"That... that was... brilliant!" Merry happily declared from the shelf that he sat on.

"Did you see his expression when his staff snapped?" Pippin's eyes gleamed in excitement. "It's the same look that grumpy farmer Sumac had when he saw his prized pony go lame after trying to get him to pull that cart through the mud!"

Evelyn, strung tight from the battle and her violent clash with Saruman couldn't help but laugh as the Hobbits spoke so happily whilst rifling though the storeroom that they had found. Apparently, no changes to the course of the battle where enough to prevent the from finding their Longbottom Leaf.

"Aye, a good helping of salted pork to our loyal and faithful friend," Pippin called out as he unwrapped a rather large chunk of salted pork, tossing it into the air. Nightshade, uninjured from battle, lept up and caught the soaring chunk of meat, immediately climbing to a dry spot on the rubble so that she could enjoy her prize.

"You both did incredibly well," Evelyn marveled at the way the two Hobbits so easily sat and made merry after the incredible violence that they had just witnessed.

"Well... Nightshade and the Ents did most of the work," Merry waved his hand easily. "But I will say... I made quite the dashing figure calling out those orcs."

"Oy, I did it twice," Pippin interjected.

"Only because you were on Nightshade and she's faster."

"Well that's because I volunteered first and..."

Evelyn chuckled lightly and turned away, leaving the Hobbits to their arguments of valor. Nightshade quickly finished her meal and followed her, heading towards the tower.

We're not done yet? The wolf asked.

No... I need to see inside.

Evelyn heard a sigh from Nightshade, but she ignored it and pressed forward. Saruman was still inside his tower, but he was certainly weakened without his staff. Evelyn knew that he had all manner of foul magic artifacts in there and she figured that something might be useful for the battle of Minas Tirith that was soon to come.

As she reached for the handle of the door however, her knees suddenly buckled beneath her. Nightshade was there in a flash, helping her back to her feet. Evelyn thanked the wolf and swayed slightly for another minute, her hand resting on the door for stability. She drained, the adrenaline from the fight having just worn off, she finally realized how exhausted she really was. Even with her new method of using her magic, she had reached her limit in her duel with Saruman. Something inside Evelyn felt strangely empty and hallow.

She took another steadying breath before standing resolutely. She swung the door open and marched inside, Nightshade at her heels. Taking a lit torch from the wall, Evelyn was faced with a choice: two sets of stairs, one going up and one going down. The one going up lead to where Saruman was hiding away in his tower. The one going down lead to who knows what. Evelyn wasn't ready to deal with Saruman and thus she chose the staircase going down.

Each step led to a deeper silence as she traveled further into the bowels of Orcthanc. The noises of the Ents clearing the battlefield above soon faded until the sound of slowly dripping water, Nighshade's breath, and her own heartbeat were all that Evelyn could hear. She eventually came upon a thick metal door and was surprised to find it unlocked.

It smells foul, Nightshade noted. Evelyn couldn't help but nod in agreement as she pushed it open.

Evelyn lifted her torch upwards, the orange flame casting shadows around the room. If Evelyn had been made of a weaker constitution, she would have vomited.

She had found Saruman's torture chambers.

A closer inspection revealed that they were not just torture chambers, but Saruman's sick perversion of a laboratory. The grey stone was harsh and roughly hewn chains and hooks fastened to the walls at several points around. In the center of the room was a metal table, angled slightly and still stained with rust colored blood. Evelyn tried not to linger long on the leather restraints or stirrups fastened to it.

Nightshade growled lightly and Evelyn looked up, her eyes meeting what once had been an elf, chained to the wall with arms and legs spread. The corpse was emaciated, clearly starved before being killed, every rib countable on its bare frame for the elf had not a stitch of clothing on it. Dried blood crusted nearly every surface of the corpse and Evelyn could see its veins, black and bulging beneath translucent skin. Who knows what manner of potion it had been forced to ingest to create such an effect. Runes and strange symbols decorated the elf's abdomen in a macabre pattern lined with long dried blood. It was clear that Saruman had once carved the runes into living flesh. Blood and other substances lined the inner thighs of the elf and the souls of his feet had been burned black. Evelyn quickly looked up, not wanting to dwell long on what had obviously been done to the poor soul. It was then that Evelyn tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

Where his eyes were meant to be, there were only two bloody sockets. Evelyn inhaled sharply and immediately regretted it as the stench of the room invaded her nostrils. She shook her head as if to clear the image when she spotted the little jar on the table in front of the elf. Walking closer, she saw two bright green eyes floating in a clear liquid. Evelyn shuddered, instantly knowing that the eyes once belonged to the elf before her.

She turned to leave the room, having seen more than enough when she noticed the back shelf. There, lining the wall was a small and deceptively innocent looking cabinet sitting all alone. Some instinct guided her to open the doors and she stepped back, recoiling in horror. For there... lined up neatly and cleanly, were a dozen identical little jars, each holding a different set of eyes.

Evelyn's stomach flipped as she realized what that meant... thirteen pairs of eyes total, thirteen elves upon the rack, tortured and violated in Saruman's mad attempts at breed a stronger race of Uruk-hai. It was the fate that he desired for Glorfindel, the fate that Evelyn had almost condemned him to. She had been so close... so very close to accepting that deal. Oh how much she wanted it, how much she wanted to leave this world behind and return home to her family, her friends, to not running and hiding from enemies around every corner. She was one moment away from adding Glorfindel's bright, sky blue eyes to Saruman's collection.

Sensing her distress, Nightshade was gently nosing at Evelyn, nudging her hand and pressing her own warm and solid form against the girl. Evelyn ran her fingers through the wolf's fur, grateful for the pull out of her own spiraling thoughts as the two made their way for the door. Once they stepped out of the room, Evelyn turned and threw the torch at the cabinet filled with eyes- trophies of Saruman's sickness- and watched in satisfaction as the entire cabinet burst into flames, quickly catching the surrounding journals and strange tomes. She stood there in the doorway, Nightshade by her side as she watched the room slowly become engulfed in flames. Once she was satisfied that everything had caught, she closed the heavy metal door.

None of the knowledge from Saruman's experiments would ever see the light of day again.

Evelyn then turned and began her slow climb up the spiraling staircase. As she walked, she felt strangely numb. She knew the role that she was supposed to play, the fact that she was a pawn in the games of the Valar. She was the descendent of a Vala, a powerful entity sent to a world that she was supposed to protect. A snort of nearly manic laughter left Evelyn's lips as she realized what she was.

A hero.

A hero, the protagonist in a stupid YA novel about a world where knights in armor battle dragons to save entire kingdoms from ruin. By the stupid happenstance of her birth, she was placed on a path of destiny, a route which she had no ability to stray from because she was meant to be the savior.

The sound of her footsteps echoed in the stairwell as she climbed, up, up, up.

Oh she had once loved such novels, back when she was carefree and innocent. She always cheered for the protagonist who faced hardship after hardship, injustice after injustice and yet still emerged victorious with destiny and morality guiding her path. Those brilliant heroes who made the hard decisions and always did right by whatever code of chivalry or honor that they followed.

That's who she was supposed to be. A hero in the saga of Middle Earth, fixing the mistakes of the Valar. She didn't ask for it, no heroes ever did.

The staircase ended at a lone door.

Evelyn opened it.

There, slouched on a grand wingback chair that was obviously meant to emulate a throne, was Saruman. He looked as exhausted as Evelyn felt, grey obviously streaked through his white hair, staff in pieces at his feet. He sneered at Evelyn.

"Come here to gloat I assume," his voice was still deep and melodic, still so smooth despite the slightly mad edge to it. "What now... Evelyn of Yavanna? Am I to wait here until it comes time to send me back to Valinor to face judgment? Or will you do the honor of dragging me to Cirdan's wretched harbor yourself?"

Evelyn didn't respond, standing there watching the wizard. She knew what she was supposed to do... she was supposed to follow the guidance of the books. She was supposed to be an honorable and just hero, and that meant obeying the Valar and leaving Saruman imprisoned with the Ents as his guards. She knew that such meant that he would escape and slink off to the Shire where he could prey on the innocent, becoming something akin to a petty mafia boss before being taken down by Frodo and his friends.

Honor, justice, responsibility, obedience: she was supposed to follow such commandments from the Valar, from Yavanna, her absentee grandmother. It was the right thing to do, the just thing to do. The wizard was cowed, his staff broken and his powers drained. He was less than a man in physical strength. Heroes defeat their foes, they don't slaughter them.

But, Evelyn thought of the Hobbits, the gentle and carefree, trusting creatures who were sheltered from this war. Merry and Pippin's smiles flashed through her mind as she imagined their kin being bent and forced to cower before Saruman. She though of the chamber that she had burned below, bodies twisted and mangled, defiled in ways unimaginable in Saruman's quest for more might.

"What are you waiting for GIRL?!" Saruman stood, towering over her in height yet completely powerless aside from his voice. "Will you say something or just stand there like a mute fool?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

She then thought of Glorfindel, of his easy smile, his carefree laugh, his bright eyes that Saruman would have plucked from his head. She imagined his body, stretched across that rack with Saruman's blade slowly carving its way through his flesh, the horrors that he would have to endure.

The image sent a bolt of white hot anger through Evelyn's chest.

Her magic was depleted, but her blades were sharp.

Without warning she sheathed one long knife in Saruman's heart. The wizard froze in shock, his mouth open and gaping as his eyes flickered between Evelyn's blade and her eyes. Then, without a hint of pity or remorse, she pulled one blade free and used the other to sever Saruman's head from his shoulders as he fell. The wizard's head rolled to one side of the room and his body crumbled.

Evelyn walked over to the head and picked it up by its hair, looking into the glassy eyes.

"I want you to serve as a warning for any of your ilk who come crawling back here."

She then carried the grisly trophy down the stairs, gripping his hair like some bizarre handle as she slowly walked down, Nightshade always following close behind. She left the still warm corpse of the wizard in that tower room, uncaring if it rotted.

I wasn't the right thing to do, it wasn't was the Valar would have wanted, it wasn't the kind and merciful action of a hero. But Evelyn didn't care.

She was many things, but she wasn't a tale to be sung about and celebrated and she certainly wasn't the Valar's pawn. If they wanted something so badly, they could've done it themselves.

She wasn't their hero.

In all the chaos, all the destruction, all the eyes fixed on the fallen wizard, none were paying attention to the back door. Ents were on the prowl for retreating orcs or men who were willing to surrender in exchange for their lives, but none were looking for fallen servants.

Grima Wormtounge's advantage had always been in his ability to disappear. Everyone thought him insignificant, everyone underestimated him as merely a pawn in someone else's game. Because of that, he had something akin to a cloak of invisibility. He was forgotten about and thus he was safe.

For a while, Theoden had been a worthy master to serve, but with the rise of Saruman it had allowed it to become clear who had more power. Thus, he switched sides and followed the mighty wizard. Now, with Saruman dead and rotting in the sun there was no one left to follow.

Thus, like a rat from a sinking ship, Grima slipped out the back. He kept his back hunched and his head low as he waded through the water, briskly walking the second his feet his dry ground.

No one would notice his absence.

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf made their way slowly through Fangorn forest. The days after the battle at Helm's Deep had been strange and fraught with both the ecstasy of victory and the pain of so many lives lost. Glorfindel had been reluctant to explain how he knew that he was needed, only giving away a few vague hints that it had not all been Elrond's foresight that sent him.

Instead, after the battle he had remained rather adamant that Aragorn and a few others go to check on Isengard. He was rather certain that Saruman had been defeated, but he appeared to rather painfully insist that he couldn't go. In the end, Elladan and Elrohir were sent off on another strange and mysterious mission whilst Aragorn gathered the Three Hunters and Gandalf to go see what had happened at Isengard.

Gandalf, as usual, was incredibly unhelpful and instead of asking questions, simply agreed to the journey whilst Legolas and Gimli, ever loyal, agreed to follow.

Thus, approximately half of the original Fellowship was carefully picking their way through the dense and eerie forest. The forest was unusually still and Aragorn could feel a shiver creeping up his spine. He was still mourning for young Merry and Pippin who he had not been able to save and his heart was heavy from the deep losses at Helm's Deep. They had snatched that victory from the jaw's of defeat and a good number of both mortal and immortal lives were lost.

Just as he was remembering the mischievous smiles of the youngest company members, a familiar voice called out to him.

"Welcome my Lords... to Isengard!"

There, standing on a pile of ruined battlements in water that went up to his horse's knees, were Merry and Pippin. The Hobbits were completely unharmed, not even a scratch on them as they stood atop the crumbling stone, a chunk of salted meat in one hand and a pipe in the other.

The entire group was shocked, but their relief upon finding the Hobbits alive was quickly replaced with a different sort of surprise as their eyes were drawn to a sight several feet ahead of them. There, at the base of Orcthanc, protruding out of the murky water was a pike.

And upon that pike, the head of the wizard Saruman.

It was a grisly sight. The pike had been stained red with the wizard's blood that had dried in the sun. There was a black bird perched upon Saruman's white hair, cawing in triumph, and one of the Istari's eyes had already been pecked out. The remaining eye was wide open, a permanent expression of fear that made a frighting sight when combined with the way his mouth had been pushed open by the force of the impalement.

The group barely had time to react to that sight when there was a growl to their left and, on instinct, Legolas had his bow drawn, arrow pointed to the source of the sound. There, emerging from the eerie woods, was a massive wolf as black as night and bearing elvish made armor. Legolas' mind whirled as he stared into the dark eyes of the wolf that he once killed, when a tree branch dropped down from above and plucked his bow from his hands. The tree blinked at them and Gimli opened his mouth to shout in alarm, but was cut off by another voice.

"I'd be careful if I were you... she still remembers you trying to kill her the first time."

From the other side of the path emerged a figure who Aragorn hadn't expected to ever see again.

Decked in blackened elvish armor stood Raven, wings proudly standing at half mast, arms crossed and unconcerned by the hands straying for weapons. The light in her eyes was a bright as ever and her tone was casual, if a bit haughty.

Then, much to the surprise of everyone, Gandalf went completely still before slipping off his horse. He took two steps towards her before dropping to one knee, drenching his white cloak in the muddy water as he bowed his head low.

"My Lady Evelyn," he spoke in reverence.

And audible gasp ran through the group. Gimli held no recognition of the name, but the sight of Gandalf who he had seen in all his glory, wielding his powers, bowing before a young maiden bearing the wings of a great bird gave him pause. For Aragorn, who was raised on legends of the Eldar, and Legolas an elf himself, the name sent shock through their systems.

The pieces started to click together in Aragorn's mind. Of all the legends that he had been told growing up, he never expected to meet the Child of the Valar. He slid from his horse and dropped to a bow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Legolas going white as the moon as all his blood drained from his face.

Aragorn had an idea on what was going through Legolas' head, how he was realizing that his kingdom had imprisoned and tortured the most powerful being to step foot in Middle Earth since the First Age. If the strange maiden who they had known as Raven was indeed Evelyn of Yavanna... then there was every chance that Mirkwood could be condemned. The Valar and sent harsher punishments for lesser transgressions before.

Legolas, stiff legged and missing all his normal grace, slid off his horse much to the confused grumblings of Gimli. Unlike the others who had fallen to one knee, he collapsed, both knees burying themselves in the mud and he dropped his head till his forehead dipped into the filthy water.

Raven- Evelyn remained standing with an impassive expression on her face. Her eyes scanned the group several times over, lingering on Legolas who had a slight tremble in his spine. She then locked eyes with Aragorn, the blazing light in them now so understandable.

"We need to talk," she said and then turned around and walked back into the woods, away from the others.

Aragorn took that as his cue to follow her, rising to his feet with a small amount of trepidation. He looked to Gandalf whose eyes were flickering between the grisly head of Saruman and the spot where Evelyn had disappeared. He then looked to Legolas who had still not raised his head from where it was bowed and Gimli watching the proceedings with great confusion.

He then turned and followed the Valar-born deeper into Fangorn Forest, the quiet treads of the apparently not dead wolf behind him.