A/N)Sorry about the lateness of this chapter. There's a small bit of dialogue I've taken strait from the 
book. I've had a bad case of writer's block. I haven't decided if Circ is going to stay with Gandalf 
and them or go with Eowyn. I'm still looking for a beta reader. E-mail me at Suldrunw@hotmail.com
if your interested. Read and review. Flames are welcome and will be used to burn things. 
Thanks for all the complements guys. 

same-auld-mee Circe's name is an allusion to the Odyssey


The disclaimer is for the rest of the story. On to the story.

Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing, except for Circe. 

*...* denotes thinking.

Going Home
By Daydream

 While running from the orcs, Aragorn took and extra sword from his pack and lent it to Circe.
When the orcs caught up to them, it was forensic. Gimli and Legolas fought side by side. Legolas
shot at the orcs in the distance and Gimli hewed the once near them. Gandalf was holding his own,
using magic and his sword to attack. Aragorn was with Gandalf, a pile of orc bodies around them.
And Circe, well, she was trying to remember everything from her fencing lessons.
 *Parry, block, counter, parry, thrust* She thought thrusting the sword through an orc. An orc
sliced at her arm. She dodged just in time. Only to find an arrow sticking through it's head, shot
by another orc. "Whoa shit!" Circe yelled as another arrow flew at her. She ran over to the orc,
dismembering any that got in her way. As it notched another arrow, Circe slew him. Finally the 
battle was over.
 "Are you alright, Lady Circe?" Gandalf asked. Circe promply threw-up.
 "We should tent to our wounds quickly. We need to reach Edoras by night fall. Legolas, see if 
there are any athelas plants," Aragorn directed. "Gimli, boil some water. Gandalf, see if you can
help the Lady Circe."
 "Would you stop calling me 'lady' already? I'm a normal 16 year old, and, unless you want to nuke
half of Denmark, I'm not a noble lady. So for the last friggin' time, stop calling me that." Circe 
demanded. 
 "What do you mean 'nuke' and 'Denmark,' Lady-" Circe glared at Gimli, "Er- Circe?"
 "Nuke basically means death and destruction to everyone in a certian area, in this case, Denmark.
'Denmark,' a country in Europe, a very cool country.
 "Why would we want to do that?" Gimli asked.
 "Forget it. We ned to dress our wounds."

 When they arrived at Edoras, it was dusk. Before they were given admitance, they had to surrender 
their weapons.
 "Surely an old man may have his staff to lean on." Gandalf inquired.
 "I'm sorry, sir, but I was told to take all weapons away, including staffs." the door warden said.
 "Dude, just let him keep the staff." Circe said.
 "Madame, I have no idea who this 'dude' of yours is, but I can assure you I'm not him. My name is
Hama. I was told to take all weapons away. This includes staffs."
 "I am a weak and feable old man. What could I do?" asked Gandalf.
 "Fine. You may keep the staff, but all other weapons must be left here." Hama replied.

 When they put down their weapons, Hama lead them in to the viewing room. They saw an old man
sitting on the throne, to the right of the throne, they saw a squat, ugly looking man. And to the left, was
a lovely young lady. 
 *The man on the throne must be Théoden* thought Circe.
 "Hello, Théoden." Gandalf greeted.
 "You!" Théoden cried as he rose from his throne. "What bad news do you bring this time?"
 "Sire, I think we should call him Láthspell, for he always brings bad news." The squat, ugly man
said.
 "Wormtongue, there are two kinds of people-" Gandalf was interupted by Circe.
 "Those who can count, those who can't, and those who are minions of minions of the dark lord." 
Circe finished. Gandalf glared at her.
 "Ahem. If I may continue?" asked Gandalf.
 "Sorry." 
 "Like I was saying, Worntongue, there are two kinds of people who bring bad news. Those who 
are minions of evil," at this Circe beamed, "or those who mearly deliver the message of bad tidings, 
bringing help in time of need."
 "There is a third kind, which you have forgotten. Those who meddle in the affairs of others, who 
grow fat of the conlict of others." Wormtongue goaded.
 "What, you mean like you?" asked Circe nonchalantly.
 "You would do good to hold your tongue, woman." Wormtongue sneered.
 "You say that as if it's a bad thing." Circe countered.
 "See, my lord, even now Láthspell brings evil to Rohan. A woman with an acid tongue, and three 
others dressed in grey rags." Wormtongue tattled.
 "The hospitality of the Golden Hall has decreased since my last visit, Théoden son of Thengel. 
Have you not been told the name of my friends. Mighty they are, with weapons worthy of even the 
mightiest mortal. They are clad in the grey of the Elves." concluded Gandalf.
 "So you are in league with the Witch of Dwimordene!" said Wormtongue. Gimli was held 
back from beating Wormtongue to a pulp only by Gandalf.
 "The wise speak only of what they know, Grima 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 till lighting falls."
 "He raised his staff. There was a roll of thunder. The sunlight was blotted out from the eastern 
windows; the whole hall became suddenly dark s night. The fire faded to sullen embers. Only Gandalf 
could be seen, standing white and tall before the blackened hearth.
 "In the gloom they heard the hiss of Wormtongue' voice: "Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his 
staff: That fool, Háma, has betrayed us!"
 There was a flash of lightlight, and all was silent. Wormtongue was laying spread eagle on the floor.
 "Where's a camera when you need one? This is a Kodiak moment if I ever saw one." Circe 
commented.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N) Short, I know, but I'm working on the next chapter, which will hopefully be longer. Review and 
tell me if you want Circe to go with Gandalf and them, or stay with Éowyn. 
Daydream