Chapter One
Night was falling on the place known as the Dead Marshes. Less than a few hours before, two hobbits and their guide had traveled through, hurrying on an important mission. For the first time in a little over two thousand years, the silence of the Marshes was disturbed. But then the silence returned, and the barrows went back to what they normally did when there was no life around; waiting. Yet, in one pool, something unusual was happening; in one of the submerged corpses, the heart was beginning to move again. As time wore on, the pulse got steadily stronger, and more signs of life began to emerge. Fingers twitched, legs bent and straightened, and, like a sleeper reaching up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, the formerly dead soldier reached up to touch his face. Before he could get his right arm very far, however, a shockwave of pain jolted through him, from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips. He went to take a gasp of air, but instead found that water surrounded him!
"Water?! Where am I?!" the soldier thought, as he frantically burst from through the surface of the fetid water, coughing and gagging as water was expelled from his lungs. With much effort, the soldier pulled himself onto one of the few dry patches of land in the Marshes and lay there for a few moments, shuddering in pain and gasping for air. When he was able to breathe normally again, he took a look around. Confusion clouded his crystalline blue eyes as he took in the land around him.
"Where am I? How did I end up here?" the soldier asked, but knew that he was never going to get an answer. He tensed when he heard a scream far off in the distance and felt for his weapons, thankful when he came upon his sword and stave.
"Now where did my bow and arrows get to? Ah, no matter. I wouldn't be able to use them even if I had them, considering how my right arm is now useless." The soldier mused, as he looked at his lifeless right arm.
"But the Dark Lord had hit me in the chest. How is it that only my right arm is affected?" the soldier murmured, but looked for his weapons anyway. He nearly vomited when he saw that there were bodies floating in the same water he'd just emerged from. Shuddering in revulsion, the soldier went in and retrieved his bow and arrows, anyway. Amazingly enough, the wood of the bow and arrows were unaffected by the water, and, when dried, the soldier assumed they would be as good as new.
"Might as well get going. I don't like the feel of this place at all." The soldier muttered, as he started limping away, using his stave as a crutch. He gritted his teeth with every step he took, wincing as lancing pain shot through his battered body. Yet, with determination he didn't even know he had, the soldier found his way out of the Marshes and into the Emyn Muil, where he decided he had to finally stop. With exhaustion and cold taking hold of him, he found his strength waning fast.
"Valar above! It hurts!" the soldier thought, as he sat against a flat-faced boulder and held his shoulder with his good hand, tears of pain mingling with the sweat and marsh water on his face. He must have been sobbing in pain as well, because something moved towards him. Subconsciously, the soldier unsheathed his sword with his left hand and tried to stand, yelping when he moved too quickly, and ending up dropping his sword in the process.
"You look quite the mess, sir elf. What happened to your arm?" a kindly voice asked, as the owner himself stepped towards the soldier.
"T-the Dark Lord hurt it somehow………….sir." the soldier replied, somehow trusting the stranger enough to let him get close and inspect the arm.
"Hmm?……….Ah, it's been dislocated." The stranger said, then grasped the arm firmly, and popped it back into place, getting a scream of pain from the elf soldier as he did so. Feeling his consciousness slipping, the soldier fell back, only to be caught by the stranger's gentle arms.
"Rest easy, now. I can see that you are indeed alive. Had you not felt that, then I would have been convinced that you were still a barrow. Don't worry, I will remain with you while you sleep." the stranger said, reassuringly.
"Who……………..are you?" the soldier asked, his vision still swimming from the sudden pain.
"I am known as Gandalf. Rest now, we will talk later." The stranger said, then whispered a spell that sent the soldier into the realm of dreamless sleep, so he could set to work healing the remaining injuries.
Hours later, the soldier awoke, once again disoriented. His mind was muddled with sleep and the confusion of finding himself once again in unfamiliar surroundings.
"Good morning, sir elf." A voice said, as the owner appeared before him.
"G-good morning, sir." The soldier stammered, when he saw the wizard's staff the stranger known as Gandalf carried.
"No need to be so formal. Just Gandalf will do." Gandalf said, in what seemed to the Elven soldier very uncharacteristic nonchalance.
"Then I suppose it would be proper to tell you my name, good wizard. My name is Herendil, a soldier of King Gil-galad's army. But I suppose it has been destroyed already, so I am all that remains. An army of one, so to speak." The soldier said, with a little humor in his voice.
"Herendil is your name, eh? You are a talkative one, I'll give you that. Where do you intend to go dressed like that?" Gandalf asked, as he pointed at the armor Herendil was wearing.
"I don't………………….know…………….?!" Herendil trailed off when he saw that his armor was now completely clean and sparkled in the sun, and that he himself was clean and devoid of the Marsh's momentos.
"Your weapons are clean and ready for use as well. I took the liberty of doing all that after I had finished taking care of your wounds. But I noticed that there was one wound I couldn't heal. It's in the palm of your right hand." Gandalf said, as Herendil looked at his hand curiously. In it he could see what appeared to be a curved burn scar, and in the scar itself were letters. Elvish letters.
"One Ring to bring them all? What does that mean?" Herendil asked, confused.
"It's part of the inscription that is on the Ring of Power. How had you gotten close enough to get that scar?" Gandalf asked, curious as to how the elf had managed it.
"I tried to prevent the Dark Lord from swinging his mace and hitting Lord Elrond. My hand just happened to meet the metal of the ring for a brief moment. Tell me, Gandalf, does Elrond yet live? Or did he perish in Dagorlad?" Herendil asked, afraid of what the answer might be.
"Oh, he's very much alive and well. In fact, he's the one that organized the Fellowship of the Ring………………but, then again, I don't expect you to know about that." Gandalf said, as confusion once again made its presence known on Herendil's face.
"How much has this world changed, Gandalf? What is my place in it?" Herendil asked, as some distress replaced the confusion.
"We will soon see. Can you stand? We have a lot of traveling to do, and not a lot of time to do it in." Gandalf said, as he set about putting out the campfire. Without saying a word, Herendil made an attempt to stand, leaning heavily against the boulder when he'd found that his legs were still a bit shaky.
"That's all right. You'll regain your strength in time." Gandalf reassured, as a white stallion and another, darker horse approached.
"So, I get to ride from here? I walked into Dagorlad, and a long time after, I ride out? This will be quite a story to tell my brothers……………..if they still live." Herendil murmured, as he mounted (with some difficulty), and Gandalf did the same. Within moments, they were riding hard over the countryside.
"Gandalf, where are we going?" Herendil asked, as the wind whipped his hair around.
"Rohan. We are heading to Rohan to meet some friends." Gandalf replied, enigmatically.
"Who are these friends we're going to meet?" Herendil asked, again.
"Just wait and see, my good elf. Just wait and see." Gandalf said, and the ride continued in silence. Soon, they could see the rolling fields of Rohan, and the beginning of Fangorn Forest.
"Fangorn…………………..there were so many stories about this place………..Were the stories true, Gandalf?" Herendil asked.
"Come with me, and see for yourself." Gandalf said, with a smile. After dismounting, and whispering a thanks to his steed, Herendil followed the wizard into the shadowy world that was Fangorn Forest. Almost as soon as he'd set foot into the forest, Herendil could feel the anger of the trees themselves.
"Something has angered them. I can feel it in the air; it's heavy, like before a thunderstorm." Herendil murmured, as his ears twitched, catching the whispers of the trees.
"Haroom! Who is it that comes in here now?" an irritated voice asked, causing Herendil to nearly jump out of his skin.
"Such a welcome, Treebeard! Surely my presence and that of an elf isn't such an offense!" Gandalf said, boldly.
"Gandalf? Is that you? I hardly recognized you with those white robes!" Treebeard said, as he stepped towards them, smiling when he saw the look of awe on Herendil's face.
"The stories are true…………….the Ents still roam these woods as they did so long ago!" Herendil muttered, finding himself unable to stop the grin that was appearing on his face.
"It's been long since I last saw any elves in this forest! Seeing him here makes me feel young again, haroom!" Treebeard said, equally as pleased.
"Treebeard, getting straight to the point, if you see any hobbits, or halflings, bring them directly to me." Gandalf said, getting a nod from the great leafy head of the Ent.
"I will do that. So, tell me, elf, what is your name?" Treebeard asked.
"My name is Herendil. It is an honor to meet you, Treebeard, sir." Herendil said, respectfully. With a nod, Treebeard smiled, then started leading them to where they could rest, and wait for the hobbits.
"Gandalf, why are we waiting here for the hobbits? Wouldn't we have had better luck meeting some if we had gone to the river?" Herendil asked, confused by the wizard's reasoning.
"There were four hobbits that accompanied the Fellowship when it left Rivendell. Two of them are probably well on their way to Mordor, and the other two are being carried to Isengard. Knowing how resourceful and hardy hobbits are, they will probably escape from their captors and run in here." Gandalf said, as he sat down on a tree stump to wait. Herendil did the same, but, after an hour, found it hard to remain awake.
"Are you tired, Herendil?" Gandalf asked, as he placed a hand on the elf's shoulder.
"Yes. But I am afraid to sleep, for fear that I might find myself back in the marshes." Herendil murmured, honestly. Gandalf nodded in understanding.
"Don't worry. Rest now, while there is still time. When you wake, you will still be here." Gandalf promised, his words seeming to have a magical effect on the elf, for no sooner had he spoken those words, did Herendil slip into the trance-like state elves were known to go into when they slept. When Herendil next awoke, he was relieved to see that he was still in Fangorn Forest, and a little surprised to hear two more voices in the glen Gandalf had chosen to wait in.
"Gandalf? Are these the hobbits we were waiting for?" Herendil asked, as he looked down on the small, startled faces of the hobbits.
"Yes, indeed they are. This is Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, otherwise known as Merry and Pippin." Gandalf said, introducing the elf to the hobbits.
"Hello and well met." Herendil greeted, smiling when the hobbits smiled back at him.
"Hullo to you too, sir! Did we wake you?" one asked.
"No. You didn't wake me. It was just time for me to wake up, anyway." Herendil said, warmly. Just by looking at these two simple hobbits, Herendil was reminded of how he and Tirinvo had been when they were young. He sighed; how long ago that seemed!
"Herendil, you haven't introduced yourself yet." Gandalf reminded. Herendil gave the hobbits an embarrassed look.
"Forgive me for being so rude! I am Herendil, formerly of King Gil-Galad's army." Herendil said, watching as look of awe took over the hobbits' faces.
"We've heard stories about an elf named Herendil! Tragic stories about how he died valiantly on the Battle Plain." Pippin blurted, before realizing what he was saying.
"But if he's Herendil then that would make him a ghost, wouldn't it?" Merry asked, as looks of doubt clouded his features.
"Or a Barrow-wight!" Pippin yelped, suddenly realizing what the implications could be if the real Herendil was standing before them.
"I can assure you that he is neither. He is very much alive, and has an important role to play in this war." Gandalf said, reassuringly.
"What about us?" Merry asked, "Do we still have a part to play?"
"No. Your part in this is over." Gandalf replied, then looked up at Treebeard, who stood by, silently listening.
"Treebeard, if you will, keep and eye on them for me. Keep them safe." Gandalf said, as he stood before the Ent. Treebeard nodded slowly.
"I will keep them safe, Gandalf." Treebeard promised, then scooped the hobbits up and placed them on his leafy shoulders. Within moments, the Ent had disappeared into the forest, leaving Herendil and Gandalf in comfortable silence. Well, it seemed comfortable to Gandalf, but Herendil's mind was in turmoil; what had Pippin meant when he'd said that there were stories about him?!
"Gandalf, what had that young halfling meant?" Herendil asked, when they had both sat back down.
"About what?" Gandalf asked, as he pulled out his pipe and lit it.
"About the stories that halfling had mentioned. Were there really stories taken back to my home about my death?" Herendil asked, worried about what his parents and brothers might have heard. Gandalf gave him a somber look.
"I am afraid so. The men who watched you die, and buried you, took the news to your family. But I have no idea who had spread the tales the hobbits have obviously heard." Gandalf said, as they both sank into contemplative silence. A few hours later, the silence was broken again. When the culprits arrived on the scene, Herendil only had enough time to blink before an arrow was deflected and a sword was made too hot to handle.
"A little while ago, two hobbits ran into these woods. They ran into someone they did not expect." Gandalf intoned, while he glowed as brightly as a silmaril.
"Just like that time with the Oracle!" Herendil thought, awed by the sight.
"Who are you?" one culprit, a man with dark hair and grey eyes, asked, suspiciously. Gandalf didn't reply, but he allowed the light to fade, so the three in front of him could look at him without being blinded. The trio, which consisted of the man, an elf, and a dwarf, stood and stared in shock and wonder at the wizard, not knowing whether to bow, or run up and grasp the wizard's arms in greeting.
"Gandalf, who are these three? Are they also members of the Fellowship Lord Elrond had put together?" Herendil asked, quietly. Gandalf turned and smiled at him.
"They are indeed. The man is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur. The elf is Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood. And the dwarf is Gimli, son of Gloin." Gandalf said, introducing each of the three.
"Then I suppose I should properly introduce myself. I am Herendil, son of Namorimbo." Herendil said, then watched as looks of shock crossed the features of the three.
"And no, I am not a ghost or a Barrow-wight." Herendil added, with a deadpan expression on his face when he thought that their thoughts were heading that way. It was Legolas who spoke first.
"There has been much said about you in stories, Lord Herendil. You did what no other elf would and Middle Earth remembers you for that. Maybe that is why the Valar saw fit to send you back, in this, our darkest hour." Legolas said, speaking eloquently what even a wizard could not. Herendil's eyes widened for a moment, then he lowered his head, looking quite humble.
"There is no need to call me 'Lord', Prince Legolas, when it is I who should be subservient to you. What I did was something even my peers would have called foolish, but I had to do it. Lord Elrond had to live." Herendil said, modestly, starting when the dwarf grinned and gave him a hearty handshake and slap on the back.
"Laddie, think of it this way, you're here because of your courage. And your courage is needed most right now! What better way to show people courage than to have the epitome of it right in their midst!" Gimli said, getting a look of surprise from the Elven soldier. Then he gave Aragorn a semi-accusing look.
"All right, what have humans been saying about me while I was 'away'?" Herendil asked, with a somewhat skeptical look in his cool blue eyes. Aragorn only smiled wryly at him.
"Should I start with the earliest stories? Or maybe even the ballads?" Aragorn asked, sounding almost as though he were taking song requests, instead of answering Herendil's question. Herendil glared at him.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this is Erundur in human skin!" Herendil thought, as Aragorn continued to smirk, and they followed Gandalf out of the forest.
