Disclaimer: Characters and places from The Lord Of The Rings belong to the master storyteller of all time: J.R.R Tolkien…….once again, please forgive me sir!

KT SHY: Wow! 53 reviews for only eight chapters? You people are a fabulous encouragement! Time to distribute some thank you's!

To the ever wonderful Starbrat, and the great SpamWarrior! Thanks for reading Sara… you crazy nut. AtmaWeapon, I sincerely hope the rest of this story entertains you as much as the first chapter has! Miyako Inoue, Queen of Cheese I'm glad you liked Walbert! I based that part on my mother's refusal to let me go skiing with friends across the border unless I got health insurance… though between you and me she was slightly scarier about it than Walbert. And don't worry about precious Bori, I plan to keep him around… for another few chapters at least *evil chuckle*.

And a huuuuuge thank-you to Tylec Asroc! But, really I wasn't referring to Melchior of the Three Magi, lol! I swear! Melkor is the Quenya name of everyone's favourite rebellious Vala. He was more commonly referred to as Morgoth after the whole Silmaril incident, but I figured Sauron would refer to his master by his first name and not any of the ones that came after (Morgoth, Bauglir, The Ralph Bakshi version of Sam… and so on!) Okay! Um… heh... that's the end of our history lesson… you all get an A+!

Oh... just to give you a heads up… as kid's you all heard the song "So Early in the Morning" right? Like, 'This is the way we wash our face, wash our face, wash our face. This is the way we wash our face, so early in the morning.' *notices fearful looks from readers so stops singing*

Shagster: I've noticed a recent trend in people begging for their fics to be read…

KT: eh?

Shagster: …So I've jumped on the bandwagon with our official fanfic spokesperson… Gimli!

Gimli says: Read this or you will bear my child!

Eye on the Prize

Act IX: As Slimy as Tongues Go

The winter had been long and hard, but the approach of spring left its mark of deep, hopeful anticipation in the people of Rohan. The beauty of the afternoon sun rising high above Middle-Earth inspired all who felt her greatly-missed warmth to reach new creative levels. One such inspired individual sat high atop the golden thatched roof of Meduseld, the dwelling place of Théoden, King of the Mark. He was dressed all in black and sensually strummed a finely polished ukulele… (To the tune of: "So Early in the Morning" ):

'Éowyn has some mighty fine thighs, mighty fine thighs, mighty fine thiiiiiiiighsss…'

He paused in his art when something moving across the plains beyond the wall of the city caught his attention. He squinted to get a better look. Two horses were galloping hard toward Endoras.

'Oh ho!' The black clad figure looked harder. There were indeed three riders in total - one horse bearing two. So, he thought, they all escaped unscathed… I'm hardly surprised.

Suddenly a near by window opened with a bang to reveal a fuming Éomer. 'Stop singing about my sister you prick!' He whipped a rock at the man, knocking him off the roof.

'AIEEEEE!'

***

It took a while, but the three companions were finally permitted to pass through the gates after much insisting that they had been invited by Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, himself. In the end though, the only real factor that had counted in their permission to enter was that they had Rohan stallions with them. It was with tearful good-byes that they bid farewell to Hasufel and Arod, for they had grown attached to the fine horses. Hasufel comforted a sobbing Boromir by patting his shoulder while the man adamantly promised to keep in touch.

Shortly thereafter they stood before The Golden Hall of Meduseld. 'I will ride ahead and meet you within the courts of Edoras,' Gandalf's parting words echoed in Aragorn's mind. The wizard had implied that there was work here he needed to attend with great urgency, and now that they had arrived they were ready to aid in any way they could. The first course of action would be for them to announce their arrival to Théoden, the King of the Mark, and all around head honcho. That was the easy part, for Boromir was there - even if the guards were skeptical to Aragorn and Legolas, they couldn't ignore the son of Denethor. After that, they'd surely be reunited with Gandalf.

The travelers climbed laboriously up the stone staircase - the long horse ride from daybreak onward had done them in - and came upon the doorway where beyond resided the Lord of the Mark. Tall watchmen stood before the wood carved doors, clad in shimmering armor. Like most that dwelt there, they were fair-haired and pale eyed. Almost too pale, Aragorn thought, does the light here deceive me or do their eyes have a glazed and misty fashion to them?

He shrugged the thought aside. It didn't matter. Finally they were all gathered at the top and awaited the official greeting procedure from the guards- where they would turn the hilts of their swords to them in a token of peace and then ask them to state their business.

But nothing happened.

'This is a rude and sorry bunch.' Boromir whispered. Legolas' elbowed him to be silent.

Aragorn took it upon himself to communicate between them. 'Hail and many greetings to you, we are comers from afar…'

'Go away and come back tomorrow.' said one of the guards curtly, fingering the green gem of his sword hilt in a slightly threatening way.

This startled Aragorn. The men at the city gates he could understand, but surely Gandalf had informed these men of their arrival, hadn't he?

Must have slipped his mind, Aragorn muttered to himself. Then aloud, 'We've come a long way and we need to speak with…'

'I don't care if you've come from across the ocean itself, go away and come back tomorrow.'

Again Aragorn noticed the cloudy look in the men's eyes. Something was amiss. He edged forward ready to throw the weight of his many infamous titles around to simplify things. 'I don't think you understand the importance of our presence. It is with great speed that we must consult with your Lord, for I am…' but before he'd taken another step the men all drew their swords in crisp unison. It looked as if things would turn nasty any second, and Legolas' urgent tug at Aragorn's sleeve prompted him to just accept it and walk away. 'Or… or we could come back tomorrow. Tomorrow's good too.'

Boromir remained where he stood even as the other two turned and walked briskly back down the stairs. He wore a look of confusion, glancing at the doors they should have walked through, and the retreating backs of his friends. It was all quite frustrating. In the end he gave the guards a dark, menacing look, full of promise that their insolence would be severely punished. They returned the gaze with a cold, empty indifference as Boromir ran after the others.

He caught up to Aragorn, grabbing the man's shoulder to halt him. 'Why don't you just tell them who we are?'

'I tried,' said the Ranger distractedly. 'They were looking for any excuse… Legolas, what did you feel?'

The Elf's fair face was twisted in an expression of nervous apprehension, and he brought a long, slender hand up to scratch at the back of his head as if to ward off the feel of watchful eyes. 'They had the look of men bewitched. I fear that if we'd revealed our true identities they'd have taken measures to ensure that we never get in. Or, for that matter, out of this land alive.'

The two men let his words sink in. Aragorn made an irritated 'tch'-ing noise and continued to walk down the stone steps away from the Golden Hall. He couldn't sarcastically imagine a more perfect situation to be stuck in. Provisions were low; they'd barely taken anything on their hasty chase of the Uruks through Rohan, aside from some serious necessities. The three were extremely weary and hungry. They needed the King of the Mark's approval to legally stay within the rural city, but they'd been ever so politely instructed by the guards to wait until the morrow. One needed local currency to purchase food and secure a place to stay for the night… but they couldn't get a single coin without - once again - the King of the Mark's approval to legally stay in the city. Aragorn supposed if worse came to worse he could resort to bartering… but one quick look at his companions changed his mind. None of them really had anything worth bartering… on a wholesome level anyway.

If only Gandalf were with them…

As if reading his thoughts, Boromir stopped mid-step and angrily raised a gloved fist. 'Well if they won't treat lords of our races as such, let's see how they respond to a wizard's threat!'

'Boromir wait!' But Aragorn's shout went unnoticed by the Gondorian who raced back up the steps with a look of grim determination. He slammed up onto the top stair and strode across the stone porch under the wooden arches to face the surly doorkeepers once again.

'If you do not let us pass to see the King, our friend Gandalf, yes GANDALF, will see to it that-' he blanked on the creation of a decent threat '- erm… you suffer the wrath of very bad things.'

One of the men, a craggy gentleman in his mid fifties with a nasty scar connecting the corner of his lip to one ear, showed a hint of recognition at the name. 'Gandalf? Gandalf……… Ooooh yes! Elderly chap. Long beard, wears a pointy hat?'

Boromir nodded, 'Yes, that's right!'

The man's expression clouded over again. 'Never heard of him.'

***

Nighttime drifted through the still frost-lined windows of a large tavern called "The Hallucinatory Horse". High-spirited laughter accompanied with merry songs gave the place a very different feel from another certain equine-related pub in Bree. The young serving maids too showed no fear of the men there, chatting openly and earnestly, giggling happily, and rushing about in a twirl of uniformly blue skirts. Despite the number of serving girls, the owner of the tavern, Blom by name - though it hardly matters because after this chapter he'll never be referred to again - carried about a mug of ale for the refills himself, as he thoroughly enjoyed associating with his customers. Almost as much as he enjoyed all matters of news and gossip. He was a small, jolly fellow. No, he wasn't a dwarf or a hobbit; just an honest to goodness vertically challenged man. An apparent rarity in Middle-Earth. His was a good tavern indeed. Despite the threat of danger that always dwelt so near to Rohan, its people were genuinely at ease… or as close to it as they could be in such times.

Amidst the merriment sat three sulking characters. They were like black holes, sucking in all the light and joy about them, all the while brooding, and brooding, and brooding some more. They'd been ordering water, because it was free, in an attempt to avoid being kicked out for loitering sooner than they could help it.

'Don't worry,' Aragorn said to a crestfallen Legolas and Boromir, 'he'll be here.'

But there was no sign of Gandalf.

The hazy smoke-filled atmosphere stung at Legolas' sensitive Elven eyes, but he continued to gaze about, desperately seeking their wizard friend. A crackling fire gave the room a warm, dark-orange colour complimented by shadows that played off the wooden floors and oaken walls. If anywhere, Gandalf would surely be found sitting in one of those cozy armchairs, puffing away on a pipe, watching the dancing flames. No such luck though, even Legolas' eyes couldn't find what wasn't there. Time and time again during his frequent room scanning, he would make eye contact with a pale figure that occupied the dark corner across the room. When this had happened a fifth time, he turned to Aragorn - the unspoken group leader.

'There's a man there, he sits in the corner where the lamps have run dim - no don't look yet!' he snapped this at Boromir who'd risen out of his seat part way, straining to catch a glimpse of the man. '… he's watching us ever so intently.'

Aragorn scratched at his chin then casually turned his head in the direction the Elf had indicated. It only took him an instant to take in all the physical characteristics of the figure. A white, waxy face bordered by a tangle of black hair. Two watery and sickly blue eyes staring. They were dangerous eyes. One pale, thin hand nursed a clear goblet filled with a thick red liquid; the other slowly played about with a jagged-edged knife that had presumably been used to dig into whatever had been on his nearly empty plate. Roast sheep, Aragorn idly thought to himself. It seemed to be the night's specialty, the scent of it maliciously mocking his taste buds.

He turned back to his companions, keeping his body language neutral. 'I've never met him. But that doesn't mean he's ignorant to our identities, as his spying seems to suggest. Let's see if anyone here knows who our lurking friend is, shall we?' Aragorn waited until Blom, the tavern owner, came near enough in his refill-rounds to be within arm's reach.

'Excuse me,' he gave the man's hat a tug to draw his attention. 'Who's that slimy looking gentlemen in the corner?'

Blom peered over at the aforementioned corner-dweller, then quickly turned back to Aragorn, dropping his voice in a conspiratorial manner.

'Oh, he's one of those high up bureaucratic political figures' he said moving on to tend to actual paying customers, '… around here… we call him "Wormtongue."'

'Wormtongue…' Aragorn mused. He closed his eyes and tried to see if that information meant anything to him. He began to fiddle with the handle of his sword, as all he was hitting was mental dead ends, when a fiendishly, quiet voice began to whisper his name.

Aragorn… Aragoorn… Aaaaraaagoooorrn… ARAGORN!

He snapped his clear eyes open and turned to the door. He made a bizarre noise of terror in his throat - 'GLZEK!' - and dove under the table.

Boromir, puzzled by the reaction, looked to see what had startled the Ranger. The main entrance was on the far side of the tavern and a cool draft was coming from the open wooden doors, which were still being held by a - very female - figure. The smoke that filled the air gave her an ethereal look, as did the lanterns outside which back lit her crystalline white dress. Boromir recognized her instantly. With great speed Éowyn, Lady of Rohan and sister of Éomer, streamed over unnoticed by the other patrons to the table where they were sitting. Boromir quickly hid his face in the menu so that when she finally arrived it was only Legolas who curiously met her searching gaze. The woman sighed disappointed at loosing sight of her quarry and moved on through the smoky pub.

Boromir put down the menu then spoke in a rather suggestive manner to Aragorn who still lay hidden and shivering under the table.

'Hmm… didn't know you'd been to Rohan recently.'

'I haven't! That's the scary part!' he poked his head out to make sure the coast was clear. 'We've never formally met. She must have heard of me, and in turn I've heard of her.'

'Right, right.' said Boromir unconvinced. '……… so how far'd ya get with her?'

'!?'

'Aw come on, you can tell me, we're both Lords of Gondor, we can keep secrets!'

He was cut off by a hiss from Legolas. 'He's leaving!'

Boromir stopped his teasing to watch Wormtongue gather his black robes to himself, get off his chair, sidle out from behind his cramped table and briskly exit the still open doors. At his departure the temperature in the room seemed to raise a tad.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. 'Right. We follow.'

'Indeed.' said Boromir rising to his feet, 'But first…' he dashed over to the abandoned table and began downing the left-over broth and the bread crusts, then he started gnawing on the mutton bones.

'Stop that!' cried Legolas tugging on his arm. 'Boromir stop it, its so demeaning! I said stop it!'

***

There was a biting chill to the air, and pale steam rose from the mouths of the few people still about, rushing to get home to their warm beds. Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas peered around a stack of wood piled up to the side of the well-used earthy street. They watched Wormtongue stride along the path and disappear around a corner.

'Ha ha! Doesn't expect a thing!' said Boromir.

'Yes he does, didn't you notice him slow down considerably before he turned? It's like he wants us to follow.' replied Legolas. 'Very curious.'

They left the lumber pile and sprinted, cautiously, to the edge of the corner they'd seen him vanish behind. Legolas stealthily moved ahead and peaked around the wall to check for danger. All he saw was the black clad figure disappear around another corner.

'This feels like a trap.' he murmured.

'The sooner we catch up to him the sooner we can be sure.' replied Aragorn.

The others nodded and resumed the quiet pursuit. The chase went on for the better part of ten minutes, Wormtongue always just turning the corner of an alley they entered. They were being led blindly around a maze of wood and thatched buildings that made up the Rohirrim housing district. Finally when their patience had run out and the three travelers were ready to just sprint for it and grab the jerk, the pursuit came to an end. For one, they were facing a dead-end. For another they were also facing forty-seven bitter and well-armed men. Wormtongue was nowhere to be seen.

A gruff voice spoke to them from amongst the mass of brigands. '"Make sure their bodies are never found" that's our orders.' More men were descending from the rooftops above on ropes. Aragorn finished the count at fifty-three.

The voice came again, coming closer as a giant, burly figure walked to the head of the group. 'I'm the leader of these swab-buckets, Grufvoice D'man.' He stepped forward cockily to where he could see them clearly. The man, definitely the leader from his stereotypical gang-boss attitude and attire, let out a loud guffaw. 'What, these are the guys we're supposed to mess?' he turned back to the rest of the leather-clad ruffians, 'Hey ladies! Looks like we got worked up for nothing. I'll buy lunch for whoever brings me the blond one's head in ten seconds!'

Legolas shifted his hips into a more battle ready stance, but kept his arms at his sides. There was no doubt he'd be able to draw and shoot at an instant's notice, but the warrior within him suggested he test out the situation before rushing to finish it. Aragorn heard him mutter, 'After taking out all those Uruk's back at the river it'd be embarrassing if we lost to these guys.'

'Don't kill them,' came the Ranger's steady voice in the dark, 'just aim to maim.'

Boromir grinned, a gloved hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. 'Ooh, a handy cap, eh?'

'No. Our quarrel is not with men; it's with far fouler beings. Besides, these fools don't stand a chance… ELENDIL!'

The last was a roar, as he drew forth Andúril and threw himself at the leader of the ruffian gang. In that split second of surprise the man received a crushing blow to his temple from the hilt of the blade and sagged. The downed man's companions regained their composure far more quickly though, and Aragorn found himself amidst a swirl of flashing knives and swinging fists, all the while shouting, 'Elendil! Elendil!'

Boromir, fired up and eager, dove into the mass and soon bodies were flying everywhere. Having no real use for his bow just yet, Legolas relied upon hand to hand combat. He punched an aggressor hard in the nose, grabbed the man's knife, and ducking a very near decapitation attempt drove the wicked metal weapon into another man's foot. From his position on the ground he swung his legs around, connecting hard with nearby shin's and kneecaps. Ragged but sinewy figures tried to crush down on him but the Elf was too swift, his lithe figure always just out of reach. The whole situation felt oddly like a game to Legolas, and he had to remind himself to take it more seriously. Up above and somewhere to his right he distinctly heard shouting. It was Boromir.

'CHARGING STAR!' The Gondorian held his circular shield in front of him and plowed through the denser part of the mob. They were too clumsy in their numbers, tripping all over each other trying to reach the three targets. Boromir continued to crush the groaning, angry men against the wall he had backed them into when he heard the ominous creak of a bowstring from behind and above. He turned to see a rooftop enemy archer silhouetted against the moon. The bolt was aimed at him.

'SHIELD SLASH!' With another ridiculous announcement of his special-moves, Boromir lifted his shield, spun, and whipped it discus-like at the potential assailant. It struck the ruffian in the chest who let out a loud 'WHOOF!' as the wind was forced out of him and toppled forward onto some of the men Aragorn had been fighting, knocking them out cold. Aragorn, slightly scraped and veeery sweaty looked up to grin at Boromir, but the man had already launched himself into another insane barrage.

'FINAL JUSTICE!' pow kappo pow pow pow bam bambam baram bam smack crack slam crack clunk rip clank BOOM!

Aragorn was impressed. 'Well if that don't beat all.' He glanced to his left as seven ruffian men tried to sneak up on him. He rolled his eyes, then got back into the heat of things, 'SWORDY SLASH!'

'Hmm…' Legolas began lobbing arrows to pin several attackers by their sleeves and collars to a large wooden board propped up against the wall, 'ARROW SHOOT!'

It just wasn't the same.

'Aww.'

The Elf jarred as he felt pressure suddenly shove up from behind. He found himself back to back with Boromir.

'Ugh,' Boromir gasped between heavy breaths, '… this is getting us nowhere! They're too numerous, we'll have to start killing next. Wait a minute… Legolas!'

Legolas gave a noncommittal reply to show he was listening.

Boromir looked quickly over his shoulder at him. 'Blind them with your Super Sindarin Level Two Soul-Flash Spectacular!'

'Blind them with my what-what what-what!?'

'You know… the way you Elves are supposed to be able to "become alight with the power of your very beings" and what not?' He began to tense up; they were now in the middle of an advancing circle of unhappy faces wielding heavy maces.

'Well I suppose,' came the musing response. '"Super Sindarin Level Two Soul-Flash Spectacular", of all the stupid - all right then!'

He jumped.

The advancing men froze in their places to see the inhuman display of agility. One minute he was on the ground, then in the air, then landing neatly on an upright barrel behind them.

Legolas brushed lazily at his sleeves, made sure that they were all paying attention to him, and then in a mighty voice cried, 'BEHOLD!'

Suddenly he flared - bright, beautiful, and terrible. The splendor of his Elven spirit revealed in a white light that shone through him as if through a veil. Then his hair turned black and spiky - believe it or not. All were blinded in awe except for Aragorn, who'd built up tolerance from hanging around his female-significant Arwen all the time. And so he went around and bashed all the brigands in the head with his sword hilt until none but Boromir (though he almost accidentally clubbed him too) and he himself remained of the standing men.

Legolas surveyed them coolly, then withdrew the light back into himself. He smiled at them, regular Elf visage restored, then jauntily hopped off the barrel. Once again they'd survived against painfully ridiculous odds. Aragorn surveyed the area crowded with unconscious bodies, then gave a nod of approval. 'Well, we've dealt with the entrées, but where has our main course disappeared off too?' Starvation was starting to make him talk stupid.

Boromir walked up to the nearest pile of bodies, shoved a hand in, and pulled out a beaten down, semi-conscious ruffian. 'Where's the man who hired you?' he demanded, 'Tell me or I'll east your esophagus.'

While Boromir interrogated the man, Aragorn began to rotate the kink out of his right shoulder. He loosened his vest to let the night air cool him. Legolas prowled around the alleyway, curious to see if there had been witnesses. Strangely enough, there weren't. But with the noise they'd all undoubtedly made just now he was sure that spectators were going to come very soon. He paused when something near the dark lip of the alley caught his attention - a different shade of black trying to remain still and hidden within the darkness there. Aragorn walked over to the Elf, sheathing his sword, and was about to say something when Legolas let two arrows fly into the shadows with astounding speed.

'GYAAAAH!'

Boromir dropped his victim at the sound and ran to join his comrades. 'What-'

'I've only pinned him by the sleeves.' Legolas said. 'I think we've found our mysterious antagonist.'

As if on some dramatic cue, the moon rose a little higher in the sky, and faintly illuminated the figure of a man dressed in black. In was Wormtongue.

'Look,' he stammered in a whinny voice, 'if this is about me eating and running, I just want to defend myself now by saying that the mutton was definitely not worth the price you charged for it.'

'I thought it was alright…' argued Boromir in a hurt tone, but Aragorn cut in.

'Don't pretend you don't know us, or that we don't know that you know that we know that you know who we are!'

The other three tried to unsuccessfully work this out in their heads.

Aragorn tried again. 'We only followed you as a caution, curious as to why you were watching us at the "The Hallucinatory Horse". That you sent a gang of ill-mannered men to finish us off clearly affirms my suspicions that you have some reason for not wanting us to be here.' He firmly seized the collar of Wormtongue's robes in each hand. 'Tell me why.'

Though undoubtedly terrified, the greater fear of his cruel employer kept his usually slippery worm-like tongue silent.

After regarding the man for a moment, Aragorn lifted his brows and spoke with quiet menace. 'Your silence comes too late, I'm afraid. For the moment you opened your mouth I knew I recognized your voice from somewhere. You were the figure in black standing beside the wizard Saruman. You were there when we made our… detour… to Orthanc. I'm sure of it.'

Boromir and Legolas blinked. As usual, Aragorn never failed to amaze them.

'And what if I am!?' Wormtongue exploded in a spray of spittle. He'd been uncovered, so there was no need for caution anymore. 'It only ensures that I'll survive in the end of all this! Me! I may be a witless minion, but better a living lapdog then a dead hero! These lands will soon fall under the might of the White Hand, the Ring of Power will be his, and Saruman the Great will destroy you all!'

'I find that unlikely,' came a kindly, old voice from behind them. Wormtongue shrieked and the three companions quickly turned to see…

'…Saruman's hardly great by any stretch of the imagination.' Gandalf, cloaked in grey, stood there with his staff in one hand, spotlighted by moonbeams.

'GANDALF, WHERE…!?'

'Just undoing the mischief caused by this ground crawler here.' He finished casually for Aragorn, gesturing at the cowering figure in black.

Legolas brushed a strand of hair behind one pointed ear then turned his eyes up to meet Gandalf's sharp, clear gaze. 'How did you find us Gandalf?'

'Simple!' chuckled the usually enigmatic wizard, 'I saw your Super Sindarin Level Two Soul-Flash Spectacular.'

Boromir snickered at the look on Legolas' face.

***

Once again they found themselves at the base of the stone stairway to Meduseld.

Boromir turned to Gandalf. 'Are you sure we can go up now? It's not tomorrow yet, and the guards were pretty persistent…'

'I'm sure they'll be in a much kinder mood to you now that there is no witchery fogging their minds,' said Gandalf giving the hood of Wormtongue's robe a meaningful and none to gentle tug. 'In fact on that note, I have things to discuss with our friend Gríma Wormtongue here -' the captured man began to gibber '- so you three go on ahead.'

Even stiffer than before from the fierce battle, the Elf and two Men painfully dragged themselves bodily up the stairs, ending with a wheezing sprawl on the top porch. The same watchmen from before looked curiously at each other before a few walked over to help the travelers to their feet.

'Hail, comers from afar.' said the man who helped Aragorn rise, 'I am Háma the Doorward of Théoden.' One look told the Ranger that Gandalf was right. The cloudiness was gone from their eyes, only the sharp, scrutinizing mistrustfulness expected of a palace guard remained.

Once everyone was in a - at least semi - standing position, Háma and the others returned to their position before the doors. 'I am afraid that you cannot enter though. You will have to tarry till the morrow.'

Boromir groaned. Despite the fact that the guards were more polite then they had been that afternoon, the situation was still the same. Homeless and penniless.

'Look,' said Aragorn growing desperate, 'I know it's late in hour but once you tell Lord Théoden of our presence I am sure he will be ready to welcome such friends…'

'Friends eh?' said Háma. 'Well armed strangers you are to my eyes.' He looked to Aragorn, the Lórien cloak closed about him to ward off the chill night air. 'And what do you have hidden under your cloak, "friend"?'

Aragorn gave a frustrated huff, tossed aside the cape, and drew his sword for them to see. 'Just as its wielder has many a name, so does the blade. For this was Narsil, the blade broken, it became Andúril, the blade re-forged, and it will soon be Mârdil, the sword I'll have to pawn to keep myself from STARVING IN ROHAN!'

'He's got a point,' said Boromir irritably. 'So little hospitality towards us, even in such times as these, is ridiculous! Do you not know who we are? I myself is… wait… I myself AM Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur son of Elendil in the line of kings!'

The guards gasped and their eyes widened at the names. They had been amazed enough to be before Boromir, but the heir of Isildur? One of the old royal line? It was at this point, while the men were still in awe, that Gandalf entered the scene with a defeated looking Wormtongue. The wizard gave a knowing smile to Boromir who waited for the expectant hush to announce, '… and Gandalf the wizard stands before you now!'

Stunned silence on the part of the guards.

Boromir grinned in triumph. He had gotten through to these lugs after all! In the most effective way too. He caught Legolas' slightly miffed look and then hastily went on to finish the introduction. 'And this is just some pointy-eared jerk who follows us around all the time.'

There was a nasty screeeeeach that came from Legolas' teeth grinding together in fury. Patience me, he thought to himself, The insufferable human will pay soon enough.

He then set about trying to make Boromir explode with his mind powers.

To be continued…

KT SHY: Yeaaaaaah, I'm getting lengthier aren't I? Eeeeeeee! Ooh! Notice how the total number of ruffians matches the number of reviews? Yee heee heee. On a different note, I'm having a bit of a dilemma because there is SO much that the Tall Troop needs to do but I should get back to Sauron and the Small Troop as well. What do you think? Had enough of the Tall Troop for now or are you still craving more Bori, Leggy, Aragorny action? Ohhh, its crazy rain tonight… sounds like claws are raking across my roof…..got off topic. As always, if you've read this far please review, it's a nice treat for KT… oh and Shagster, mustn't forget about him must we precious?