder. Legolas nodded as he smiled back at her. Varilerin's stomach tremored with a strange feeling, something she had not felt before.
Perhaps it is because of the hunger, Varilerin reasoned—swallowing the bread in a single bite—though she knew it was only an excuse. She could not find out how, but Legolas had become her only close friend ever since Gandalf disappeared from her world. He was not like Aragorn or Gimli—they were allies, nothing more and nothing less—which confused her. It was a strange friendship they were having. It made her overlook any tense encounters they had in the past, in which she always thought him as an emotional royalty. However, she learnt he was similar with her in many ways. His freedom of expressions was similar to of Ruindoldir's, but he was gentler inside.
Varilerin saw Legolas throwing another piece at Gimli, who caught it as if he was holding a hot charcoal. The Dwarf ultimately fell the ground to prevent the bread from touching the earth, stopping Aragorn's run with his loud tumble. Varilerin scoffed as she watched his dirtied face lifting from the ground, clearly unamused by Legolas' action. "You could at least tell!" grumbled the Dwarf, eating the bread in a flash. Aragorn sighed, shaking his head, before he continued their pursuit.
The night slowly arrived, veiling them with darkness and malice. Under the darkness, Varilerin ran faster than both Aragorn and Legolas. She remained unnoticed, until the flash of her scarf flagged past Aragorn. Aragorn finally understood why Daefaroth was her name, and how it fitted her so well. He first heard her name and skill from passing travellers and fellow Dunedain rangers. They feared her like they feared the shadows, as if she was a vicious beast hunting for lives. He had not seen her fighting an open battle directly—all opportunities were missed because of his lack of attention—though he could see from the numerous Uruks she had taken down in Anduin she lived up to her reputation. It made the Man wonder if she was more dangerous in the cover of darkness like this.
Despite her name, nevertheless, she now feared the darkness which loomed over them. The darkness had always been threatening, especially with Sauron's growing power. She knew she should take the lead, for her eyes were keener under the veil of night—a result of endless years travelling in shadows. It was not only her keener sight which made her push forwards, but also the frightening memories taking place in the dark. That event would always be a constant reminder for her how dangerous the night could be.
"The sun is rising," Legolas said after long hours of running. They looked up to the sky to see the stars slowly fading and the moon disappearing. The black veil slowly turned pearly grey to red, the latter colour striking the group with terribly premonition. The sky became red, blood red, bright and clear. "A red sun rises," Legolas observed. "Blood has been spilt tonight. A vicious battle has taken many lives…"
"Let us hope it is not the Hobbits," Varilerin prayed, watching the said sun rising to the sky and lighting the day. Varilerin moved her attention to the road before them, noticing something bothering her eyes. She squinted, observing black splotches moving across the plain. "Legolas!"
"I see it," he responded. "They are horsemen, in large numbers. They bear the flag of Rohan, each of them wielding a spear and equipped with armour. Their leader is tall. It is the Rohirrim," he reported.
"They are closing in," Aragorn muttered hopefully, as if he was in joy. He trailed down the hill they had been running and ran towards them. The riders did not notice him, until he shouted at them. "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?" Aragorn shouted as loud as he could, trying to gain their attention. Attention was gained and the riders shifted their directions, now running towards them with great speed. However, through her eyes Varilerin could see that they would not be greeting them too kindly.
Her thought was true, for soon after the riders were in their distance, they circled them. They pointed their spears at the Four Hunters as they enclosed them in a defensive circle. Legolas in response immediately reached for his arrow, but stopped when Aragorn abruptly raised his hand. Aragorn remained calm despite the danger of the spears and instead bowed to the riders respectfully.
"I am Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. This is Varilerin—the Daefaroth—Gimli Son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Theoden, your king," Aragorn told them to ease their suspicions.
"Daefaroth?" a deep voice came from among the riders. A rider unmounted his horse and then approached them. He studied them intently before he took off his helmet, revealing a Man with a fair face full of dignity.
"Eomer, Son of Eomund," Varilerin spoke with her true voice, startling him slightly. "I see you have grown into a brave and honourable man. It is good to meet you again." She heart mutters coming from the riders. They clearly suspected her identity as Daefaroth, but she had no further reason to prove herself. Despite his men's doubtful thoughts however, Eomer seemed to be convinced by her clarification.
"I remember now," Eomer said. "You helped us when I was a child, preventing an Orc attack in Edoras." Varilerin nodded, gaining the acknowledgement of the others. He then turned to Aragorn and the others, who were waiting for his answer anxiously. "Thengel had also told stories about you, Aragorn, to my uncle, King Theoden. Unfortunately, Theoden now no longer recognizes friend from foe," he explained in dismay, lifting his hand so that the other riders lower their spears.
"What do you mean?" asked Gimli.
"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over his lands," Eomer informed, confirming their suspicions. "My company are those loyal to Rohan and for that we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say—as an old man, hooded and cloaked—and everywhere his spies slip past our nets…" Eomer paused as he turned his gaze towards Isengard. More likely, however, he was gazing at the Fords of Isen. "The incident in the Ford is probably his doing as well."
"What happened?" Varilerin asked. Eomer sighed and shook his head in grief.
"Theodred, Son of the King, was attacked there. By Orcs, we observed, though I doubt that the one who attacked him was an Orc. The stab wound he suffered was unlike an Orc's doing. It was only a single stab which took his poor soul, towards the stomach. Whoever did this, he was skilful a warrior, and is aided with many. No doubt Saruman sent spies to track down my cousin. "
"We are no spies," Aragorn assured them with their limited time. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."
Eomer frowned upon hearing the information. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."
"There were two Hobbits," Gimli added desperately.
"A size of a child, did you see them?" Legolas further inquired.
"We left none alive," the ellon heard Eomer answer shortly, trying to avoid their accusing eyes. "We piled the carcass and burned them. I am sorry." Eomer looked at the Hunters with disappointment and remorse. Legolas put a hand on Varilerin's shoulder, assuring her that none was her fault. She brushed it gently from her shoulder, still in disbelief of Eomer's report.
"We burn them there," Eomer added, pointing towards a direction. "But it is quite far. You'll need rides." Eomer then whistled and from among the horses came two steeds, one dark brown and the other white. He took their reins and gave them to the grief-stricken Aragorn. "This is Hasufel and Arod. May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters… Farewell."
Aragorn nodded silently as he watched Eomer leaping to his horse. Eomer gazed far to the horizon, his eyes full of anxiety as he studied Rohan, a place he might not be able to return to and where his loyalty remained. "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands… We ride north!"
With his order the riders started pacing away from the hunters, leaving clouds of dust and smoke behind them. They soon disappeared from the Hunters' vicinity. Aragorn gave one horse to Legolas and Gimli, before mounting the brown one swiftly. Varilerin rode behind Aragorn, whose silence caused an uneasiness for her. They began their journey once more, travelling across the plain to where Eomer had directed the, as fast as the horses could take them. Exhaustion seemed to be forgotten, replaced by the hopelessness which washed over them. They were of course hoping for the survival of the Hobbits, in some ways or another, but Eomer's news casted grief quicker than they had hoped for. But Varilerin refused to believe her friends were dead. If they did, she should have felt it. She did not know if her senses had become numb since Gandalf's death, but she somehow was sure they were alive.
From afar Legolas caught a smoke rising to the air, dark and foul-smelling. As they closed their distance, piles of burnt carcasses were visible to their eyes. They piled up like small black hills on the yellow grass, tinging the plain with a disgusting stain of evil. When Aragorn saw them, he frowned terribly he looked older, for the sight caused him to cling less to hope.
Aragorn finally stopped his horse after they reached the location. He leapt hastily from his horse and ran towards the pile of corpses. Varilerin followed his action, slowly scanning the destroyed battlefield with curiosity and confusion. There were no longer weapons lying on the ground, but she could see the terrible which had ensure there. Blood reeked in the air despite the sharp smell of smoke. She studied the remnants of the battle, still not believing Merry and Pippin's demise, whilst the others searched the piles for any evidence of their fate.
Gimli walked to one of the piles, rummaging them with his axe. His eyes caught a significant object in his memory and quietly picked it up. It was one of the Lothlorien given to the Hobbits. He stared at it in disbelief, before he walked to Aragorn to show it. "It's their wee belts," Gimli muttered to Aragorn carefully. Aragorn received it brokenly, his expressions incomprehensible to Legolas and Gimli. Now terribly burnt, the equipment struck all of their hearts with a terribly remorse.
"AAAAH!" Aragorn screamed in anger and disappointment, kicking one of the helmets lying on the ground furiously and catching Varilerin's attention. She ran to his side, only to receive the proof of their friends' demise. Aragorn shook his head as he wept without a sound. Legolas stared at the burnt corpses, muttering prayers for their poor souls. But Varilerin did not follow his action, a detail tingling her eyes. She scanned again the grass across the battlefield, before her eyes led her to the one close to Aragorn. She knelt beside him and studied the ground, her ranger's senses lighting up.
"Aragorn," she said. "Look. A man, a Halfling, lay here." The ranger lifted his head, not believing what she had just said. He watched her move forward, touching the ground as her keen eyes investigated the battlefield. "Another, about the same height. They crawled." Varilerin looked back at Aragorn, whose face brighten with hope when she said those words. He immediately understood and joined her, following the tracks on the ground. He moved his hand along the flattened grasses, brushing them gently as his eyes traced the ground. His hands then caught a tangle not belonging to plants, lifting it instantly.
"Their bounds were cut," he reported as he lifted damaged, severed ropes. "They were being followed," he continued, now trailing the trails faster as adrenaline pushed his spirits. "But they escaped! And they ran, towards—"
Varilerin and the others felt a shot of hope in their heart and quickly followed the now scampering towards the forest. Aragorn abruptly stopped when he realized where the Hobbits had escaped, and so did the others. The forest loomed over them like shadow and darkness. Its trees were tall and broad, their leaves dark and rotten. A heavy wind blew from the woods, as if unwelcoming them. They stepped back as unwelcomed guests, and studied the trees towering them.
"Towards the Fangorn forest," she muttered, staring the trees in disbelief. She did not realize it, but slowly she smiled. Fangorn… the home of the Tree Herder.
"Fangorn?!" exclaimed Gimli at what she had just said. "What madness drove them here?"
"The will to live," Varilerin rapped as she ran towards the forest. "They are here, I can feel it and…. Something else is inside this forest." Varilerin paused as she studied the strange power dwelling inside the woods. It was indescribable, but enough to convince her. "It is unknown—I have never felt a presence like this before—but powerful. We must hurry!" she said lastly before she leapt to the woods.
Varilerin led them deeper into the forest, for she knew the place better than the rest. She had frequently walked into Fangorn in the past, a perfect for her to travel secretly, and she was not frightened by the lingering shadow as a result. Fangorn had become darker ever since she last visited, igniting anxiety and fear to Aragorn, Gimli, and even Legolas. Blood reeked in the air, as if the true battle occurred in the forest. Perhaps, as Saruman's malice grew, the forest had been affected as well. No doubt battles occurred in the clearings and Orcs roamed there, enhancing the grim and frightening air emanated by the trees. The trees were quiet and there seemed to be no distinct path the Hobbits left, but somehow Varilerin knew where the Hobbits had gone. She did not even look at the ground once, instead depending on her feelings alone.
"Uh! Orc Blood!" Gimli said as he tasted a blood-soaked leaf. "They must have been followed deep into this forest!" What Gimli had said alerted them and they quickly grabbed their weapons, all except for Varilerin. Aragorn glanced at Legolas for the worry they both had regarding the woman, who did not pay attention to Gimli's words and instead paced faster undefended. "The air is so close here!" Gimli protested.
"This forest is old," Legolas explained, scanning their surroundings. "Full of memory… and anger."
"It used to be not, until Saruman usurped the position as Sauron's right-hand man. It is the homeland of the Tree Herders and their leaders, Treebeard," Varilerin added, narrowing her eyes. Around them suddenly came voices of moaning and groaning, howling and growling. They jolted the Hunters with surprise and stopped their pace. "The trees are talking to each other," Varilerin continued calmly as she resumed her walk, deeper into the darkening forest. Gimli raised his weapon in response, his eyes fluttering in horror as the trees' voice continued to echo in his mind.
"Gimli, lower your weapon," urged Aragorn to the Dwarf. Gimli hesitantly lowered his axe as his eyes cautiously scanned the trees. Their speeches were dimmed in return, but their voices were still alarmed and painful.
"The Elves began it," Legolas informed them sadly. "Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."
"Talking trees… What do trees have to talk about? Except for the inconsistency of squirrel dropings!" Gimli mocked, replied by furious groans from the trees and Varilerin's sharp glance. Gimli was rendered silent once more. Varilerin turned to Legolas, who must have known more Entish than her. Legolas frowned in return.
"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas whispered as a warning, his hands grasping for his bow. Varilerin narrowed her eyes and peered into the shadows. The powerful presence was getting closer, but she did not expect it to be Saruman. She gestured the others to get their weapons ready, as she her own bow.
"We must be quick," Aragorn instructed them, keeping his deep voice as low as possible. "Do not let him speak, or he'll put a spell on us."
Silence engulfed them as they waited, whilst the trees' speech got louder. They stopped moving as they listened to the grass and any movement caught with their ears, their other senses sharpened and their muscles tensed. Varilerin's eyes shifted constantly, trying to find the source of the immense power she had been feeling.
A rustle suddenly came from behind and snapped them to life. Varilerin turned with the others, drawing her bow as fast as the wind, directing it to the unknown figure awaiting before them. But somehow she stopped, letting her heart skip a heavy beat. The world around her stopped as she recognized the presence. It was familiar.
Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas turned around and attacked the incoming figure with their weapons, but all of them were deflected with ease. Aragorn's sword was heated red until he dropped it to the ground, not believing what he had just seen. Varilerin turned around slowly, lowering down her bow as her eyes widen upon the wondrous sight. It is impossible, Varilerin mused, He fell.
They all looked up to see a figure covered in white light, standing aloft with a white staff alit. "You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits," the man said, its voice heavy and overwhelming. The Hunters remained silent, waiting for their demise in horror. But Varilerin did not cower under the overwhelming presence, for she knew the person standing before them was known to her. Yes, he was too familiar for her to miss.
"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded, covering his eyes with his arm from the powerful light. "Show yourself!"
The light slowly faded in answer, letting the dark forest be covered by phantoms once more. Gently a person was unveiled. He was tall with white hair and long beard, wearing robes made of pure white silk and a grey cloak with a leaf of Lorien clasping it together. A white staff, carved beautifully, was in his hand. His blue eyes looked back at the Hunters gently as he stepped forward. They could not believe their eyes, but Varilerin sure could trust her own feelings.A
"Gandalf…." She muttered as she lowered her scarf in disbelief. "Gandalf the Grey."
"Yes... it is me," the Wizard slowly clarified with a soft smile. "I am Gandalf, your old friend."
A/N: Not really have anything to say right now, except for the fact that the Two Towers might be my favorite and shortest part in the fic... So far. I cannot tell you anything about this Vrasari guy though nor the meaning of his name (actually the latter is because I forgot the meaning of his name... Oh well :)) Anyways, thank you for all the reviews, follows, and favorites so far! I will try to update soon!