The Shards of Sorrow

by D.R. Swiridovic

The Deathly Hallows had cursed Heather Potter and sundered her from the Gift of Men. To call her the Master of Death was too kind and too cruel for a creature as pitiful as she had become. In pursuit of breaking this curse and finding Death, instead, she finds Life.

25. The Light of Gandalf

Author Note: Inspired by "Steady is the Hand" by rhosinthorn. Thank you for everyone who has read and reviewed my story.

The Shards of Sorrow

Review: The Hunters learn a good deal from Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, including that the Orcs they are pursuing have been destroyed and there is conflict both in the Hall of Théoden King and on the borders of Rohan. After the Hunters reveal who they are—most especially Aragorn—Éomer decides not to take the Hunters bound to Théoden King, as is law, but rather loan them horses to help them in their pursuit of Merry and Pippin with their word that they shall come to Meduseld as soon as possible. Branwen sees that Éomer has genuine concerns for this life and so lends him her mithril crown as collateral as a show of faith.

The Hunters follow the trail to the eaves of Fangorn on their new horses but arrive too late in the day to perform more than a cursory search for the Hobbits. Gimli and Branwen are unhopeful of finding them and believe them to be burned along with the Orc corpses the Rohirrim Riders destroyed. Branwen is leery of Fangorn Forest and Sees that Wyld of Fangorn not only repels the Shadow of Saruman but it appears like the trees are aware in her Sight.

They are visited in the night by a Wizard that Branwen recognizes as Saruman due to the Shadow that he produces. He leaves shortly after the Hunters become hostile and their horses flee in the confusion. Branwen attempts to call them back but Saruman breaks her command from a distance even as he escapes. Branwen is left feeling useless and goes off by herself to train with her sword after Gimli, unwittingly, makes comments that make her feel worse.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli talk for a short while about Branwen and why she must feel frustrated and Gimli realizes his unintentional error. Aragorn stays up and he and Branwen talk after she had come back to the camp after calming down. They speak of a few different topics and bond closer as friends.

The next day, they find tracks of the Hobbits leading into Fangorn and find that both Hobbits live. Legolas mentions it but Branwen can See as well that the Wyld of Fangorn is agitated and seems to be building up in the forest. They reach a hill that the Hobbits climbed and Aragorn notices odd markings on it as well. After coming up the hill, they see the cloaked Saruman coming toward them, but Branwen notices that there is now Shroud around him and begins to doubt that it is Saruman.

The Wizard greets and approaches them. As he mounts the hill, his Shroud slips a bit and Branwen Sees a familiar magic and presence. She goes to meet him, shocked, as the others are ready to fight. Branwen exposes that it is Gandalf before he pulls his hat away and it reveals himself as more powerful than before.

Chapter Twenty-Four – The Light of Gandalf

The Third Age – March 1st, 3019

"…Gandalf?"

Aragorn thought his ears were playing tricks on him. He had dropped his sword to his side when the Wizard had told him to, without desiring it, but he could not believe the name he heard leave Branwen's lips. Aragorn could only watch as Branwen stepped closer to the Wizard down the staircase on the hillside.

The Wizard then removed his wide-brimmed hat, showing hair nearly whiter than snow, and dark eyes that seemed clear and bright. He chuckled, "Well met, I say to you again, Branwen. Gandalf… Yes, that was the name. I was Gandalf."

Aragorn found his voice had left him as he stared. The face of the Wizard seemed too powerful and too vibrant, and yet, now that it had been said, Aragorn saw that it was indeed Gandalf.

Gandalf reached forward with a hand that had come out from under his grey cloak and brought it to Branwen's face and declared, "Do not cry, my dear! For we have much work to do!"

Legolas shouted happily, "Mithrandir!"

Aragorn felt her voice come back to him and thought there might be some tears on his own face as he cried, "Gandalf! Beyond all hope you return to us in our need! What veil was over my sight? Gandalf!"

Gimli said nothing and simply went to us knees in disbelief.

Gandalf chuckled and it was as comforting and reassuring as it had ever been and he said, "Yes, Gandalf will do. You may still call me by that name. Come! Let us sit and we shall hear your tale! Gimli, up you go, my friend! Be merry! We meet again at the turning of the tide. The great storm is coming, but the tide has turned!"

His grey cloak parted as Gandalf gently steered Branwen around and back up the stairs to the ledge. In the part of his cloak, Gandalf was revealed to be wearing pure white and it seemed to be akin to staring at the sun in Aragorn's eyes. Branwen beside him was still gazing at the Wizard with disbelief.

As they mounted the stairs, Gimli sprang to his feet and then laughed, "Gandalf! But you are all in white! Like Saruman—who we thought you were!"

Gandalf reached the top stair and said, "Yes, I am white now. Indeed, I am Saruman, one might almost say—Saruman as he should have been. But come now, first, let us sit!"

They followed the Wizard to a small circle of boulders and they each took a seat. The Wizard replaced his hat before he looked them over with a smile that warmed Aragorn's heart. Gandalf then said, "First, let it be known that your errand that you have been on—seeking the Hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin has come to an end.

For now though, I have passed through fire and deep water, since we parted. I have forgotten much that I thought I knew and learn again much that I had forgotten. I can see many things far off, but many things that are close at hand I cannot see. Tell me of yourselves!"

Aragorn asked, "What do you wish to know? All that has happened since we parted on the bridge would be a long tale. Will you not first give us news of the Hobbits? Did you find them and are they safe?"

Gandalf answered, "No, I did not find them. There was a darkness over the valleys of the Emyn Muil and I did not know of their captivity until the Eagle told me."

Legolas said, "The Eagle! I have seen an Eagle high and far off—the last time was four days ago, above the Emyn Muil."

Gandalf nodded, "Yes, that was Gwaihir the Windlord, who rescued me from Orthanc. I sent him before me to watch the River and gather tidings. His sight is keen but he cannot see all that passes under hill and tree. Some things he has seen and others I have seen myself. The Ring now has passed beyond my help or the help of any of the Company that set out from Rivendell. Very nearly it was revealed to the Enemy, but it escaped. I had some part in that—for I sat in a high place and I strove with the Dark Tower and the Shadow passed. Then I was very weary and I walked long in dark thought."

Gimli exclaimed, "Then you know about Frodo! How do things go with him?"

Gandalf shook his head, "I cannot say. He was saved from a great peril, but many lie before him still. He resolved to go alone to Mordor and he set out—that is all that I can say."

Legolas replied, "Not alone! We think that Sam went with him."

Gandalf looked delighted, "Did he! Did he indeed? It is news to me, yet it does not surprise me. Good! Very good! You lighten my heart. You must tell me more. Now, tell me the tale of your journey."

Aragorn noticed that Gimli and Legolas turned to him, but Branwen was still looking at Gandalf, as if still struck with incredulity. He cleared his throat and began to recount all that had happened. Gandalf was calm, patient, and listened without interrupting for a long while until Aragorn began to recount the death of Boromir.

Gandalf sighed, "You have not said all that you know or guess, Aragorn my friend. Poor Boromir! I could not see what had happened to him. It was a sore trial for such a man—a warrior and a lord of Men. Galadriel told me that he was in peril. But he escaped in the end. I am glad. It was not in vain that the young hobbits came with us, if only for Boromir's sake.

But that is not the only part they have to play. They were brought to Fangorn and their coming was like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains. Even as we talk here, I hear the first rumblings. Saruman had best not be caught away from home when the dam bursts!"

Aragorn sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, "In one thing that you have not changed, dear friend, you still speak in riddles."

Gandalf pursed his lips before he laughed brightly, "What? In riddles? No! I was talking aloud to myself. A habit of old—they choose the wisest person present to speak to; the long explanations needed by the young are wearying."

After weeks of grief, uncertainty, and many long miles, Aragorn wished rather only for clarity. He said to the Wizard, "I am no longer young, even in the reckoning of the Men of the Ancient Houses. Will you not open your mind more clearly to me?"

Gandalf seemed to fall into thought as he spoke, "What then shall I say? …This, in brief, is how I see things at the moment, if you wish to have a piece of my mind as plain as possible. The Enemy, of course, has long known that the Ring is abroad and that it is borne by a Hobbit. He knows now the number of our Company that set out from Rivendell and the kind…or supposed kind, I should say, of each of us."

Gandalf glanced at Branwen at the last correction before he continued, "But he does not yet perceive our purpose clearly. He supposes that we were all going to Minas Tirith, for that is what he would himself have done in our place. And, according to his wisdom, it would have been a heavy stroke against his power. Indeed, he is in great fear, not knowing what mighty one may suddenly appear, wielding the Ring, and assailing him with war, seeking to cast him down and take his place.

That we would wish to cast him down and have no one in his place is not a thought that occurs in his mind. That we would try to destroy the Ring itself has not yet entered into his darkest dream. In which, no doubt, you will see our good fortune and our hope. For imagining war, he has let loose war, believing that he has not time to waste—for he that strikes the first blow, if he strikes it hard enough, may need to strike no more. So, the forces that he has long been preparing, he is now setting in motion, sooner than he intended.

Wise fool. For if he had used all his power to guard Mordor, so that none could enter, and bent all his guile to the hunting of the Ring, then indeed hope would have faded—neither the Ring nor bearer could long have eluded him. But now, his Eye gazes abroad rather than near home and, most, he looks towards Minas Tirith. Very soon now, his strength will fall upon it like a storm.

For already, he knows that the messengers that he sent to waylay the Company have failed again. They have not found the Ring. Neither have they brought away any Hobbits as hostages. Had they done even so much as that, it would have been a heavy blow to us, and it might have been fatal. But let us not darken our hearts by imagining the trial of their gentle loyalty in the Dark Tower. For the Enemy has failed—so far. Thanks to Saruman."

'Infighting,' Aragorn realized, as Gimli asked the question, "Then is not Saruman a traitor?"

Gandalf answered, "Indeed, yes. Doubly. And is not that strange? Nothing that we have endured of late has seemed so grievous as the treason of Isengard. Even reckoned as a lord and captain, Saruman has grown very strong. He threatens the Men of Rohan and draws off their help from Minas Tirith, even as the main blow is approaching from the East.

Yet, a treacherous weapon is ever a danger to the hand that wields it. Saruman also had a mind to capture the Ring, for himself, or as least to snare some Hobbits for his evil purposes. So, between them, our enemies have contrived only to bring Merry and Pippin with marvelous speed, and in the nick of time, to Fangorn, where otherwise they would never have come at all!

Also, they have filled themselves with new doubts that disturb their plans. No tidings of that battle will come to Mordor, thanks to the horsemen of Rohan, but the Dark Lord knows that two Hobbits were taken in the Emyn Muil and borne away towards Isengard against the will of his own servants. He now has Isengard to fear as well as Minas Tirith. If Minas Tirith falls, it will go ill with Saruman."

Aragorn felt his head spinning with all these revelations. Gimli remarked, "It is a pity that our friends lie in between. If no land divided Isengard and Mordor, then they could fight while we watched and waited."

Gandalf shook his head, "The victor would emerge stronger than either and free from doubt. But Isengard cannot fight Mordor, unless Saruman first obtains the Ring. That he will never do now. He does not yet know his peril. There is much that he does not know. He was so eager to lay his hands on his prey that he could not wait at home and he came forth to meet and to spy on his messengers. But he came too late, for once, and the battle was over and beyond his help before he reached these parts.

He did not remain here long. I look into his mind and I see doubt. He has no woodcraft. He believes that the horsemen slew and burned all upon the field of battle, but he does not know whether the Orcs were bringing prisoners or not. And he does not know of the quarrel between his servants and the Orcs of Mordor; nor does he know of the Winged Messenger."

Branwen then spoke for the first time. She seemed to be coming back to the present and asked, "Winged Messenger? Do you mean the Black Rider on a flying fell beast? Legolas and I shot down the mount from the West bank of the Anduin as it was flying towards us, but I had little hopes of hurting the wraith. The fell beast it was on seemed to…magnify the wraith's Shadow and the fear it caused."

Gandalf nodded, "Yes, the same. The Rider was soon mounted again. The Riders' new winged steeds shall soon overshadow the armies of our friends, cutting off the sun, and filling them with terror. But they have not yet been allowed to cross the Great River and Saruman does not know of this new shape in which the Ringwraiths have been clad.

His thought is ever on the Ring. Was it present in the battle? Was it found? What if Théoden, Lord of the Mark, should come by it and learn of its power? That is the danger that he sees and he has fled back to Isengard to double and triple his assault on Rohan. And all the time there is another danger, close at hand, which he does not see, busy with his fiery thoughts. He has forgotten Treebeard."

Aragorn smiled, again the Wizard spoke as if they should already know such things, and remarked, "Now you speak to yourself again. Treebeard is not known to me. And I have guessed part of Saruman's double treachery; yet, I do not see in what way the coming of two Hobbits to Fangorn has served, save to give us a long and fruitless chase."

Gimli then raised his voice, "Wait a minute! There is another thing that I should like to know first! We saw someone just like you last night but Branwen said it was Saruman as he was clad in Shadow. Was it Saruman or had it been you in disguise?"

Aragorn saw Branwen frown, "I could not mistake Saruman, Gimli. The Shadow he has cast over Rohan is too unique. If not for whatever Gandalf's Shroud was, I would have recognized Gandalf in an instant."

Gandalf said, "You certainly did not see me, and, if Branwen says that it was Saruman and his Shadow, then it must have been him. He has indeed cast a powerful Shadow over the Riddermark. As for my…Shroud, as you call it, I have wished to remain unknown to our enemies for a time longer."

Gimli nodded, "I am glad that it was not you! Else I would wonder why you had scared off our horses!"

Gandalf laughed, "Oh, that would be cruel indeed!"

Legolas brought the conversation back around, "But the Hobbits! We have come far to seek them and you seem to know where they are. Where are they now?"

Gandalf answered, "With Treebeard and the Ents!"

Aragorn felt his mouth drop open with awe and wonder.

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Branwen was felt numb after the initial crying. Gandalf sat here before them again as if he had never left and she felt simply overwhelmed. She imagined this is how she would have felt if Sirius had suddenly walked up to her in Hogsmeade after falling through the Veil or if Dumbledore had met her on the Continent after being struck by the Killing Curse and flung from the Astronomy Tower. She had so many questions…and most of them revolved around his transformation and resurrection.

This was not the body that he had formerly inhabited.

He had previously only been able to allow a bit of his power to come through, the majority had been shunted into the Unseen, but now, his power was even visible to mundane eyes where his grey cloak and Shroud parted. His strength was greater and purer as well.

What had happened to him?

Branwen could not deny she felt a thrill go through her. He could show her how to craft a Wizard's staff and she might finally be of use again. Indeed, it felt that he came in the darkest hour and she was so grateful that he had returned. She longed to feel magic respond to her call again and she was thoroughly sick of trying to "accept" the Shards of Sorrow.

Branwen listened as Aragorn asked Gandalf in response to the Ents—the mention of which tickled again in the far recesses of memory, but could not summon it readily, "The Ents! Then there is truth in the old legends about the dwellers in the deep forests and the giant shepherds of the trees? Are there still Ents in the world? I thought they were only a memory of ancient days, if indeed they were ever more than a legend in Rohan."

Tree shepherds! Now she remembered. They were supposed to be humanoid trees that could walk, speak, and cared for the forests, but they were thought long lost to the currents of time. That was definitely older lore and had been rather unimportant in the grand scheme of her research into Middle Earth. They had only popped into mention a few times. She might have remembered them sung about once or twice in the Woodland Realm as well.

Branwen thought that might explain why the forest felt so very aware. How many of these Ents were there?

Legolas spoke up, "A legend of Rohan! No, every Elf in Wilderland has sung songs of the old Onodrim and their long sorrow. Yet, even among us, they are only a memory. If I were to meet one still walking in this world, then indeed I should feel young again! But Treebeard—that is only a rendering of Fangorn into the Common Speech, yet you seem to speak of a person. Who is this Treebeard?"

Gandalf laughed, "Ah! Now you are asking much! The little that I know of his long, slow story would make a tale for which we have no time now. Treebeard is Fangorn—the guardian of the forest. He is the oldest of the Ents and the oldest living thing that still walks beneath the Sun upon this Middle Earth. I hope indeed, Legolas, that you may yet meet him.

Merry and Pippin have been fortunate—they met him here, even where we sit. For he came here two days ago and bore them away by the roots of the mountains. He often comes here, especially when his mind is uneasy, and rumors of the world outside trouble him.

I saw him four days ago striding among the trees and I think he saw me, for he paused, but I did not speak, for I was heavy with though and weary after my struggle with the Eye of Mordor. And he did not speak either nor call my name."

Gimli offered, "Perhaps he also thought that you were Saruman. But you speak of him as if he was a friend. I thought, especially as Lady Branwen spoke, Fangorn was dangerous?"

A wolfdog might be friendly, but it could still tear out your throat. Giant walking trees? Doubly so.

Gandalf apparently shared her thoughts, "Dangerous! And so am I, very dangerous! I dare say that you will not ever meet more dangerous than myself and Lady Branwen in your lifetime, lest you are brought alive before the seat of the Dark Lord!"

Her eyes flicked him and there was a strong light within them as he looked back at her. Branwen felt rather exposed then. Gandalf seemed to…Know something about her. Had his transformation allowed him to perceive that which Galadriel had said—that she was even more powerful than she had thought?

Gandalf continued without pause, "And Aragorn is dangerous, and Legolas is dangerous. You are beset with dangers, Gimli son of Glóin—for you are dangerous yourself, in your own fashion. Certainly, the Forest of Fangorn is perilous; not least to those that are too ready with their axes. And Fangorn himself, he is perilous too; yet, he is wise and kindly nonetheless. But now, his long slow wrath is brimming over and all the forest is filled with it."

Branwen turned her Sight outward and saw the flow of the Wyld. Yes, the righteous anger she felt that was funneling towards a singularity, she imagined that the guardian and caretaker of the forest, likely much beloved by his herd, could rouse such fury from these woods.

The Wizard declared, "The coming of the Hobbits and the tidings that they brought have spilled his wrath and it will soon be running like a flood, but its tide is turned against Saruman and the axes of Isengard. A thing is about to happen which has not happened since the Elder Days—the Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong."

Legolas asked with awe, "What will they do?"

Gandalf answered, "I do not know. I do not think they know themselves. I wonder…"

He then seemed to fall into thought as deep as Branwen's ran. The Wizard seemed strange to her now, like his new body allowed him to exist in flux between the Seen and the Unseen. She imagined, without his Shroud, he likely cast a Light upon the Unseen even stronger than Galadriel. She wondered what that would look like once he drew away his Shroud of Grey completely. From his uncovered hands that sat in sunlight, Branwen could see just that—Light that crossed the boundary between Seen and Unseen.

The Light of Gandalf.

The Wizard then said, "The morning is wearing away. Soon, we must go."

Aragorn asked, "Do we go to find our friends and to see Treebeard?"

Branwen knew that was not their road anymore. Merry and Pippin were now out of their hands as much as Frodo and Sam. Another path fell away as Gandalf answered, "No. That is not the road that you must take. I have spoken words of hope…but only of hope. Hope is not victory. War is upon us and all our friends—a war in which only the use of the Ring could give us surety of victory. It fills me with great sorrow and great fear, for much shall be destroyed and all may be lost. I am Gandalf, Gandalf the White, but Black is still mightier… However, I have also been given hope as well… Hope that, should we be victorious, there might still be a restoration to Middle Earth…"

His eyes came to hers again for just an instant and Branwen felt her breath catch. …What was he implying to her?

Gandalf's eyes went Eastward as quickly as they had come to her and he seemed to peer far away. Branwen could See that his Sight was now incredibly more powerful. She wondered what he could See in this moment.

Gandalf thought aloud, "No…it has gone beyond our reach. Of that at least, let us be glad. We can no longer be tempted to use the Ring. We must go down to face a peril near despair, yet that deadly peril is removed."

At once, the Wizard seemed to come from his thoughts and commanded Aragorn, "Come, Aragorn son of Arathorn! Do not regret your choice in the valley of the Emyn Muil nor call it a vain pursuit! You chose amid doubts the path that seemed right—the choice was just and it has been rewarded. For so we have met in time, who otherwise might have met too late. But the Quest of your companions is over.

Your next journey is marked by your given word. You must go to Edoras and seek out Théoden in his hall. For you are needed. The light of Andúril must now be uncovered in the battle for which it has so long waited. There is war in Rohan, and worse evil—the Shadow of Saruman among them—and it goes ill for Théoden."

Legolas asked, "Then are we not to see the merry young hobbits again?"

Gandalf replied, "I did not say so. Who knows? Have patience. Go where you must go and hope! To Edoras! I go there also."

Aragorn commented, "It is a long way for a man to walk, young or old. I fear the battle will be over long before I come there."

Gandalf only smiled with some of his mischief and Branwen felt some comfort as he said, "We shall see, we shall see. Will you come now with me?"

Aragorn nodded, "Yes, we will set out together. But I do not doubt that you will come there before me, if you wish."

Branwen looked at the Ranger as he stood facing Gandalf. Aragorn was tall, powerful, and appeared as he should. As if transported back to the Chasm of Argonath, Strider had fallen away and King Elessar now stood in his place. Despite the numbness that gripped her, she still felt a stirring in her heart as she looked upon him. Not even the powerful Wizard, halfway between spirit and flesh and Shrouded in Grey but burning with Light, could take away from Aragorn's noble presence.

Aragorn asked, his voice somehow more powerful than it had been a moment ago, as if he were the moon reflecting Gandalf's Light, "Do I not say truly, Gandalf, that you could go wherever you wished quicker than I? And this, I also say—you are our captain and our banner. The Dark Lord has Nine. But we have One, mightier than they—the White Rider. He has passed through fire and the abyss and they shall fear him. We will go where he leads."

Branwen felt this was right. Gandalf was here to lead them and he was the one to counter the Nine, Saruman, and all others. She had never been more than a pawn on the board—not since her staff was broken. Though, she hoped she might prove of use to him once she had crafted a staff again.

Legolas declared just after Aragorn, "Yes, together we will follow you. But first, it would ease my heart, Gandalf, to hear what befell you in Moria. Wil you not tell us? Can you not stay even to tell your friends how you were delivered?"

Gandalf replied, looking at Aragorn and Legolas, "Your faith in me is appreciated, friends, but understand that I am not only One. Soon, I think, another shall come as great as I, who has passed through Time and Death, but of that, I shall speak no more. I have stayed already too long. Time is short. But if there were a year to spend, I would not tell you all."

Branwen felt something clench within her at the mention of one who has passed through Time and Death. Was Gandalf speaking of her? If he was, how did he have so much faith when she felt so very worthless?

Gimli pleaded, "Then tell us what you will and what time allows! Come, Gandalf, tell us how you fared with the Balrog!"

Gandalf lifted his Voice for a moment and Branwen felt his power in the words, "Name him not!" He seemed caught in a memory of pain for a moment before he sighed and began to speak again, his Voice having settled, "A long time I fell… Long I fell and he fell with me. His fire was about me and I was burned… Then we plunged into the Deep Water and all was dark. Cold, it was as the tide of Death—almost, it froze my heart."

Branwen felt she might have passed through those waters before and more times than she could count. The border between Life and Death was indeed cool and drew you down deep so that Life could not…should not recover you. Gimli murmured quietly, "Deep is the abyss that is spanned by Durin's Bridge and none has measured it."

Gandalf nodded, "Yet, it has a bottom, beyond Light and Knowledge. There I came at last—to the uttermost foundations of stone. He was with me still. His fire was quenched, but now he was a thing of slime, stronger than a strangling snake.

We fought far under the Living Earth, where Time is not counted. Ever, he clutched me and ever I hewed him, until, at last, he fled into dark tunnels. They were not made by Durin's Folk, Gimli son of Glóin. Far, far below the deepest delvings of the Dwarves, the World if gnawed by Nameless Things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he. Now, I have walked there, but I will bring no report to darken the Light of day."

Branwen felt a shiver pass through her. She understood, though she did not know how, that Knowledge of Nameless Things might drive a lesser being to madness, and she was not sure if she was counted among lesser or greater.

"In that despair, my enemy was my only hope and I pursued him, clutching at his heel. Thus, he brough me back at last to the secret ways of Khazad-dûm—too well he knew them all. Ever up now we went, until we came to the Endless Stair."

Gimli breathed with awe, "Long has that been lost. Many have said that it was never made save in legend, but others say that it was destroyed."

Gandalf shook his head, "It was made and it had not been destroyed. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, it climbed, ascending in unbroken spiral in many thousands of steps, until it issued at last in Durin's Tower carved in the living rock of Zirakzigil—the pinnacle of the Silvertine.

There, upon Celebdil was a lonely window in the snow, and before it, a narrow space, a dizzy eyrie above the mists of the world. The sun shone fiercely there, but all below was wrapped in cloud. Out he sprang and, even as I came behind, he burst into new flame. There was none to see or perhaps, in after ages, songs would still be sing of the Battle of the Peak."

Branwen felt something nudging in her mind as he spoke and then Gandalf laughed, "But what would they say in song? Those that looked up from afar thought that the mountain was crowned with storm. Thunder they heard and lightning, they said, smote Celebdil and leaped back broken into tongues of fire. Is not that enough?

A great smoke rose about us—vapor and steam. Ice fell like rain. I threw down my enemy and he fell from the high place and broke the mountainside where he smote it in his ruin… Then darkness took me and I strayed out of thought and Time and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell."

Branwen gasped quietly, "I Saw you! In Galadriel's Mirror. I could not understand the vision, but I saw two figures laying dead in the snow on a mountainside, one high above the other that had fallen, among the ruins of a tower.

The others looked at her in amazement as Gandalf smiled wryly, "Yes, the Mirror of Galadriel is indeed powerful… After I fell in battle, naked, I was sent back—for a brief time, until my task is done. And I have not been the only one to be sent back…

…Naked I lay upon the mountaintop. The tower behind was crumbled into dust, the window gone, and the ruined stair was choked with burned and broken stone. I was alone, forgotten, without escape upon the hard horn of the world. There, I lay staring upward, while the stars wheeled over, and each day was as long as a life-age of the earth. Faint to my ears came the gathered rumor of all lands—the springing and the dying, the singing and the weeping, the slow everlasting groan of overburdened stone…and the hope that it might be renewed. And so, at last, Gwaihir the Windlord found me again, and he took me up and bore me away.

'Ever am I fated to be you burden, friend at need,' I said.

'A burden you have been,' he answered, 'but not so now. Light as a swan's feather in my claw you are. The sun shines through you. Indeed, I do not think you need me any more—were I to let you fall, you would float upon the wind.'

'Do not let me fall!' I gasped, for I felt Life in me again. 'Bear me to Lothlórien!'

'That is indeed the command of the Lady Galadriel who sent me to look for you,' he answered.

Thus, it was that I came to Caras Galadhon and found you but lately gone. I tarried there in the ageless time of that land, where days bring healing, not decay. Healing, I found, and I was clothed in white. Counsel I gave and counsel took. Then by strange roads, I came, and messages I bring to you."

Gandalf turned to them and said, "To Aragorn, I was bidden to say this—

Where now are the Dunedain, Elessar, Elessar?

Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?

Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth,

And the Grey Company ride from the North.

But dark is the path appointed to thee:

The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea.

To Legolas, she sends this word—

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree,

In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!

If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,

Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."

To her beloved granddaughter, Lady Galadriel bid me to speak unto you—

From Grey North comes the Star of Twilight,

Into peril it comes and risks the Endless Night.

From Darkest Hour does the Morningstar rise,

Deny thine self and heart and love will find its demise.

Anaróriel, so chained by Fear and Sorrow,

The Star of Dawn must embrace the morrow.

Heed not this warning and invite grief and tears,

Remember the Shadow you saw in Galadriel's Mirror!"

Branwen felt her breathe catch her in lungs as Gandalf went silent and seemed to fall into thought.

Star of Twilight from the Grey North? Arwen? Was Arwen coming South? But why would Elrond allow her to? Deny herself… Was she still doing that? Branwen had thought she was progressing? And the Shadow in the Mirror? The vision of the Shadow of Mordor spreading across the Minas Tirith while she sat and was buried in ashen snow came to mind…

…Was this now being risked? Should Arwen fall, is that what would happen to Branwen? She did not understand, but more than ever, she needed a staff.

Branwen jolted when Gimli's voice pierced her thoughts, his head bowed with some sorrow, "Then she sent me no message?"

Legolas replied, his words matching Branwen's sudden resentment toward the Dwarf, "Dark are her words and little do they mean to those who receive them."

Gimli shrugged, "That is no comfort."

Branwen snapped, "Do you wish for her to speak openly to you of death and suffering!?"

Gimli met her gaze and seemed to pay no heed to the anger there and nodded, "Yes, if she had nothing else to say."

Branwen shook her head. This Dwarf's admiration and devotion to Galadriel was something else. Gandalf was roused from his thoughts, "What is that? …Yes, I think I can guess what her words may mean. Your pardon, Gimli! I was pondering the messages once again. But indeed, she sent words to you and neither dark nor sad."

Branwen felt some hollow resentment twist up, wishing that she had only heard happy words, as Gandalf told Gimli, "'To Gimli son of Glóin,' she said, 'give his Lady's greeting. Lockbearer, wherever thou goest my thought goes with thee. But have a care to lay thine axe to the right tree!'"

Branwen found herself feeling petty for begrudging the Dwarf as he leapt up with joy, "In happy hour, you have returned to us, Gandalf! Come, come! Gandalf's head is now sacred, let us find a tree that is right to cleave!"

Gandalf stood, "That will not be far to seek. Come! We have spent all the time that is allowed to a meeting of parted friends. Now, there is need of haste!"

Branwen felt a sudden urgency as they others rose and cried out, "Wait!"

The others stopped and looked at her but she was looking only to Gandalf. She asked, "Since we are here in the forest, should I look for a tree to get a bough so that you might teach me how to craft a Wizard's staff?"

The others looked with sudden understanding and some excitement, but Gandalf only looked at her sadly. He replied, "I do remember that I had promised you that…but I See more clearly now than I had before. A Wizard's staff binds his essence to the Great Song so that he might work his will in words… I am sorrowful to say, but your essence is already bound up in that which you carry within you. You cannot craft a Wizard's staff… As Lady Galadriel had told you, Branwen, you must master that within and accept them and yourself as you are… You have been running from yourself for many decades now and, if Lady Galadriel's warning is to be believed, you must do so, or risk the deaths of those you love most."

Branwen felt her hope crumbling before her eyes as Gandalf continued to look at her with pity. So…what was she supposed to do then? She stared at Gandalf in disbelief and said, "…I don't understand… I don't know how!"

Gandalf gave her an encouraging smile, "Fear not, Branwen. I shall help you as I can…but for now, we must go! There will be time, I think, soon, but not yet."

Branwen sighed as she nodded. His promise of helping her eased her heart a bit. But he was right, they needed to make haste. Maybe, once they had reached Edoras, they might find some time to sit down and he could give her counsel.

Gandalf brought her out of her thoughts as he declared, "Come then! Let us be off!"

҉

Aragorn found his eyes going to Branwen as they walked with haste back through the forest. Some of Gandalf's words had been strange and he wondered what Gandalf now knew about Branwen, as he seemed to have hinted at something about her…something that Aragorn did not think Branwen knew about herself.

The warnings of Galadriel had also set his heart hammering.

It was clear that the Grey Company was coming South or would be soon. The Dead watch the road to the Sea? That rung familiar to him and likely would come back to him once he had the time to think on it.

Galadriel's warning to Branwen though is what had struck him cold—from Grey North comes the Star of Twilight into peril it comes and risks the Endless Night. From Darkest Hour does the Morningstar rise, deny thine self and heart and love will find its demise.

To his ears, that sounded as if Arwen were in deathly peril or would soon be in risk of it. But the words were not meant for Aragorn, but for Branwen. Was this something that he could not avert? Only Branwen? It left him chilled with fear and he saw that reflected in Branwen's face. Aragorn did not think that there was anyone Branwen loved more than Arwen and he could see terror had already sunk into her mind—especially at Gandalf's pronouncement.

There would be no Wizard's staff for Branwen because her essence was bound to the Shards of Sorrow.

But Gandalf had said he would help Branwen, so it was out of Aragorn's hands. All he could do was focus on the task ahead and wield Andúril to strike down the servants of the enemies that threatened the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.

They soon came out of the forest and Aragorn grimaced, seeing no horses waiting for them, as Legolas voiced his thoughts, "They have not returned. It will be a weary walk!"

Aragorn looked at the Wizard as Gandalf declared, "I shall not walk. Time presses."

The Wizard then issued a whistle from his lips that echoed and carried it seemed for miles. He did so again and then again. Aragorn ducked down to lay his ear to the ground, hoping against hope… And then he heard hooves coming toward them!

Aragorn came back to his feet and said, "There is more than one horse coming."

Gandalf looked bemused, "Certainly! We are too great a burden for one or even two."

Legolas cried out with happiness, "There are four! See how they run! There is Hasufel and Fléotig, and there is my friend Arod besides them! But there is another that strides ahead—a very great horse. I have not seen his like before."

Gandalf declared, "Nor will you again. That is Shadowfax. He is the chief of the Mearas, lords of horses, and not even Théoden, King of Rohan, has ever looked on a better. Does he not shine like silver and run as smoothly as a swift stream? He has come for me—the horse of the White Rider. We are going to battle together."

Aragorn felt his eyes go wide as the stallion Shadowfax then came into his view. He was indeed a magnificent beast like none that Aragorn had ever seen before—like living silver captured in the form of a horse and given the speed of the West Wind. The three horses that had fled the previous night were with him and now Aragorn wondered if they had fled from Saruman or if they had sensed their chief and gone to attend to him.

They came before them and Shadowfax went straight to Gandalf. Gandalf patted the majestic animal on the snout and said, "It is a long way from Rivendell, my friend, but you are wise, swift, and come at need. Far let us ride now together and part not in this world again!"

Aragorn felt hope rising brighter within him again as he watched White Rider and Silver Mearas together.

҉

Branwen felt her awe at the sight of Shadowfax. Elven-horses were sinuous grace while the Mearas were powerful strength. In Shadowfax, both were found, and it came to be a sum much greater than its parts. Between Gandalf and Shadowfax, she could See the Familiar bond that bound them together. It began to make a great deal more sense at Éomer's words—Shadowfax would tolerate another as he had only one master…one friend that he would allow himself to bear.

Fléotig appeared happy to see her and Branwen was grateful that he had returned as well.

Gandalf's powerful whistle had been amplified by his own Voice and had indeed carried far and wide. Branwen considered that, when and if she bound another horse to herself, Fléotig most likely, she might replicate that to call them. She had not thought to do so with Shade back in Bree…but she had also still been hiding her magic as well.

Too little, too late, and all that she supposed.

Gandalf said, standing next Shadowfax who was even bigger than Hasufel's vastness, to the other horses, "We go at once to Meduseld, the hall of your master, Théoden. Time presses, so with your leave, my friends, we will ride. We beg you to use all speed that you can. Hasufel shall bear Aragorn, Arod Legolas, and Fléotig Branwen. I will set Gimli before me and, by his leave, Shadowfax shall bear us both. We will wait now only to drink a little."

As they mounted up, Legolas remarked, "Now I understand a part of last night's riddle! Whether they fled at first in fear or not, our horses met Shadowfax, their chieftain, and greeted him with joy. Did you know that he was at hand, Gandalf?"

The Wizard said, as he helped Gimli up onto Shadowfax as the Dwarf seemed near green from the height, "Yes, I knew. I bent my thought upon him, bidding him to make haste—for yesterday he was far away in the South of this land. Swiftly may he bear me back again!"

Branwen patted Fléotig's neck affectionately and then they were off. Gandalf did not use the reigns but rather spoke quietly to Shadowfax upon mounting and then they were off. Shadowfax set a strong pace that the other Mearas were able to match. They followed the Entwash for a short distance before Shadowfax turned them into the river to ford and then out again onto the opposite to turn South.

The land here was flatter and lacked the rolling hills of the East Emnet. Branwen did little more than sit in the saddle as Fléotig followed behind his chief with no need for urging even as they journeyed where there was no track or path, only untouched grass.

Gandalf spoke loudly so that they could hear, "Shadowfax is steering a straight course now for the halls of Théoden under the slopes of the White Mountains. It will be quicker so. The ground is firmer in the East Emnet, where the chief track lies, across the river, but Shadowfax knows the way through every fen and hollow!"

The sun tracked across the sky and began its descent as Shadowfax led them through and around bogs, ponds, streams, and always the endless grass—at times so tall that it was level with the backs of the horses. The Lord of the Mearas did not falter or stray and led his lesser kin effortlessly through.

It was as the sun was sinking on the horizon, bleeding the grass gold and red and cradled between the Misty Mountains and White Mountains, that Branwen noticed the distant stream of smoke across the dying light. Here, the Shadow of Saruman was heavy as there was no Fangorn to combat it.

Gandalf pointed with his staff to the pass, "There lies the Gap of Rohan. It is now almost due West of us. That way lies Isengard."

Legolas said, "I see a great smoke! What may that be?"

Gandalf answered with certainty and commanded, "Battle and war! Ride on!"

And so they did, past the sunset and into the night. Branwen was thankful she had no need to guide Fléotig but the constant motion and, so far, consistent fast pace was making her saddle-sore. Finally, they came to a dry patch of meadowland and Shadowfax came to a halt. Gandalf said, "Here, we shall rest for a short time."

Branwen noticed the others immediately dismounted and simply fell into the soft grass as the horses also seemed to dip their heads in rest. Gandalf remained standing, still clad in his Shroud of Grey and grey robes, and simply leaned on his staff staring outward.

Seeing that the others had so quickly fallen asleep, Branwen approached Gandalf and stood next to him. The Wizard did not acknowledge her and continued staring toward the West and then would shift around to the East in a slow but regular pattern.

Finally, her patience at an end, Branwen asked, "Gandalf, what do you know of me…? You are much more powerful than you had been. And I feel that you now perceive things of me that I have not shared with you."

Gandalf paused and looked at her. After a moment, he smiled softly, "Indeed, I can sense what is within you as well as Galadriel could herself… I confess, I have also known of the form you have hidden from myself and others so carefully since Rivendell. Frodo had Seen all of you on Weathertop when he had placed on the Ring… My apologies for the deception."

Branwen frowned but shrugged, "…It's fine. Previously, it had put great fear into others and I had thought myself some half-wraith, but Arwen and Elrond accepted me despite seeing it. And Elrond told me that I was not a half-wraith but rather more like Glorfindel."

Gandalf laughed softly, "No…you are greater than Glorfindel."

Branwen looked at him, her earlier questions coming to mind, "Gandalf…I don't understand how that can be…or how you can know… You said some things today that…I did not understand at all. You spoke that I was as dangerous as you when you are so much greater than myself. I can See that it is so. And you said that 'another shall come as great as I, who has passed through Time and Death.'

You also say you had 'been given hope as well…hope that, should we be victorious, there might still be a restoration to Middle Earth,' and then you looked at me.

…What is it that you are not telling me? What is it that you know and can See? Please…I feel so helpless… You said that you would help me master the Shards of Sorrow…but what are they? Do you know…?"

Gandalf did not speak for a long time and had resumed looking out West. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and apologetic, "There are things that I cannot reveal to you and that you must learn yourself… My apologies, but my guidance to you will be limited, as to master the Shards, you must learn of them yourself. It does naught for me to reveal them to you.

Unfortunately, there is very little else I can say beyond what I have already shared. I have been sent back with knowledge and power to tip the scales back equal instead of how heavily they have been weighed in favor of the Dark Lord. I have also been sent back with knowledge of you and the addition of your piece to the puzzle of Arda.

While I will do what I can…what I am allowed, he who bound your tongue binds mine just as surely and has given me clear commands."

Gandalf was now looking at her with power in his eyes and Branwen had felt her mouth had gone dry. She felt weak in the knees and asked, "…Do you mean—?"

Gandalf cut her off, "The Winds carry Voices and words quite far for one who has mastered them. Test not the Binding of Wind. I will help you as I can and am able, but this is journey for you to undertake and you cannot hide from it any longer… If I was sent to balance the scale against Sauron…you have been sent to balance the scale against something far more insidious…but I can speak no more. That crossroad awaits you in Valinor."

Branwen had no words and could only look at Gandalf with wide eyes. He gifted her another kind smile and said, "For now, we must focus on the destiny of Middle Earth. Master yourself, Branwen—that is your duty… But for now, sleep."

She nodded slowly before walking towards the other three companions. Legolas and Gimli were to one side so she joined near Aragorn on the other and laid down. Gandalf knew of the binding that Manwë and more besides but could not speak of it.

As Branwen's eyes closed on the star-filled sky and sleep took her, she found herself asking, 'What are the Shards of Sorrow?'

҉

The Third Age – March 2nd, 3019

It was still dark and the moon was still up when Branwen was shaken to wakefulness by Aragorn. They ate lembas in the saddle as Shadowfax resumed their route to Edoras. Branwen was almost tempted to sleep in the saddle, feeling Fléotig would not mind terribly, but decided not to. A fall off from a horse this size might seriously injure her.

While Shadowfax appeared as tireless as an Elf himself, Fléotig, Hasufel, and Arod were showing their weariness, but seemed determined to show their strength to their chief. The moon disappeared down into the West and dawn broke in the East, sending shafts of sunlight across the plains.

Shadowfax came to a stop and let out a whinny as Gandalf pointed ahead, "Look!"

The White Mountains towered in the close distance and Branwen recognized the thin ribbon of the River Snowbourne that ran next to Edoras. Inside the widest valley that reached into the mountains, but separate from the foothills around it, there sat the great mound upon which Edoras was built and was crowned by Meduseld. Even from this distance, she could see the gleam of the hall's golden roof. It had been decades since she had last seen it.

Gandalf commanded, "Speak, Legolas! Tell us what you see there before us!"

Legolas lifted his hand to ward away the stabbing light of the dawn and reported, "I see a white stream that comes down from the snows. Where it issues from the shadow of the vale, a green hill rises upon the East. A dike and mighty wall and thorny fence encircle it. Within there rises the roofs of houses and, in the midst, set upon a green terrace, there stands a great Hall of Men.

And it seems to my eyes that it is thatched with gold. The light of it shines far over the land. Golden, too, are the posts of its doors. There, men in bright mail stand, but all else within the courts are yet asleep."

Branwen again could only wonder if her vision would become so great. Gandalf said, "Edoras, those courts are called, and Meduseld is that golden hall. There, dwells Théoden son of Thengel, King of the Mark of Rohan. We are coming with the rising of the day. Now the road lies plain to see before us. But we must ride warily, for war is abroad and the Rohirrim, the Horse-lords, do not sleep, even if it seems so from afar. Draw no weapon, speak no haughty word, I counsel you all, until we are come before Théoden's seat."

Branwen sighed, already imagining how this might proceed. She was not in the mood for gawking or suspicion. She drew her Veil about her to make herself less noticeable, though she did not change her appearance. If someone focused on her, they would see her and recognize her features, but they would be less inclined to pay her mind in the first place. She felt that Gandalf was doing the same, so she should not feel too badly of it.

The land was pretty in the early morning light and there was delightful birdsong to accompany them. They followed the Snowbourne towards Edoras until they came to the ford that was part of the South Road to cross over. After crossing, it was straight up the beaten track to the Gates of Edoras.

As they came around the wall to the Gates, they passed by large burial mounds covered in small white flowers like blanket of snow. Branwen remembered them vaguely from her last time here. Gandalf pointed out them out, "Look! How fair are the bright eyes in the grass! Evermind they are called, simbelmynë in this land of Men, for they blossom in all the seasons of the year and grow where dead men rest. Behold! We are come to the great barrows where the sires of Théoden sleep."

Aragorn commented, "Seven mounds upon the left and nine upon the right. Many long lives of Men it is since the Golden Hall was built."

Legolas replied, "Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then and but a little while does that seem to us."

Sometimes, Branwen struggled greatly to wrap her mind around the immortality of the Elves. On Earth, approaching two-hundred for a Wizard was considered a long live. Aragorn seemed to agree with her as he said to Legolas, "But to the Riders of the Mark, it seems so long ago that the raising of this house is but a memory of song, and the years before are lost in the mist of time. Now, they call this land their home, their own, and their speech is sundered from their Northern kin."

Aragorn then began to chant softly in Rohirric and Branwen turned her attention away as they continued on their way to the gates. He and Legolas discussed the merits and history of the song after Aragorn had translated it into Westron, but Branwen had little interest at the moment. She was far more concerned of their reception considering Éomer's concerns of Théoden.

They came past the barrows and the wound up to the gates. As Gandalf had warned about the Rohirrim being at war and not sleeping, there were a number of mail-clad men at the gate. They came to attention as soon as their party was sighted and the middle soldier, in front of the gates, declared in Rohirric, "Stay, strangers here unknown!"

The others advanced and began shooting rapid-fire questions of their business in Rohirric that Branwen understood. Gandalf took charge and said, "Well, I do understand your speech, yet few strangers do so. Why then do you not speak in the Common Tongue, as is the custom of the West, if you wish to be answered?"

The lead guard answered, in Westron, "It is the will of Théoden King that none should enter his gates, save those who know our tongue and are our friends. None are welcome here in days of war but our own folk, and those that come from Mundburg in the land of Gondor. Who are you that come heedless over the plain thus strangely clad, riding horses like our own horses?

Long have we kept guard here and we have watched you from afar. Never have we seen other riders so strange, nor any horse more proud than the one that bears you. He is one of the Mearas, unless our eyes are cheated by some spell. Say, are you not a wizard, some spy from Saruman, or phantoms of his craft? Speak now and be swift!"

Branwen wanted to sigh. This seemed like it was going splendidly. The Rohirrim were extremely suspicious and outright hostile. They had not been this way when she had passed through before, but that had been a time of peace as well.

Aragorn answered, "We are no phantoms, nor do your eyes cheat you. For indeed, these are your own horses that we ride, as you knew well before you asked, I believe. But seldom does a thief ride home to the stable. Here are Hasufel, Arod, and Fléotig, that Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Mark, lent to us, only two days ago. We bring them back now, even as we promised him. Has not Éomer then returned and given warning of our coming?"

Branwen Saw in the guard's mind what had happened even as he became rather uneasy. The guard declared, "Of Éomer I have nothing to say. If what you tell me is truth, then doubtless Théoden will have heard of it. Maybe your coming was not wholly unlooked for. It is but two nights ago that Wormtongue came to us and said, that by the will of Théoden, no stranger should pass these gates."

She Saw in the guard's mind that Éomer had been imprisoned for rather dramatic circumstances. At least, Éomer had not yet been put to the sword as he had feared he might.

Gandalf asked, "Wormtongue? Say no more! I am in haste. Will you not go or send one to say that we are come?"

Branwen could hear the barest inflections of his Voice to make the man do as asked. The guard nodded, as if reluctant to do so, "Yes, I will go. But what names shall I report? And what shall I say of you? Old and weary you seem now, and yet you are fell and grim beneath, I deem."

She thought the man was more perceptive than most and Gandalf said the same, "You see and speak well! For I am Gandalf. I have returned. And behold! I too bring back a horse. Here is Shadowfax the Great, whom no other hand can tame. And here beside me is Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Kings, and it is to Mundberg that he goes. Here are also Legolas the Elf, Branwen the Elf, and Gimli the Dwarf, our comrades. Go now and say to your master that we are at his gates and would have speech with him, if he will permit us to come into his hall."

The guard's attention flickered to her for a moment and he seemed to see through her thin Veil suggesting him to look elsewhere as his eyes widened. He turned back to Gandalf and replied, "Strange names you give indeed! But I will report them as you bid and learn my master's will. Wait here a little while and I will bring you such answer as seems good to him. Do not hope much! These are dark days."

He turned and began to jog upward to Meduseld. After he had walked away, Branwen said lowly, curving her Voice as she spoke so it was unintelligible to the remaining guards eyeing them suspiciously, "Éomer has been imprisoned for violating the law, the king's orders, and for threatening to kill this Wormtongue in the king's hall. It seems this Wormtongue is not well-liked by anyone but is the king's trusted advisor."

Aragorn and Legolas looked at her with some concern as Gandalf nodded, "Yes, I thought as much. Your ability to See is far more versatile than mine still!"

Gimli looked confused and asked, "What is it that you Saw?"

Gandalf then spoke in a rough tongue like metal on rock, deep caverns, and clinking coins. It was the first time that Branwen had ever heard someone speak in the Dwarf Tongue. Gimli nodded in understanding, seeming unsurprised by Gandalf speaking his native language. The guards seemed even more suspicious of them now, speaking in foreign languages, but, thankfully, they were still inclined to overlook her. It appeared that the lead guard had been an exception.

Speaking of, she saw him jogging back to them shortly and, upon reaching them, he ordered, "Follow me! Théoden gives you leave to enter, but any weapon that you bear, be it only a staff, you must leave on the threshold. The doorwardens will keep them."

Well, that would not do, especially if Théoden were ensnared in Saruman's Shadow as she had suspected he might after Seeing him and his changes in Éomer's thoughts. She thought her Voice was likely more persuasive than Gandalf's and should make quick work of that, as long as the doorwarden was not too stubborn.

They dismounted, as they were beckoned to do so, and followed the guard up to Meduseld on foot. Branwen frowned as they came up through Edoras. It was early so she could not assume too much, but Edoras had been a bustling and happy town when she had last come here. Now, it seemed the folk that were awake were simply in a hurry to get where they needed and had little time for joviality.

After winding up through the town, they came to the top of the hill. Branwen had not ever ventured up here in Edoras, not seeing a need or desire before, so it was the first time seeing it completely. Meduseld stood elevated on the peak of the hill, accessible only by a singular set of carved stone stairs that led directly to the doors of the hall. At the base of these stairs was a spring issuing from a boulder carved in the shape of a horse's head. It was the source of the stream that ran through Edoras alongside the main road.

Branwen saw there was a seat carved out of the stone itself on either side at the top of the stair, just outside the hall doors. On each side was seated a strong and tall Rohirrim with golden braids, bare swords, green shields, and true plate amor on their torsos. They stood as the party approached in a show of force, only Aragorn was taller than them, but they did not speak. The doors of the hall were barred on the outside with heavy beams of wood.

Their guide from the gate stopped at the base of the stair and said, "There are the doors before you. I must return now to my duty at the gate. Farewell! And may the Lord of the Mark be gracious to you!"

He turned and left them under the watchful gazes of the guards at the top. Branwen followed behind Aragorn, Gandalf leading them, as they began to mount the stairs. When Gandalf's foot touched the top of the stair, the guardians at the top flipped their swords to present the hilts rather than the blade and spoke together, "Hail, comers from afar!"

The one on the right then said, "I am the Doorwarden of Théoden. Háma is my name. Here I bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter."

As Branwen took off her pack to remove her bow and quiver from their pouch, Legolas handed over his long knife, bow, and quiver in short order and instructed, "Keep these well, for they come from the Golden Wood and the Lady of Lothlórien gave them to me."

The man seemed unnerved as he took them to lay them aside and responded, "No man will touch them, I promise you."

Branwen stepped forward and presented her bow, quiver, sword, and knife to Háma and said, "If anyone walks off with these, he will walk no longer after I have found him. These were gifts from my elder brother, Elrohir son of Lord Elrond Half-Elven, and I have great attachment to them."

Háma then took notice of her face beneath her hood and seemed dumbstruck for a moment. She Saw his wonder at her beauty and his confusion how he had not noticed her before. He took her weapons as gingerly as Legolas' but seemed to regard her threat with some amusement considering her size and gender, "Fear not, my lady. They shall be held safe until you can collect them."

She stepped aside before Háma turned to Aragorn. Aragorn seemed hesitant and Branwen could imagine what he must be thinking. Aragorn the said, "It is not my will to put aside my sword or deliver Andúril to the hand of any other man."

Háma replied shortly, "It is the will of Théoden."

Aragorn drew himself up and rebutted, "It is not clear to me that the will of Théoden son of Thengel, even though he be Lord of the Mark, should prevail over the will of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elendil's Heir of Gondor."

Branwen felt some surprise. She had known Aragorn was protective of his sword, but she had never seen him so uncompromising like this before. Háma was now cold as he stepped to bar the door, his sword point had now come to face them, and he declared, "This is the House of Théoden, not of Aragorn, even were he King of Gondor in the seat of Denethor."

Gandalf interceded as he spoke to Aragorn, "This is idle talk. Needless is Théoden's demand, but it is useless to refuse. A king will have his way in his own hall, be it folly or wisdom."

Aragorn did not seem convinced and replied, "Truly. And I would do as the master of the house bade me, were this only a woodman's cot, if I bore now any sword but Andúril."

Háma seemed unimpressed, likely a mixture of duty and ignorance of the reforged Narsil before him, "Whatever its name may be, here you shall lay it, if you would not fight alone against all the Men in Edoras."

Gimli declared, his hand resting on the head of his axe, "Not alone!"

Branwen's Voice rose up as tempers were rising, "Peace, friends!"

Her words seemed to shake the Men and Dwarf out of their standoff as they looked at her. She favored Aragorn with some disappointment, but he remained obstinate. Gandalf said, his Voice also calming, "Yes, peace! We are all friends here. Or should be—for the laughter of Mordor will be our only reward if we quarrel. My errand is pressing! Here, at least, is my sword, goodman Háma! Keep it well. Glamdring it is called, for the Elves made it long ago. Now, let me pass."

Gandalf then looked at Aragorn with some of his own disapproval and said, "Come, Aragorn!"

Faced by hers and Gandalf's matching disappointment, Aragorn reluctantly unbuckled Andúril before he placed it against the wall himself before declaring to Háma and the other warden, "Here I set it, but I command you not to touch it, nor to permit any other to lay hand on it. In this Elvish sheath dwells the Blade that was Broken and has been made again. Telchar first wrought it in the deeps of time. Death shall come to any man that draws Elendil's sword save Elendil's heir."

Háma looked upon Andúril with amazement and some understanding entered his eyes as he replied, "It seems that you are come on the wings of song out of the forgotten day. It shall be, lord, as you command."

Branwen then looked at Gimli with her disapproving expectation. The Dwarf was far too hotheaded around Men, it seemed. The Dwarf wore his heart on his sleeve and seemed to shrink the tiniest bit under her gaze before unbuckling his axe and setting it aside Andúril, "Well, if it has Andúril to keep it company, my axe may stay here too, without shame. Now then, if all is as you wish, let us go and speak with your master."

Háma seemed conflicted but then spoke to Gandalf, "Your staff. Forgive me, but that too must be left at the doors."

And here would be the one thing that must not be left behind. Gandalf declared, his Voice impressing upon Háma, as he suddenly leaned on his staff as if it were the only thing that bore his weight "Foolishness! Prudence is one thing, but discourtesy is another. I am old. If I may not lean on my stick as I go, then I will sit out here, until it pleases Théoden to hobble out himself to speak with me."

Háma seemed distrustful still and Branwen's spoke, her own Voice weaving a great deal more powerfully and persuasive than Gandalf's, "My, my, you would not only part a lady from any means to defend herself amongst Men unknown to her, even a simple knife, and you would take an elderly man's walking stick? I had long thought the Men of Rohan good, honorable, and hospitable, as I have told many over the years, but now I must reconsider… Truly, you must judge a man on how he treats the lowest and strangers among him rather than his betters."

Háma and the other warden seemed to wince at the biting words delivered in her pretty voice. Háma sighed, "The staff in the hand of a Wizard may be more than a prop for age… Yet, in doubt, a man of worth will trust to his own wisdom. I believe you are friends and folk worth of honor, who have no evil purpose. You may go in."

Háma and his partner then unbarred the doors and then pushed them inward. It revealed a long and great hall paved with flagstones of many different colors decorated with many different runes and symbols. Tall pillars went down either side of the hall and were just as richly painted. Banners and tapestries hung between the pillars and against the walls in vibrant hues and thread. The center of the hall was dominated by a long central hearth filled with coals, wood, and flame. Past the firepit, at the end of the hall, was a raised dais three steps above the rest of the hall and a throne upon which a decrepit man seemed to sit—long white braided hair was held by a circlet of gold that held a singular diamond. His beard was a long and as white as his hair.

Branwen Saw the Shadow of Saruman was heavy in Meduseld and it seemed to rest most strongly upon the man she assumed was Théoden…and the figure that sat on the stairs at the foot of Théoden's throne. The Shadow was so thick here that even the sunlight that came through the high windows was weak.

Branwen only cast a glance to a tapestry that Aragorn pointed to, "Behold, Eorl the Young! Thus he rode out of the North to the Battle of the Field of Celebrant." Branwen did not even take in the details of the tapestry before she turned her Sight back onto the hall as they walked forward, around the great hearth.

Her gaze was fixed upon the pale man with dark hair clad in black that sat on the stairs. He had heavy eyelids that seemed to grant him a patient and knowledgeable look, but she Saw far more than that façade. At first, she thought he was too influenced by the Shadow of Saruman, but the more she Saw, the more she realized it was more like the Ring. Rather, instead of as a source or a victim, he wore the Shadow like a mantle.

This was a servant of Saruman then.

They came to the foot of the dais and Gandalf said, "Hail, Théoden son of Thengel! I have returned. For, behold, the storm comes and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed!"

Branwen had to admit that Gandalf did not mince words. Long winded that he might be in his explanations, he was plain with his reasons. Théoden then rose from his throne. He was nearly bent in half with age as he leaned near bodily on his short cane with a handle of bone. Branwen Saw that the Shadow seemed be drawing away the very vitality of Théoden away from him. He would be quite tall, taller than most of his subjects and maybe even match Aragorn in height, if he was not so bent under the weight of Saruman's Shadow.

Théoden spoke in a strained voice that showed his displeasure, "I greet you and maybe you look for welcome. But truth to tell, your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf. You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follows you like crows and ever the oftener the worse. I will not deceive you—when I heard that Shadowfax had come back riderless, I rejoiced at the return of the horse, but still more at the lack of the rider. When Éomer brought the tidings that you had gone at last to your long home, I did not mourn. But news from afar is seldom truth. Here you come again! And with you, comes evil worse than before, as might be expected. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow? Tell me that."

Théoden sat back down heavily. Before Gandalf might respond, the pale man mantled in Shadow spoke, "You speak justly, my lord."

Branwen Saw the Shadow seemed to reach from the man like how the tendrils rose from the blackness of the Ring. She was gladder than ever that they had convinced the warden to allow Gandalf his staff. She could not hope to clear this influence, weakened as she was. The influence seemed to wind around closer to Théoden's heart and his mind as the man continued to speak, "It is not yet five days since the bitter tidings came that Théodred, your son, was slain upon the West Marches—your right hand, Second Marshal of the Mark. In Éomer there is little trust. Few men would be left to guard your walls if he had been allowed to rule. And, even now, we learn from Gondor that the Dark Lord is stirring in the East. Such is the hour in which this wanderer chooses to return. Why indeed should we welcome you, Master Stormcrow? Láthspell I name you—Ill-news—and ill news is an ill guest, they say."

The man laughed darkly as the Shadow he manipulated continued to bind Théoden deeper. Branwen shivered as she Saw the surface thoughts of this wretch. He was the worst of Men and was thankful that her Veil allowed her to remain unnoticed by him. He was indeed a servant of Saruman, bound to the traitorous Wizard by promises of wealth and…a woman. A Severus Snape if she had ever Seen one and, looking at Wormtongue, she realized that he bore a resemblance to her conflicted Potions Master that had harbored a sick obsession for her birthmother and had been growing one for Heather Potter as she had aged into a woman.

Gandalf regarded the man as if he were a rather unpleasant thing to behold and replied, "You are held wise, my friend Wormtongue, and are doubtless a great support to your master. Yet, in two ways may a man come with evil tidings. He may be a worker of evil or he may be such as leaves well alone and comes only to bring aid in time of need."

So, this was the man that Éomer had threatened to kill. It seemed this was the one that he had suspected to be influencing Théoden as well. Éomer was indeed perceptive. Wormtongue replied, his voice sounding like softly slithering things over grass and dead leaves, "That is so, but there is a third kind—pickers of bones, meddlers in others men's sorrows, and carrion-fowl that grow fat on war. What aid have you ever brought, Stormcrow? And what aid do you bring now? It was aid from us that you sought last time that you were here. Then my lord bade you choose any horse that you would and be gone and, to the wonder of all, you took Shadowfax in your insolence. My lord was sorely grieved, yet, to some, it seemed that to speed you from the land the price was not too great. I guess that it is likely to turn out the same once more—you will seek aid rather than render it. Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, sword, spears? That I would call aid—that is our present need! But who are these that follow at your tail? Four ragged wanderers in grey and you, yourself the most beggar-like of the four?"

Branwen knew that Gandalf must be the one to handle this, but she had rarely ever been so tempted to speak out of turn. It might strain her, but she would strike this worm with silence if only to not hear him speak any longer. It was like hearing maggots crawling about in rotten flesh.

Gandalf ignored Wormtongue and spoke to the king, "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden son of Thengel. Has not the messenger from your gate reported the names of my companions? Seldom has any lord of Rohan received four such guests. Weapons they have laid at your doors that are worth many a mortal man, even the mightiest. Grey is their raiment, for the Elves clad them, and thus they have passed through shadow of great perils to your hall."

She saw that Gandalf's Voice began to reach through the Shadow to Théoden but Wormtongue spoke again, "Then it is true, as Éomer reported, that you are in league with the Sorceress of the Golden Wood? It is not to be wondered at—webs of deceit were ever woven in Dwimordene."

Branwen, nearly on reflex, grabbed Gimli's shoulder as he made to step forward with fury—his defensiveness of Lady Galadriel coming to the fore—before Gandalf chanted, his Voice giving some of Light to his words, even within his Shroud.

"In Dwimordene, in Lórien,

Seldom have walked the feet of Men,

Few Mortal eyes have seen the Light,

That lies there ever, long and bright.

Galadriel! Galadriel!

Clear is the water of your well,

White is the star in your white hand,

Unmarried, unstained is leaf and land,

In Dwimordene, in Lórien,

More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men."

Then, at once, Gandalf cast aside his cloak and hat and drew tall away from his staff as his Shroud fell. The Light of Gandalf shown brightly. It was the first time he had completely cast his Shroud and cloak aside before them and Branwen found him near blinding in the Unseen. For the first time, she noticed something that had been hidden by his Shroud and had not witnessed before he had fallen—on his right hand, there was a Ring that shown like a crimson star and it seemed to pulse with his every word.

Gandalf declared, his Voice rising up and empowered by the Ring on his hand, "The wise speak only of what they know, Gríma son of Gálmód! A witless worm have you become. Therefore, be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and Death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man until the lightning falls!"

The Wizard raised his staff and brought it down—the sound of it striking the flagstone was amplified into a crack of thunder—and he drew his Light into the Unseen so that it appeared as if the Shadow-darkened hall was suddenly thrown into night by comparison. The weak sunlight, filtered through the Shadow of Saruman, that came through upper windows seemed to be blotted out entirely. The flames in the hearth died to embers as well.

Wormtongue's shout came through the darkness, agitating the Shadow around him to bind Théoden even as the darkness seemed to be fading from the king in Gandalf's Light, "Did I not counsel you, my lord, to forbid his staff!? That fool Háma has betrayed us!"

Gandalf brought his staff down again and his Light pierced forth like a lance, appearing like a flash of lightning to those who could not See, and Wormtongue was struck by it—his Mantle of Shadow was cleaved from him like snake was separated from its skin by a knife. Wormtongue fell to the floor on his face, appearing unconscious, and the hall was suddenly silent.

Théoden appeared dumbstruck as Gandalf turned to him, the Light so much more gentle upon the ensorcelled king than on the servant of Saruman that had slipped into his hall like an assassin might pour poison into one's drink.

Gandalf asked, "Now, Théoden son of Thengel, will you hearken to me? Do you ask for help?"

The Wizard raised his staff and his Light pierced the Shadow over one of the high windows to allow in true sunlight. Gandalf declared, "Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord of the Mark, for better help you will not find. No counsel have I to give to those that despair. Yet, counsel I could give and words I could speak to you. Will you hear them? They are not for all ears. I bid you come out before your doors and look abroad. Too long have you sat in Shadow and trusted twisted tales and crooked promptings."

Théoden seemed to be in a daze as he rose up heavily from his chair. A woman with golden tresses, clad in white, rushed from around the back of the throne to assist the king up. Branwen had not even noticed her in the Shadow of the hall—though it seemed to weigh on her, as if to drag her down into despair and compliance, but her spirit currently remained as iron.

She was very beautiful, for a daughter of Men. She was slender and approached nearly six feet in height as opposed to Branwen's smaller frame. Her white dress was fastened with a silver girdle belt. Branwen thought she seemed rather cold, like the snowcaps of the White Mountains above, as if she had only known sorrow for a long time.

She helped Théoden down the steps of his dais, around the fallen figure of Wormtongue that she favored with distaste, and around the long central hearth.

Branwen followed behind Aragorn as they followed Théoden and his escort. Gandalf stepped ahead of the king and banged his staff against the outer doors. He commanded through them, "Open! The Lord of the Mark comes forth!"

The doors swung open after a pause and, in that moment as the wind swept in, the Shadow of Saruman seemed to lift and fly out of the hall as it was driven out by the Light of Gandalf. It still laid on Théoden, but seemed to be lightening greatly, as Gandalf bid the king and then his attendant in turn, "Send your guards down to the stairs' foot. And you, lady, leave him a while with me. I will care for him."

Théoden said, his voice sounding stronger, "Go, Éowyn sister-daughter! The time for fear is past."

Branwen noticed that Aragorn's eyes went to the named Éowyn for a moment as she passed them back into the house, as if he had only noticed her. Éowyn's paused, as it seemed she had only just noticed him in return. Her eyes lingered on Aragorn longer than he had looked at her before she continued walking back into the hall. Branwen glanced back to see that Éowyn had turned back as well to look on Aragorn as she strode deeper into the hall. The tall pale woman did not notice Branwen's stare upon her and Branwen felt something possessive stir as she felt something like hackles rising.

She might concede Aragorn to Arwen without grudge, but this strange woman would find Branwen not nearly so accommodating to her.

Branwen shook her head slightly to clear away those thoughts. She should not be thinking as such, especially as Branwen did not care to admit to herself that her feelings were anything more than shallow… Aragorn was his own man…and she should not assume such things just because another woman was looking at him.

By the gods, she was pathetic…

Her attention was drawn back as Gandalf said, "Now, lord, look out upon your land! Breathe the free air again!"

Clouds had rolled in since they had entered the hall but they seemed to part as Gandalf gestured outward and shafts of sunlight kissed the distant plains and mountain peaks that they could see from this vantage. The stream that ran through Edoras sparkled wonderfully and Branwen Saw the Shadow of Saruman upon the king was evaporating under sunlight and Gandalf's Light like a drop of water in a hot pan.

Théoden remarked, "It is not so dark here…"

Gandalf replied, "No. Nor does age lie so heavily on your shoulders as some would have you think. Cast aside your prop!"

Théoden let the cane he held fall to the side and the Shadow of Saruman seemed to lift from his shoulders as the king stood to his full height. His white hair seemed to regain some color as it became silver and then a pale blonde. His cloudy eyes that had appeared almost milky under the Shadow were clear again and vibrantly blue.

Théoden's voice was troubled, but no longer weighed down by Shadow and sounded a great deal stronger, "Dark have been my dreams as of late, but I feel as one new-awakened. I would now, that you come before, Gandalf. For I fear that already you have come too late, only to see the last days of my house. Not long now shall stand the high hall which Brego son of Eorl built. Fire shall devour the high seat. What is to be done?"

Branwen felt some relief come to her. Yes, it appeared Théoden King's distrust of Gandalf had been a product of manipulation as he now looked upon the Wizard seeking reassurance and wisdom. Gandalf spoke, sounding satisfied with his work, "Much! But first send for Éomer. Do I not guess rightly that you hold him prisoner, by counsel of Gríma, of him that all save you name the Wormtongue?"

Théoden's eyebrows drew together, as if he questioned his own thoughts, even as he defended his decision, "It is true. He had rebelled against my commands and threatened death to Gríma in my hall."

Gandalf said softly, "A man may love you and yet not love Wormtongue or his counsels."

Théoden nodded slowly and said, "That may be… I will do as you ask. Call Háma to me. Since he proved untrusty as a doorward, let him become an errand-runner. The guilty shall bring the guilty to judgement."

Though his words were darker, the king was smiling as he looked at Gandalf and the deep creases of his face seemed to be vanishing. It was truly as if he was aging in reverse. Branwen felt reaffirmed in her assessment of Saruman—he was far more dangerous than she had originally thought him to be.

It did seem to her that, even as the Shadow of Saruman lifted from Théoden King, the Shadow appeared to be weakening on the plains itself. Had the Wizard strengthened his claim on the Land of Rohan by slowly subverting the king of it to his will? That seemed more and more likely and the distant parts to the South and East even now seemed to be wearing away at the edges. Branwen wondered if the Shadow might shrink greatly or be wore away to a wisp now that Théoden was freed.

Háma came before the king from the bottom of the stairs and was sent on his way in short order to retrieve Éomer. Théodon took one of the stone seats that the doorwardens had sat on prior and Gandalf stood next to him and said, "There is not time to tell all that you should hear. Yet, if hope is not cheated, a time will come before long when I can speak more fully. Behold! You are come into a peril greater than the wit of Wormtongue could weave into your dreams. But see! You dream no longer! You live. Gondor and Rohan do not stand alone. The enemy is strong beyond our reckoning, yet, we have a hope at which he has not guessed."

Gandalf's voice dropped so low that Branwen could no longer hear him. The Ring on his finger glowed and wrapped tongues of red light, like fire, around the king's heart as if to kindle it brighter. Théoden listened and Gandalf spoke for a long while before the Wizard raised his voice again, as they looked East, "Verily that way lies our hopes, where sits our greatest fear. Doom hangs still on a thread. Yet, hope there is still, if we can but stand unconquered for a little while."

Branwen thought of Frodo and the Ring that he bore. She wondered how he and his faithful servant were doing. Théoden replied, weariness returning to his voice, but it was the tiredness of an old warrior rather than of Shadow, "Regrettable that these evil days should be mine and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned. Sorrow for Boromir the Brave! The young perish and the old linger…withering."

The tongues of fire rose up again to stoke Théoden's courage as Gandalf's Voice spoke with encouragement, "Your fingers would remember your old strength better, if they grasped a sword hilt."

Théoden seemed suddenly invigorated and rose to his feet much stronger than before. He reached for his belt and seemed confused when he found no sword there. His voice asked aloud, "Where has Gríma stowed it?"

Branwen's attention was drawn to a familiar voice that came from the stairs, "Take this, my dear lord! It was ever at your service!"

Éomer was mounting the steps with Háma behind him, dressed in only a doublet, breeches, and boots but no armor. The marshal did carry a bare sword and, at the top of the stairs, knelt in reverence to his king and the sword hilt first to Théoden with his head bowed. Other guards had followed them and now gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

Théoden asked with a strict voice, his eyes upon the sword that Branwen surmised a prisoner should not be holding, "How comes this?"

Éomer, even with his head bowed, seemed to be looking in awe under blonde lashes at his king. Branwen could imagine that he was amazed at the king's transformation. Háma answered with fear in his words, "It is my doing, my lord. I understood that Éomer was to be set free. Such joy was in my heart that maybe I erred. Yet, since he was free again and he a Marshal of the Mark, I brought him his sword as he bade me."

Éomer declared immediately, "To lay at your feet, my lord!"

Théoden seemed to consider his nephew before him in silence before Gandalf asked, "Will you not take the sword?"

Théoden reached forward, as if unsure of his grip, and took the sword by the hilt. His withered body seemed to regain their strength and he lifted the blade suddenly into the air, the fire in his heart from Gandalf's Ring burning brightly. The king both shouted and sang in a powerful voice that communicated his rejoice in his native tongue.

"Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Dire deeds awake, dark is it Eastward!

Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!

Forth, Eorlingas!"

The guards at the base of the stairs all rose up and came rushing up the stairs as if summoned by their king. It seemed to Branwen that they had not yet detected, from the base of the stairs, the transformation of their king and looked at him with amazement. They drew their swords together in salute and cried out, "Command us!"

Éomer raised his voice, "Long live, Théoden! It is a joy to us to see you return into your own! Never again shall it be said, Gandalf, that you come only with grief!"

Branwen Saw that Théoden seemed to be completely exercised of the Shadow Saruman as he presented the sword back to Éomer and commanded, "Take your sword, Éomer, sister-son! Go, Háma! Seek my sword! Gríma has it in his keeping. Bring him to me also. Now, Gandalf, you said that you had counsel to give, if I would hear it. What is your counsel?"

Gandalf bowed his head, "You have already taken it. To put your trust in Éomer, rather than a man of crooked mind. To cast aside regret and fear. To do the deed at hand. Every man that can ride should be sent West at once, as Éomer counselled you—we must first destroy the threat of Saruman, while we have time. If we fail, we fall. If we succeed, then we will face the next task.

Meanwhile, your people that are left, the women and the children and the old, should fly to the refuges that you have in the mountains. Were they not prepared against just such an evil day as this? Let them take provision, but delay not, nor burden themselves with treasures, great or small. It is their lives that are at stake!"

Théoden nodded gravely, "This counsel seems good to me now. Let all my folk get ready! But you, my guests—truly you said, Gandalf, that the courtesy of my hall is lessened. You have ridden through the night and the morning wears away. You have had neither sleep nor food. A guesthouse shall be made ready—there you shall sleep when you have eaten."

Aragorn spoke up to the king, "No, lord. There is no rest for the weary. The men of Rohan must ride forth today and we will ride with them—axe, sword, and bow. We did not bring them to rest against your wall, Lord of the Mark. And I promised Éomer that my sword and his should be drawn together."

Branwen felt that was true as any statement could be and she thought Éomer looked overjoyed as he proclaimed, "Now indeed there is hope of victory!"

Théoden seemed to look at Aragorn with wondering eyes as Gandalf replied to Éomer, "Hope, yes. But Isengard is strong. And other perils draw ever nearer. Do not delay, Théoden, when we are gone. Lead your people swiftly to the Hold of Dunharrow in the hills!"

The king straightened his back and declared, "No, Gandalf! You do not know your own skill in healing! It shall not be so. I, myself, will go to war, to fall in the front of the battle, if it must be. Thus shall I sleep better!"

Aragorn proclaimed, "Then even the defeat of Rohan will be glorious in song!"

Branwen shook her head with some fond exasperation at the pride of men as the guards began to drum their swords against their shields. Again, they cried out together, "The Lord of the Mark will ride! Forth, Eorlingas!"

Gandalf seemed to be the only voice of reason in the courage rising up in the hearts of the gathered, "But your people must not be both unarmed and shepherdless. Who shall guide them and govern them in your place?"

Théoden stroked his beard, "I will take thought for that before I go... Here comes my counsellor."

Branwen looked and Wormtongue was being escorted out of the hall with Háma in the lead and two other guards escorting the treacherous advisor between them. Wormtongue did not seem so confident now. It seemed the Mantle of Shadow that Gandalf has stripped of him had returned somewhat, but was nearly evaporated from him as surely as the Shadow had been exercised from the hall itself. As he was brought out into sunlight, the last remnants of it began to vaporize into dark mist that disappeared before the Light of Gandalf.

Háma knelt to the ground before Théoden and presented a longsword within a beautiful sheath gilded with gold and encrusted with emeralds. Háma declared, "Here, my lord, is Herugrim, your ancient blade! It was found in his chest. Loathed was he to render up the keys. Many other things are there which men have missed."

Wormtongue immediately rebuked, "You lie! And this sword your master himself gave into my keeping!"

Branwen felt her nose curl with disgust—a liar, a letch, a traitor, and a thief. What a disgusting waste of good air. Théoden seemed to be recognizing that himself as he looked at Wormtongue and asked, "And he now requires it of your again. Does that displease you?"

Wormtongue seemed to realize his mistake, the traces of Shadow of Saruman he wielded grasping fruitlessly on the burning heart of Théoden, cleansed by the Light of Gandalf and stoked by the Ring that the Wizard wielded. Wormtongue answered, his words dripping with false acquiescence, "Assuredly not, my lord! I care for you and yours as best as I may. But do not weary yourself or tax too heavily your strength! Let others deal with these irksome guests. Your meat is about to be set on the board. Will you not go to it?"

Théoden proclaimed and ordered in a powerful voice, casting down Wormtongue's assertion of the king's weakness, "I will. And let food for my guests be set on the board beside me! The host rides today! Send the heralds forth! Let them summon all who dwell near!

Every man and strong lad able to bear arms, all who have horses, let them be ready in the saddle at the gate before the second hour from noon!"

Wormtongue looked at Théoden with horror, the Shadow finding no purchases on the king's heart or mind, "Dear lord, it is as I feared! This Wizard has bewitched you! Are none to be left to defend the Golden Hall of your fathers and all your treasure!? None to guard the Lord of the Mark!?"

Théoden sneered at Wormtongue, "If this is bewitchment, it seems to me more wholesome than your whisperings. Your leechcraft before long would have had me walking on all fours like a beast! No! Not one shall be left—not even Gríma! Gríma, you shall ride too. Go! You have yet time to clean the rust from your sword!"

Branwen felt a cruel smile on her face as Wormtongue suddenly understood that his manipulations were undone and he was now being called upon to ride against his true master—Saruman. He fell to his knees, sniveling like the contemptible thing he was, "Mercy, lord! Have pity on one worn out in your service! Send me not from your side! I, at least, will stand by you when all others have gone. Do not send your faithful Gríma away!"

Branwen wanted to snort. Even now, the worm hoped to reassert his control over Théoden away from Gandalf. Théoden seemed to take pride and pleasure in his next words, "You have my pity. And I do not send you from my side. I, myself, go to war with my mean. I bid you come with men and prove your faith."

The game was up now and Wormtongue was looking for an escape—any escape—to flee away from the coming battle and keep hold of the influence that was escaping his fingers like water. Surrounded as he was by the loyal sons of Eorl, he looked much like a cornered animal. Wormtongue replied, weaving the barest of compliment in with plea and now overt manipulation, "Such a resolve might be expected from a lord of the House of Eorl, old though he may be. But those who truly love him would spare his failing years. Yet, I see that I come too late. Others, whom the death of my lord would perhaps grieve less, have already persuaded him.

If I cannot undo their work, hear me at least in this, lord! One who knows your mind and honors your commands should be left in Edoras. Appoint a faithful steward. Let your counsellor Gríma keep all things until your return! And I pray that we may see it, though no wise man will deem it hopeful."

Branwen realized that Wormtongue was not like Snape—he was worse. He was the amalgamation of all the worst parts of both Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail and Wormtongue…yes, Branwen felt her skin crawling. She had never encountered someone more vile in her life…though she wondered if Gollum might be worse had she interacted with him.

And now, after the Shadow of Saruman had completely lifted, Branwen became aware that Wormtongue was hiding something in his robes. When she realized what it was, she became furious.

҉

The audacity of this cretin knew no bounds as he was surrounded by men loyal only to Théoden King!

Éomer laughed aloud, with no humor at Wormtongue's words, before his uncle could respond, "And if that please does not excuse you from war, most noble Wormtongue, what office of less honor would you accept? To carry a sack of meal up into the mountains? As if any man would trust you with it!"

Gandalf spoke then, "No, Éomer, you do not fully understand the mind of Master Wormtongue. He is bold and cunning! Even now, he plays a game with peril and wins a throw! Hours of my precious time, he has already wasted!"

The Wizard drew up and his Voice became terrible like Lady Branwen's had become. At that thought, Éomer wondered where she might be, but his focus was upon the Wizard now and his words thundered down upon Wormtongue, "Down, snake! Down on your belly! How long is it since Saruman bought you!? What was the promised price? When all the men were dead, you were to pick your share of the treasure and the take the woman you desire? Too long have you watched her under your eyelids and haunted her steps!"

Éomer felt fury rise up within his again. Yes, Wormtongue had indeed been a specter of vile perversion that had plagued his sister for far too long. He had grown bolder with time and, upon his return to Edoras from the destruction of the Orcs that had slain Boromir, Éomer had learned from Éowyn the disgusting things that Wormtongue had dared to promise her in foul whispering.

Éomer hand clenched around his drawn sword tighter and resisted the urge to gut the letch where he stood. He said, through clenched teeth, to Gandalf, "That I already knew. For that reason, I would have slain him before, forgetting the law of the hall… But there are other reasons."

Like what Lady Branwen had insinuated. Even now, seeing the sudden and drastic recovery of his uncle now that Gandalf was here, Éomer knew that Wormtongue had worked some evil sorcery to bind the king. As Théoden had said, Wormtongue would have had the king walking like a dog if Gandalf had not interfered!

His wrath grew and Éomer made to step forward, to end the one that would so thoroughly betray and subvert his king and trouble his beloved sister, before Gandalf held up a hand to stop him. Gandalf declared, "Éowyn is safe now. But you, Wormtongue, you have done what you could for your true master. Some reward you have earned at least. Yet, Saruman is apt to overlook his bargains. I should advise you to go quickly and remind him, lest he forget your faithful service."

Éomer took pleasure in how Gandalf so clearly spelled out the advisor's treachery, though, Éomer only wished that his king would order him to slay the man where he stood. Wormtongue looked both frightened and furious and hissed at Gandalf, "You lie!"

Gandalf frowned deeply, looking like a thunderhead might before it broke open, and declared, "That word come too often and easy from your lips. I do not lie! See, Théoden, here is a snake! With safety, you cannot take it with you, nor can you leave it behind. To slay it would be just… But, it was not always as it now is. Once, it was man, and did give you service…in its fashion. Give him a horse and let him go at once, wherever he chooses. By his choice, you shall judge him."

Éomer loathed to stand silent as his king considered the Wizard's wise words. But Éomer could not deny the wisdom of them. Théoden seemed to agree as he addressed Wormtongue, "Do you hear this, Wormtongue? This is your choice—to ride with me to war and let us see in battle whether you are true…or to go now, where you will. But then, if ever we meet again, I shall not be merciful."

Éomer waited for Wormtongue to make his choice as the pale man rose to his feet. He seemed to take in the circle of men about him before he looked upon his king last. Éomer saw in the man…no, in the snake, malice that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Wormtongue showed his teeth like a dog might and then spat at Théoden's feet.

The man went to rush through the circle and down the stairs before there was another powerful Voice that made the air shake and ground tremble, "Halt!"

Wormtongue was paralyzed as eyes turned to a small figure to the side and behind Aragorn that Éomer had not noticed before. Branwen drew down her hood as she stepped into the circle and Éomer wondered how she had escaped his notice before. It seemed no others had noticed her either as the men, other than her company, stared at her with open mouthed awe as Éomer had before. Even now, Éomer felt he had forgotten her beauty in just the few days they had been parted.

She stepped up to Wormtongue, who was still motionless and seemed as dumbstruck as those around him. Branwen said in a Voice that echoed, "You have something that belongs to me, Wormtongue, and I want it back. Hand it over to me…now!"

The last word seemed to bring Wormtongue to his knees as he trembled in fear. Slowly, he reached into his robes and withdrew an item. Éomer felt his heart both stop in horror and his stomach nearly erupt in rage. In his grubby hands, he held the circlet that Éomer had been entrusted with and had presented to Théoden as proof of the party's commitment to come to Meduseld and present themselves. Théoden looked as appalled as Éomer felt as Branwen took the circlet from Grima and inspected it.

Her voice was beautiful, even in her icy fury as she told Wormtongue, "This circlet of mithril, bearing an elfstone that has the first light dawn captured within, was gifted to me by my grandmother, the Lady of Lórien. This circlet is worth more than a thousand—no, ten-thousand of you! If not for Théoden King's pronouncement of his mercy, I would have both your hands and your vile tongue for daring to attempt to not only steal from me but besmirch the honor of man so much greater than you that I entrusted this to!"

On his knees, Wormtongue could seem to summon no words and only stare at the emerald eyes that seemed to burn in her face. Wormtongue's face came only above her waist as he was on the ground. Suddenly, Éomer saw her face was full of wrathful disgust. Her hand came across near faster than he could see and the slap across Wormtongue's face echoed as nearly as loud as her Voice and sent him to the ground entirely into his own saliva that he had cast at Théoden's feet.

Four gashes were across his left cheek and the man howled with pain on the ground. Branwen spat in Wormtongue, the mucus landing squarely in his eyes, and she declared, "You shall not take pleasure from my face! Your foul and vile fantasies make me sick! Now you may return to your true master! Pray that we do not meet again, Wormtongue, for I shall do far worse to you than Théoden King or any Mortal Man could ever!"

Wormtongue came to his feet with a flurry of movement, as if he might strike Branwen, but Branwen lashed out with a foot and he was sent tumbling down the stairs just behind him. At the bottom, he scrambled up and fled screaming obscenities.

His uncle ordered, "After him! See that he does no harm to any! But do not hurt him further or hinder him! Give him a horse, if he wishes it."

Éomer snarked, even as he took pleasure in the physical pain that he could only wish it had been him to exact, "If any horse will bear him…"

His eyes then went back to the Elf-Lady that walked back to her place next to Aragorn as she inspected her circlet with critical eyes.

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Branwen saw as some guards ran to follow Wormtongue and as another went and filled his helmet with water from the spring below to rinse away the remains of the spit of Wormtongue from the flagstones.

When she saw that he was meaning to flee, Branwen knew that would be her only opportunity to recover the circlet before he was long gone.

Théoden then came forward to their party and inclined his head to her. It was the first time that he had noticed her, as how thinly she had kept her Veil about her would not have diverted attention away from her with how she shouted Wormtongue down and tore into him. Once she had realized what he had stolen and was trying to run off with, she had nearly interrupted then and there, but had refrained as Gandalf asked for mercy upon Wormtongue. She was beginning to realize that his counsel for clemency may be too lenient for those that were undeserving.

Théoden said to her, "You must be Lady Branwen. Éomer had spoke of you briefly upon his return and presented your circlet as collateral that you had entrusted him with. However, he had failed to mention your great beauty! My deepest apologies that what you had entrusted was so very nearly stolen even though one of my house swore to its safe keeping! Please, do not hesitate to ask what you will of me and my house so that we may make amends for this fault!"

Éomer had come up alongside his uncle, "Yes! My most humble apologies, my lady! Had I known that Wormtongue had stolen that, I would have slain him here surely!"

Branwen shook her head, now feeling the welcome that she had associated with the Rohirrim previously, "There is no need for anything. It is undamaged, as it is of Elven-craft, and all that I require is some clean water, which I shall get myself, to wipe away his fingerprints. As I had promised you Lord Éomer, woe be to the man that should help my circlet walk away and those marks on his cheek will scar greatly and never fade. I also took great pleasure in kicking him down the stairs when he thought to strike me back."

Éomer laughed at her words. Though it was not something she was used to, she had woven malice into her strike that had allowed her fingernails to so deeply gouge him. That malice would not fade from the wound. Only if someone skilled were to remove it before the marks healed would Wormtongue's already poor looks be spared, but she doubted that he would reach Saruman in time to avoid that nor did she think Saruman was inclined for such trivial things either. Budding Dark Lords hardly were.

Théoden inclined his head again, "As you say, Lady Branwen. I would like to thank you for sparing Gríma, though you would have been within your rights to demand his life for such a treasure. I would recognize his…previous years of service with only that small mercy of choosing his own fate."

Théoden then addressed their party altogether, "Now, my guests, come! Come and take such refreshment as haste allows!"