"So, laddie, you mean to tell me that the trees just…walked here?"
"The trees of Fangorn are ancient," Legolas looked around in wonderment as the small mounted party made its way through the forest, a forest that seemed to stretched from the Fords of Isen to the edges of the world, "They were here long before the coming of elves or dwarves or men or orcs. There is a magic here beyond the comprehension of any who walk these lands and claim them as their own."
It felt like a normal forest to Nemireth. There were trees in every direction, so many different types that it was impossible to count them all, even had she known their names. She could hear birdsong, the chittering of small animals as they scuttled from branch to branch with beams of light both thick and thin penetrating the canopy to bath root and trunk in a weak, buttery light. It could have sat here for an eternity, the narrow trail down which they rode in pairs travelled by the men and elves of the First Age, yet according to Legolas, it had been here for a mere few days, if even that since they had settled in place. The Princess did not much mind. Anywhere that was far from Helm's Deep was for her a welcome relief, even if it had meant passing the Fords of Isen, where Théodred had fallen, where the defence of Rohan had become all but impossible, where all roads had led to that cursed deep.
"But they just…walked here. Trees. Walking."
"I have heard of the stone giants that move in the storms, my friend. Is it any less fantastic that mountainsides should come alive to do battle in the higher parts of the world?"
"Well," Gimli spluttered, "Stone giants are of course very believable but this? Moving trees? Laid siege to Isengard have they?"
"No, Master Gimli," Gandalf called from the front where he rode with Aragorn and Théoden both, "But they are in service to those whom have done so!"
"Ah of course," The Dwarf nodded from his place sharing a mount with Legolas, "The lord of trees!"
"He would not use the title himself," Gandalf muttered, "Though it would be within his rights to do so."
"I am looking forward to this now," Gimli announced, though his expression told otherwise, "A chance to meet with the lord of all trees. One can only imagine all that they talk about!"
"So you accept the trees talk, Gimli?" Nemireth asked from alongside him. A bandage was wrapped tightly around her forehead to protect the stitchwork Aragorn had performed in the aftermath of the battle. The wound had been deep, the Ranger had claimed, though she was fortunate it had not been deeper and that she was still here to speak of it. He had also warned her that her head would hurt for some time after, though he had not warned that it would be as if some great bell were loudly announcing noon between her ears, "But you cannot accept that they walk?"
"Aye lassie, when we were in Fangorn before, in pursuit of the young hobbits. I heard them speak for myself."
"What were they speaking of?"
The dwarf had to think on that, "I cannot say I know. According to this one," He nodded to Legolas, "It was the elves who taught them, so I doubt it was anything of importance."
She laughed and even Legolas had a chuckle though he glancing to her out of the side of his vision. He had been watching her for a while, ever since they had departed Helms Deep, ever since the ceremony…
It had taken some time to gather the dead together.
The Elves and Rohirrim would be buried as was their tradition, laid out in a great mound not far from the Keep they had given their lives to defend. For the Aeanoreans however, their customs would be honoured first. Already a great pyre had been constructed within a small depression out of view of the fortress, using only dead wood as Gandalf had instructed, for to do otherwise would be folly. So, gathering enough wood had taken longer than expected but now here they were, laid out in their cloaks and tunics with wooden swords resting in their cold hands. Some fingers had been closed around the hafts of their weapons, she noted with approval. Even in death, they stood ready to do to their duty.
There were only twenty Kings Guard lined up, so few to say goodbye to so many. They had cleaned down their armour as best they could, they had found spears to replace those they had lost in battle. Their cloaks were tattered and muddied, so they had been discarded. It was not proper procedure, but then nothing about this battle had been proper.
The rain had began falling then, not the heavy deluge of the battle but slight and gentle drops as if even the earth itself were crying. Nemireth could feel it running through her hair, down her cheeks and into the tunic beneath her armour but she did not care. She held in her hand a torch that now hissed softly as the rainwater fell upon it.
She didn't want to say goodbye.
He was lying there, fingers folded around his wooden blade, eyes closed lightly and that same gentle smile playing on his lips. Even here, lying amongst his men devoid of the plate that had been his life, he looked so authoritative, so in control. The smell of damp foliage and cedar oil was intense in her nose even as her eyes began to sting.
Be strong.
She looked around to her men and saw that they were looking to her. They had lost friends, brothers, comrades. They had come across the Great Sea together, marched together and died together. What she felt, she knew they felt. They needed her now, more than ever.
Be strong for them.
She heard footsteps.
It sounded like an approaching army and when she looked up, she found that all around the edges, the depression had been surrounded by people. Soldiers and civilians, women and children, men and elves. Immediately she spotted the form of Legolas, standing alongside the king, the white of Gandalf, Aragorn and Gimli.
No one spoke, but those who wore hat or helm removed them, heads bowed in grief. Even with their discipline, the King's Guard could not help but look up and around at the crowd. It felt like the entirety of Rohan was here.
She locked eyes with Gandalf. The wizard nodded.
With a deep sigh to steady herself, she began to speak and tears flowed anew.
"Heledron, Father of Winds.
Take the souls of the dead.
Let them dance beyond the world.
Never to know hunger, pain or loss."
Her voice broke part way through, but she took a deep breath and continued. She would finish this.
"Be our light in the darkness.
To the end of the world."
The wind blew gently as she placed the torch into the dried kindling in the centre. It caught immediately and began to spread amongst the dead, engulfing them in a blinding light. Xiphos, in the centre of the formation, vanished from view.
"Eru," She whispered it, gaze rolling to the sky before she closed her eyes, "Stand with us."
"We stand together." It was not twenty men who responded but a ripple that went around all those who watched. Three words. Men, Elves, Dwarves, Wizards. Kings and commoners. Native and foreigner. They would stand together.
The crowd dispersed, but Nemireth remained. Someone had to guard the pyre. She opened her eyes.
Her men had remained.
"You don't need to stay," She looked each in the eye and saw only determination there, a fierceness, "I will perform the watch."
"We stand together, your highness." Amathor thumped his spear upon the ground. The others murmured in agreement.
In that moment, when she had never felt so low, her spirits rose as she bowed her head, "…thank you."
And there they stood, keeping guard over the fallen as the grey smoke rose into the sky and was carried away by the wind.
The Princess shook herself out of her reverie and saw that Legolas was still watching her, face alight with concern.
"Nemireth?"
"I'm fine, really. You need not be concerned," She give him an encouraging smile as a creaking filled the forest, the sound of wood stressing and cracking, "Is that the trees moving?"
"That's them speaking, lassie! Just like in Fangorn!"
"Do you suppose they're discussing us?"
"Can't see what else there'd be to discuss," Gimli muttered, "Can't be an exciting life being a tree."
"Oh, I don't know," She pointed to one nearby, "Maybe that one is the princess of the forest and she's fallen in love with that one there," She pointed to a particularly large and vibrant tree, "But her father, the king of the forest," It took a moment but she found one, a short and bulbous tree similar to the 'princess' she had pointed to, "Does not wish them to be together, as he is from a different tribe of trees than she. Then there's the jealous count of the forest, there," A particularly ugly and worn down tree served her purpose, "He desires the princess for himself, and so he is working with the king to separate them…"
She finally looked back to the party to see not only were Legolas and Gimli watching her but now Aragorn and Gandalf had turned in their saddles and were listening to her tale. With a burning feeling growing in her cheeks, she lowered her hand back to the reins, "Or maybe they're just talking about squirrel droppings, I don't know." She muttered under her breath.
The wizard shook his head as the trees at last began to thin, giving way to a wall that may once have been daunting but instead now lay broken, with massive boulders dotting the empty space between fortress and trees. Even from here, it was possible to see the peak of the mighty tower that sat in the centre of the compound, now more akin to a lake than a fortress.
What took her attention first though, were the two small figures who sat atop the ruins of the wall, puffing on pipes as if relaxing by a warm fire with their feet up.
"Ah!" The taller stood up, "Welcome, my lords-"
"-and lady."
"Yes, thank you Pip, and lady, to Isengard!" Merry threw his arms wide, a mug of ale in one and a pipe in the other. Nemireth could not help but smile to see them safe.
"You young rascals!" Gimli was all but hopping in his seat, a fine chase you've lead us on! And now we find you here feasting. And smoking!"
"We are sitting, on a field of victory, enjoying some well-earned comforts," Pippin held his mug in a cheers to the dwarf, who only grew more indignant, "The salted pork, is particularly good."
"…salted pork?" The anger disappeared from Gimli's voice immediately, replaced by fresh hope.
Gandalf shook his head with a muttered, "hobbits."
"We're under orders," Merry explained, as brightly as he had ever been, a ray of light in otherwise dark times, "To lead you fine gentlemen-"
"-and lady."
"Yes, yes, Pip, and lady, to meet with Treebeard, who has taken over management of Isengard."
So the hobbits joined their party once more. Merry shared a saddle with Gandalf and then Pippin joined Nemireth atop Súletal. Twisting around, the Princess threw her arm around the hobbit and brought him into a hug. He smelt strongly of pipeweed and of fine spices, evidence of how he had been enjoying himself. He seemed a little taken aback at first but he hurriedly returned the gesture.
"I'm glad you're well, Princess," He said, cheeks colouring.
"And I, you." She beamed, "Sounds like you've had some adventure."
"Oh we have," He nodded keenly, curls bouncing, "I must tell you all about it! Then you can tell us of your adventure!"
Her smile faltered but only for a moment, "I look forward to it."
Onwards they rode, into the pool of water in which stood mighty figures. They looked at first as trees, only with long and slender limbs and moving slowly, deliberately, heads turning to watch the small party approach.
"Bless my beard," Gimli's mouth fell open at the sight.
"The lord of trees, Gimli," Nemireth whispered under her breath.
"Aaah," The figure they had approached, with a long beard of reeds and moss, a broad nose and ancient, yellow eyes, though his voice was low, rumbling a slow, "Young Master Gandalf. I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, rock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here."
There was no sign from the tower, but Gandalf did not move.
"Should we announce ourselves?" Nemireth asked.
"He knows we're here. He will show himself in time. Be careful when he appears, for even in defeat, Saruman is still dangerous."
"Then let's have his head and be done with it!" Gimli suggested airily.
"No!" Gandalf threw a look to the dwarf, "We need him alive. We need him to talk."
Then, from the highest balcony came a voice, deep and commanding. So far away and yet so clear as to make Nemireth's skin crawl, "You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards. Can we not take council together as we once did? Can we not have peace again?"
"We shall have peace," Théoden's words were soft-spoken, barely above a whisper. Nemireth had to watch to see a dreamy look had crossed his greyed features, only to be replaced in a flash by a hard look, "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 against the gates of the Hornburg are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, then we shall have peace!"
"Gibbets and crows?" Saruman ranted and raged, his voice greater and louder still, such that Nemireth's skin crawled to hear it. Gandalf trotted forward, so that he sat alone, "Who are you to lecture me, Théoden Horsemaster? What is the Kingdom of Rohan but a thatched barn where the children roll about on the floor with the dogs? Victory at Helms Deep does not belong to you, a lesser heir of greater kings!"
Suddenly, she felt eyes burning into her, even from so far away and his voice became sweet, "What do you say of this, Nemireth of Aeanor? Ever has your kingdom stood for honour and justice. Why not shall we parlay? Why allow this fool to impede our friendship?"
She closed her eyes tight and all she could see was Xiphos, vanishing into the fire. All she could see was her men hacked down as they fled. Tears again stung at her eyes. A small hand took hold of her shoulder and gripped, "There can be no peace, Saruman," She whispered, not caring if he could hear her, "Not for what you've done."
"So be it," He snarled and she jumped, for it was if he was standing beside her, "If there shall not be peace, then there shall be death!"
Something streaked down from the top of the tower and before she could really act, a ball of fire had engulfed Gandalf. The party cried aloud, horses rearing as the wizard disappeared from view. No, not him too. Not again.
The fire abated. And still Gandalf stood.
"Saruman!" Now his own voice grew, louder than Saruman's but softer, not so harsh in her ears, "Your staff is broken."
A cry came from above and it looked as though the wizard had fallen to his knees.
"Now," Gandalf continued, "Your treachery has already cost many lives. Countless more are at risk, but you can save them Saruman! You can make amends for your actions! You were deep in the enemy's council. Tell us what you know!"
"So you have come here for information. I have some for you. Something festers in the heart of Middle Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the great eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You are all going to die! But you know this don't you Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor." His eye had turned to Aragorn, and the distain in his voice brought a snarl from the Princess, "This exile, crept from the shadows will never be crowned King. Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those who are 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? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."
"I've heard enough of this!" Gimli nudged at the elf before him, "Legolas! Put an arrow in his gob!"
"No!" Legolas had already drawn his arrow but at Gandalf's word, he waited, "Come down, Saruman. Let us talk as we once did."
"I will only come down if you withdraw your guard, I will not be held prisoner he-" He cried out in pain, making Nemireth wince as a shape had appeared behind him and taken hold of him. Legolas loosed at the shape, which fell back but it was already too late. With a single twist, the wizard fell from his balcony and landed atop one of his own wheels, cut through the centre and impaled. She felt Merry flinch behind her, but the Princess herself only watched him. A just end for an unjust being.
"The filth of Saruman is washing away," Treebeard seemed delighted by the death he had witnessed, while Pippin dismounted Gandalf's horse. To check the body perhaps? No. He had seen something in the water, an orb that shone as bright as mithril in the sun. Had it always been there?
"Peregrin Took," Gandalf leant down, "I'll take that."
With some reluctance, the hobbit surrendered it and Gandalf wrapped it before looking around at those who had assembled, "Send word to all our allies, and to every corner of Middle Earth that still stands free. The enemy's attack is coming, we need to know where he will strike and when!"
The poison of Saruman had been cleansed from this place, but Sauron's worst had yet to come.