KT SHY: Yeah haw! This fic here be movin' into the double digit chapters yer' varmints! This calls for a celebration! Gasp! Sixty reviews… (choke)… (sob)… I lurv you guys ^_____________________________________^
To gandolegornliodorypinieieta it gladdens my heart that you're on my side! You show those Eye-on-the-Prize despisers what for! Pistachio Torte, (what a delicious name!) thank you for joining us, I hope you and your sister stay satisfied with my output of ficcy-ness! Eve of Mirkwood glad to see you back and 'hungry' for more hee hee! To Sara, thanks! I try to outdo myself with each new act! Great to see you again Starbrat you lil' deary you! i48 nice to meet you and I'm very glad to have made your first LOTR fanfic reading experience a good one! I sure hope you stick around for future chapters! YunSuks ChunSah I'm not sure which reviewer you are but thank you for bringing this lost lamb to our EOP cult, hee hee hee! -____- And to SpamWarrior! Wow! Your review really brought a bashful smile to my face! I'm happy to know I'm not committing historical and canonical atrocities, as I so enjoy writing this fanfic! And I hope you all continue to enjoy reading it!
Shagster: (free style rap promotion of this fic)
This episode you guys are in for a treat!
How much of a treat?
Well count the toes on your feet.
Multiply it by the lines on the street.
Add the square root of any people you meet.
Now sit down in your seat…
and…
yeah…
Eye on the Prize
Act X: Preparation H: Helms Deep
'I know but can it be fixed?' Saruman's deep baritone echoed off the walls of his inner Orthancian chamber.
'Weeeeeell, tha's the problem ya see.' Though the Palantír on its marble dais was well passed shoulder height, the repairman still managed to give Saruman a hearty view of his ass. 'You could just replace it with a new one, ya know.'
'Buh-tch-guh- do you realize how much those cost!?' Saruman waved his arms around frantically to emphasize the point.
'Well get a new one or don't, either way I get paid by the hour and so far its costing you seventy-two coppers.'
'Ilúvatar dammit!'
***
The doors slammed shut with a roaring echo that filled the long dark hall. Small fires were lit on low oil filled basins for warmth, which resulted in an overkill of smoke that curled around the stone columns and gave the room a hazy look. Gandalf lead the Tall Troop and a downcast Wormtongue to the far end of the room where a small set of stairs ascended to an ornately carved wooden throne. A man dressed in fine fur robes paced anxiously before the throne. He was white-haired and tall with a regal, powerful air about him, but had the look of a man only just recently recovered from a taxing illness. His pale eyes lit up when he saw Gandalf, ivory Wizard-staff tap, tap, taping across the floor.
Gandalf threw aside his tattered grey cloak to reveal the snow-white garments beneath. One gnarled hand was fastened securely to Wormtongue's shoulder as he addressed the Lord of the Mark. 'I have found your rogue advisor, Théoden King.'
Wormtongue grinned sheepishly, the fear of Eru apparent in his eyes, which kept darting to the door behind him. 'M..my lord… you look well.'
'No thanks to you, you rotten dirt eater!' Théoden snarled. 'One of you hold him, I've got this strong urge to deliver some major smack down!'
Wormtongue tore away from Gandalf in horror and threw himself behind one of the columns, trying to keep as much distance between himself and the enraged monarch as possible. Háma and the rest of the guards approached slowly, unsure of how dangerous the man could be when cornered. Things looked to be slowly gaining in favour of the guards when the main door of the hall burst open with a bang.
Éowyn stood there, panting heavily and cheeks flushed from running. 'My Lord! My Lord! The guards say that my brother has been locked in the dungeons by order of Gríma Wormtongue…'
She suddenly noticed Théoden 's tall posture and froze in her wonderment. This surely couldn't be the same man who's side she had momentarily left that evening after supper! Wasn't he nothing but a mumbling shadow then of what stood in his place now? 'Oh Uncle!' she beamed, 'you're well!'
Gandalf began to shout out a warning but it was too late, Wormtongue closed the distance with a slithering fluidity and seized the maiden, one arm wrapped around her slender waste and the other brandishing a small knife to her soft neck. She opened her mouth but no sound came from within.
He had to stop himself from trembling at the nearness of her. The sweet scent of her hair. The warmth of her skin under his cold grasp. Of course Wormtongue had no intention of killing her, how could he? How could he harm this woman whom he sought so relentlessly… even if only in his deepest thoughts and darkest dreams. But they didn't know that.
Everyone in the room froze, starring horrified at the sight of the delicately pale woman held at the mercy of the black clad devil.
Aragorn heaved a sigh. He knew exactly how this would turn out. He'd seen it enough times to recognize the scenario. He'd end up saving her and then she would be even more infatuated with him… if that were possible. But there really wasn't a choice… so he began to draw his sword…
Éowyn suddenly let out a macho guttural battle cry that stunned them all, and slammed the back of her head into her captor's face. Wormtongue cried out in pain and let go, both hands cupping at the blood spilling freely from his broken nose. Éowyn used the opportunity to punch him hard in the stomach and when he fell to the ground she proceeded to drop kick him.
Everyone else just stared, stunned. Andúril slipped from Aragorn's fingers and slid easily back into its sheath.
The sound of sliding steal snapped Théoden out of the stupor and his face contorted to one of indescribable rage. He stalked forward, drawing his own blade, it shrieked gratingly against its jewel-encrusted scabbard. 'Wasn't it enough, your emaciation of me? Now you feel the need to attack my poor, defenseless sister-daughter as well!?'
Boromir wisely drew Éowyn away by the hand as her uncle bore down on Wormtongue.
'How dare you sully her with your filthy hands!' Théoden raised his sword upward intent on driving it down and seeing how many chunks he could slice his treacherous consultant into when Aragorn leapt forward and grabbed his arm.
'No my Lord!'
Théoden struggled against the "younger" man. 'Guh… Aragorn… erf… now is NOT the time to decide you want to be a pacifist!'
'But he doesn't have to die my Lord! ………………………………… There's always the cactus patch!'
***
'Alright then. Just sign here pal.'
He did so, and the delivery guy looked at the signature - "Saruman the Many Coloured" - and at the plain white robes the Wizard wore. He lifted an eyebrow.
'Just give me the DAMNED RECEIPT!' Saruman raged, frightening the portly delivery guy into doing just that and then racing out of Orthanc in faster time than he had gotten there.
Saruman growled. The nervous twitch going off insanely by his left eye. He tore open the package, removed the bubble wrapping paper - after snapping a few, because no one can resist it - and gently lifted out…
'Ahhh… perfection.' He placed the new and improved Palantír on a black stone pedestal and grinned when it flashed to life. He placed an elegant alabaster hand over its smooth surface and closed his eyes. An Eye wreathed in flame filled the whole of his mind.
'What does Sauron, Lord of the Rings and all Middle-Earth command of me?'
Low rumbling like the slow churning of stone echoed throughout the chamber. Then a rich, dark voice spoke.
Build me an omelet worthy of Mordor…
A few hours later found Saruman curled up in his throne, rocking back and forth on his heels and mumbling to himself. One of his orcs entered the chamber;
'What news from Mordor my lord?' he asked with typical nosiness, 'What does the Eye command?'
'I don't know,' Saruman sobbed, 'I JUST don't know!'
***
The noon day sun sat high in the air, casting bright rays upon the tiny caravan making its way across the plane slightly southward and to the west, for there lay the Cactus Patch of Eorl, founded many long years ago for reasons now forgotten. Théoden sat grim faced at the front of the head wagon, discussing political matters with Gandalf. Boromir, Legolas and a newly released-from-prison Éomer sat at the back of that wagon, the two Men catching up on old times. In the second wagon sat Aragorn (smoking off his left lung) and a host of soldiers, guarding the cage that was tied to the back of the wagon as it bumped along the road. Wormtongue alone occupied the cage, shouting profanities at anyone within hearing range. Behind the two wagons walked many Rohan village people, coming along to see the spectacle. The fact that they found such things entertaining proved once again the universal boredom of Man.
A slight movement beside him caused Aragorn to look to his right. He nearly swallowed his pipe when he saw it was Éowyn. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms smoothly wrapped around them. Aragorn's brain went spastic.
GYAAAAH! Okay, okay. Quick, think up innocent conversation that won't lead this down the wrong road.
'You handled your capture back there with admirable skill.' he began, lazily taking the ornate pipe from his mouth, 'It takes a certain type of bravery for a woman to lash out so desperately at risk to her own life.'
The woman smiled slightly, her grey eyes turning up to meet his. 'I just kept thinking, "if I die I won't see Lord Aragorn again".'
'Euuuuuhh…'
The wagon jarred as its driver halted the horses. Aragorn grabbed onto the sides for support while Éowyn tried hard to accidentally fall against him.
The soldiers hopped off and went around to retrieve Wormtongue while the crowd moved to the front to secure an excellent view of what would soon transpire.
The Cactus Patch of Eorl was perhaps three kilometers long in diameter and laden with prickly plants of all spiky shapes and sizes. When all were assembled, Théoden nodded to Éomer who drew forth a roll of parchment. He read from it in a clear, loud voice. 'Gríma son of Gálmód, you have been charged with high treason to Rohan. Through conspiring with the traitorous wizard Saruman you brought tragedy upon our land and served to weaken our King in a time of conflict where he is needed most.' He looked up at his uncle, standing stony faced, Gandalf at his side.
Éomer continued. 'Put on top of that the fact that you resisted arrest, sent a squad of ruffians to murder three political figures-' Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas growled at the memory '-had ME locked away under false pretense AND assaulted the Lady Éowyn-' sympathetic sounds rose from the crowd towards their beloved Lady, who pulled out a kerchief to dab at her eyes '- it's no cause to wonder why you now face a sentence of prickly doom!' he chucked the parchment behind him. 'Any last words before that sentence is carried out?'
'Yes.' spoke Wormtongue flatly. 'And my message is this…'
He disappeared within his large black robes and the guards who'd been holding him gasped. They didn't see him slip out the bottom and speed away with dark determination on his face. From his boot he drew a long, curved knife - 'Where does he keep getting those from?' muttered Legolas - and threw himself at Aragorn.
'Saruman knows who you think you are!' he screamed while swinging wildly, 'Isildur's heir will NOT rise to interfere with the might of Saruman and Sauron!'
Aragorn threw himself back but not before the blade grazed his chest, slicing at the cord he wore around his neck. The Evenstar glittered as it fell to the dusty ground, unnoticed as Aragorn and half-a-dozen armed men tackled Wormtongue into submission.
'Alright boys!' yelled Théoden, 'I think it's time to see some justice done!' The tangled heap of guards gave a muffled, approving response, hoisted Wormtongue up, ran to the edge of the pit, and chucked him in.
POINK!
'GYAAAAAHAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!' The force of the sharp prickles shot Wormtongue up, comically careening high into the air and out of sight. The crowd went wild with mad cheers, whistles and waving flags.
'I love it when they do that.' said Théoden, wiping a tear.
***
Saruman sat busy with intense concentration at the desk in his study. He gingerly lifted a card from its nearly spent deck and placed it atop the growing structure. He was going for the highest card tower record. Still being disgruntled at loosing the orc production contest to Sauron, he took solace in that he had the advantage at card towers because Sauron had no hands. He gazed in adoration at what he had accomplished. The dazed smile didn't even move when Wormtongue came crashing through the window and straight into the masterpiece. Cards scattered in every direction. Saruman's eye began to twitch again.
'That accursed Cactus Patch!' Wormtongue groaned while rubbing his soar legs and backside. He looked up. 'Oh master! Incredible, what were the chances that I'd end up landing in here?'
Twitch, twitch.
'At any rate, that meddling fool Gandalf has healed Théoden, Rohan is no longer under our- your control.' Wormtongue narrowed his eyes as he spoke, 'I also found out that that accursed Éomer destroyed the Uruk-Hai troop you sent that should have had the captive Ring-Bearer with them. He wouldn't give me details so I had him chucked into prison but I suspect that Rohan might have the Ring now. They also know without a doubt that you are their enemy now and… master? What's wrong with your eye? Wait… why are you looking at me like that? AUGHH! Master put your staff away! Ow! Argh! NOOOOOOOOO!'
***
'Ahhhhh, what a pleasant sunny day! There's nothing like a good Shrimming to brighten my mood.' Théoden took in a deep breath of clean air and grinned. The cart bumped along jauntily.
'Shrimming?' Bormir asked quietly, leaning over to Éomer.
'"Shrimming,"' said Éomer in the voice of a man reading a dictionary, '"the process of chucking unwanted persons like felons and old people into a pit full of prickly plant life."' He blinked, 'It's a Rohan tradition, when my time comes to take the throne it'll be my duty to toss the old codger in.'
'You say something sister-son?' said Théoden giving his nephew the death-glare.
Éomer flinched. 'Nothing, my avuncular patriarch.' Did he just call me "sissy son"?
'At any rate,' said Théoden with an arched brow, 'we will be returning to Meduseld momentarily. Go inform a rider to announce our return, sister-son.'
Éomer stood up and bowed, 'Yes, my lord.' There! He did it again!
Éomer hopped off the moving wagon and sprinted back along the squashy mud road to fetch a rider. This left Boromir and Théoden alone in the wagon. Boromir coughed, aware of the awkward silence. The stern King of the Mark slightly intimidated him, not to mention the fact that Théoden displayed open annoyance at Boromir's usual crowd-winning antics. He searched for something he could say to win over the older man's favour. He found it.
'Okay, two guys go to a bar, the first guy says…'
'FOOL!' shouted Théoden, 'I DESPISE BAR JOKES! If it weren't for your father Denethor, I'd so strangle you right here right NOW!'
Gandalf appeared out of nowhere, hopping aboard the wagon and laughing merrily, 'You'd be hard pressed to succeed in killing him Théoden King! This brave Gondorian is made of sterner stuff than you can imagine and most likely has a good hundred years still left in him!'
Suddenly a freak bolt of lightning cracked across the absolutely cloudless and sunny sky. Boromir groaned. He'd been on enough adventures to know dramatic foreshadowing elements when he saw them.
'Oh pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease let that one be for Legolas.'
***
When they returned to the palace everyone sat together to enjoy a late lunch of mouthwatering variety - Aragorn and Boromir especially since they hadn't eaten anything so good since their departure from Rivendell (Lothlórien didn't count because they were all vegetarians there. Tofu this and tofu that, it became quite tiring after a while). The senseless gorging was only momentarily halted when Théoden whapped a gristle covered fork against his goblet.
'A'ight feople,' he shouted, spraying his guests, 'Der's gonna ve a meefing (gulp) to discuss what it is we should do about the unavoidable onslaught of Saruman, that our most welcome friend Gandalf has warned me of. This council will take place (glomp) en der comfin room at der cashtle's lerft shide in fivge hoursh, rife beshore (garrrr) de shun shets. Doo shoo underfand?'
'Yesh!' shouted all the men present who were immediately involved, shooting chewed up food in every which direction. Legolas dropped his head onto the table and began openly sobbing at how disgusting the race of Men could be.
After the meal was finished and the servants started to shoo everyone out so they could start cleaning, Éowyn found herself roaming the halls looking for Aragorn who had some how been able to escape her somewhere in the crowd. He'd stubbornly avoided her and her tender mercies on the ride back from the Cactus Patch of Eorl, which hardly surprised her. She only wanted to make sure Wormtongue's knife hadn't hurt him but she knew how men could be, especially with her brother, who could have an arrow practically sticking out of his forehead and still assure her he was fine.
'Stupid male bravado, honestly.'
But, having nothing better to do she spent the afternoon searching for her wayward warrior. She came upon him unawares walking along the western corridor much later. Long shadows filled the hall from windows that lined the left-hand side - she had to squint against the bright setting sunlight as it glared through. Doors, brilliant banners, and carefully sculptured statues lined the right side. Moving swiftly and silently on her soft slippers she raced after Aragorn.
She opened her mouth to call his name, but it was a man's voice that said, 'Aragorn!' She froze in shock.
What the… I know that spicy food isn't too great for your voice but still! …
Then she realized that she had in fact not spoken. It was Legolas who had spoken, striding toward Aragorn on his long legs. She placed herself behind the stone statue of a rearing horse so that she would not be seen.
The fair-faced Elf began to speak words that she couldn't understand, and Aragorn responded in the same beautiful language. They spoke in a serious manner for a time. She then watched as Legolas held out his hand to Aragorn, opening it with slow deliberation. On his palm lay a white jewel, its beauty beyond compare. Even Éowyn had never seen anything so lovely, and she was a daughter of Kings. Aragorn's hand flew to his chest and he began to stammer. Legolas grinned at his reaction, looking Aragorn in the eye and speaking quietly. The Man, gently, endearingly, took the glittering gift into his own hand. A look of pure, boundless love lit his face as he gave a joyful cry and embraced the Elf.
Éowyn's jaw dropped. No, she thought, it couldn't be! Could it? No! I refuse to even think it! Yet in her heart she knew that Aragorn had been too perfect to be true. No! Shut up stupid narration shut up! Too perfect for any woman.
You knew he could never be yours.
She brought a hand to her throat, trying to stem the tears, but it was no use. She turned and fled the hall. Speeding around a corner she ran into something solid. Looking up through tear-brimmed eyes she saw that it was Boromir.
'Dear Lady, what ails you?' his voice was full of concern.
Éowyn broke down sobbing then, and the only word he could discern was "Aragorn."
He had no idea what brought about this drastic change in a Lady renowned for her cool, reserved demeanor. Did the Ranger have something to do with it? 'Where's Aragorn?' he asked, slightly suspicious.
He gently took her chin in his hand, lifting her down cast face so that she could see the sincerity in his own eyes. Two streams of tears fell down her cheeks. 'He… Lord Aragorn……. he has….. he has………………...he has fallen through the closet.'
(Cue theme song of Gandalf's fall from The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm on the FOTR soundtrack, available wherever good CDs are sold).
Boromir blinked. 'Eh?'
***What ACTUALLY happened***
The following dialogue has been translated from Elvish for your reading convenience. Enjoy.
Aragorn briskly walked through the halls, footsteps clacking on the stone underfoot. There was much urgency in that walk.
'Aragorn!' He paused upon hearing his name, then turned to see Legolas striding up to meet him. Legolas began to speak in his native tongue. 'I've been looking all over for you!'
'Ah! Well here I am.' He spread out his arms to emphasize the fact of his presence. 'But come, we've all been summoned to meet with Gandalf and Lord Théoden, were we not?'
'Yes, yes, but I need to talk with you before we go in.' the Elf's tone was serious.
'We need to discuss the inevitable war against Saruman, can what you need to say not wait?' Aragorn was rightfully a little testy. He was already late for the meeting because he'd been doing his best to avoid bumping into Éowyn all day. He was trying to live up to being "The Lost King" and all that, and being late for the meeting didn't do his image any favours.
'The way you say it makes me sound like I'm deliberately trying to waste your time. No, no, I suppose it can wait.' Then with forced casualness Legolas added, 'Oh, you seem to have dropped this by the way.' He held out his hand, opening it slowly to ensure a maximum expectation reaction from the Ranger.
On his palm lay the Evenstar.
Aragorn's hand flew up to his chest to where it should have been, but there was nothing there. With the recent hectic events he hadn't noticed its absence.
'Wha… how… when?' he decided on "when". 'When did I loose it!?'
Legolas grinned. He loved getting a rise out of Aragorn. It was so funny. He spoke softly though; knowing how important this was to the Man. 'Back at the Cactus Patch, Wormtongue cut it from you when he tried to take your life. In the scuffle that broke out nobody saw it. I did, but then again I was the only Elf present wasn't I?'
Aragorn gently, endearingly, took his beloved Arwen's gift in one rough, callused hand. It was so beautiful and pure, and when he looked into its depths it was almost like he was gazing into his princess' blue eyes once again. He loved her so much.
He looked up at Legolas, a mix of relief and happy memory lighting his own face. 'This is an unexpected but much welcome comfort! Thank you Legoals!' he threw his arms around the Elf. 'If she found out I'd lost it, she would have killed me!'
***
Éowyn's crying had ceased, but occasionally a sad sniffle would come from her curled up form. Boromir grimaced. His shirt was soaked from where she had buried her face earlier to hide her tears. He continued to comfort her, tenderly patting her back. He still had no idea what she was so upset about. They were sitting in the inner plantation sanctum of the palace… a Greenhouse absolutely polluted with the lovely smell of flowers and the singing of exotic birds. An orange glow filtered through the western window as the sun melted into the brown-green plains of Rohan. Boromir suppressed a yawn, which caused his eyes to water and his nostrils to flare. They'd been sitting there for hours.
Waitaminute, he thought suddenly, wasn't I supposed to be somewhere? Oh well, couldn't be too important a thing if I can't remember it.
There was a hiccup from the smaller form beside him.
'You know…' he began tentatively, 'I'm no expert, but I find that problems can feel better once they come out…' - she choked again - '… rather than being kept inside to simmer, if you know what I mean. Do you… want to talk about it?'
She gave a shaky breath. 'Well, how would you feel if the man you'd fallen in love with harbored affections for someone else?'
'Erm… I can't really comment seeing as how I've never fallen in love with a m-'
'Oh you know what I mean!' she snapped. As quickly as she'd said it she regretted speaking so harshly. He was only trying to help.
She lowered her head. 'Forgive my curtness, my Lord.'
'Meh, no biggy.' came the shrugging response.
'I suppose it's no secret that I've become slightly infatuated with Lord Aragorn.' she began again.
Boromir gave a polite cough.
'Okay, I'm OBSESSED! He so regal, so powerful, so compassionate, so heroic…' She sighed wistfully. 'I've never felt so about anyone, priding myself on steely resolve… but even the most hardened maid is allowed to have feelings, isn't she?'
'I gue…'
She plowed on, 'And when I went to go tell him of my feelings I saw something that wrenched my heart in two. Honorable Lord Legolas exchanging a pawn of doting splendor to Lord Aragorn which was received in emotive empathy and sealed in welcome enfolding!'
'Um…yes?' Boromir had no idea what she was babbling about.
She bit her lip, then tried again. 'Well, he gave him a gift of affectionate intention, which was returned in kind through deepest embrace.'
Boromir just nodded. Uncomprehending.
She flushed slightly and tried to be blunter. 'Lord Aragorn…he's… um… a "Man's man".
'Yes he's a great leader,' said Boromir finally satisfied that they were communicating on the same level. 'He'll lead us all to the White gates of Gondor. Have you ever been there?'
'No, but I…'
'They sound the horns with glowing fanfare. My father is a noble man…'
'Um, excuse me…'
'… his rule is failing and he looks to me to make it right…'
'BOROMIR!'
'Si?'
'HE'S A POOFTAH'!'
Something clicked in Boromir's head. 'Wait, you mean to say that you think he's-'
Éowyn cringed, slightly embarrassed, 'We'll what was I supposed to think? I mean-'
'No.' He shook his head solidly.
'Not even…?'
'Definitely not.'
'But it looked so much…'
'Absolutely not.'
'You don't suppose maybe…'
'Nope. No. No way……………………………. Never.'
Éowyn's face lit up then, grey eyes dancing. 'Oh Lord Boromir, you have no idea how happy I am to hear it straight from you! Oh what a daft little fool of a girl I've been. I must go to him! I must find my dear Lord Aragorn!' She pecked his cheek and then giddily pulled her skirts up around her legs and sprinted away at a break-neck pace. Banners ruffled in her wake.
The goofy grin of approval directed at her gorgeous gams slipped away as Boromir, still seated, gave an involuntary shudder. 'Man, I can't believe she thought he was openly flatulent…'
***
'… so be it.' concluded Théoden. 'I have taken all your council into consideration and my own as well. With the impending onslaught of Isengard we have no choice but to evacuate every last man, woman and child to our strong hold at Helms Deep. Go then, begin the round up. We leave tomorrow at dawn.'
And thus the meeting ended, everyone filing out into the hall to prepare for the leave taking. Gandalf could be heard muttering about the absence of Boromir who should have been present and Aragorn felt a little fearful for the Gondorian. The Wizard looked like he was ready to bite. Suddenly Aragorn heard his name being called. The voice caused him to freeze.
'Aragorn! Aragorn! Aragorn! Aragorn!' Éowyn dove at him, throwing her arms around his neck. 'It was all a misunderstanding you see! Oh how could I be so blind!'
Aragorn turned to Legolas, eyes begging for help, but the Elf pretended not to see him.
Éowyn smiled. He can be the one! He can, he can, and he can! He's perfect, just like I knew he would be, and he's all mi-
She was cut out of her inner monologue when she noticed something sticking out of the back of Aragorn's shirt. It was a tag; carefully stitched to the fabric in such a way that the wearer couldn't be aware of its presence. There were words on it … finely sewn in a dark blue thread. Éowyn read the inscription: "If you can read this you are too close to my man. Back off wench or I'll spend all my immortality making the rest of your mortality a living hell. ~ lurv Arwen Evenstar (Elf princess at large)".
Very rigidly, Éowyn loosed her hold on Aragorn, turned around stiffly, and stalked off with an almost mechanical quality to her walk. The Ranger was left standing all alone and confused in the hall. He scratched the back of his head. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and left as well.
***
Saruman was sitting at his clustered table, rummaging through dusty parchments and trying to make some sense of the mess, when Wormtongue came bursting in. Because of the black interior of Orthanc and the black material of the man's robes, Wormtongue's white face appeared to be floating like the specter of a severed head. The thought made Saruman snicker.
'The Men of Dunland, the Uruk-Hai and their evil offspring the Half-Orcs are outside the tower my lord, awaiting instructions on attacking Rohan…'
'Sssst!' Saruman waved his hands frantically and Wormtongue silenced. They both looked over at the Palantír. It sat there innocently enough. Saruman quickly grabbed a rag from his desk and draped it over the powerful sphere to ensure that no prying eyes, or Eye, spy upon them. In his haste however, he hadn't done as good a job as he had thought. A fold in the cloth just near the bottom left about an inch of black polished surface visible. And through it Frodo observed.
Saruman gave a quiet, relieved sigh then turned back to Wormtongue. 'There's not much for me to instruct, I ask only that they do what they do best. Rohan must fall, and I know that this mass of thousands cannot fail me. Théoden is useless to me now, his strings cut by that meddler Gandalf.' He spat the name out like a curse then crossed to the window surveying the massive army waiting outside. They cheered loudly when they saw his face peeking through the window and he gave them a little wave before he turned back to his wormy lackey.
'I took a chance in going against Sauron's will, sending my Uruk-Hai to bring me the Ring Bearer,' Saruman spoke to himself, but Wormtongue nodded and made sympathetic sounds anyway.
Saruman began to pace back and forth - a mad cheer coming from outside every time he passed the window. 'When I found out of their failure I thought I'd lost my chance, but providence smiles today. Now that the Ring is in Rohan, taken by the Rohirrim who slayed my Uruks, I have a chance to retrieve it. This army will strike hard and fast and put an end to all my worries. Théoden knows by know that I plan to attack. He will lead his people to the strong hold of Helms Deep. It must all end there, every last man, woman and child - there's little use in letting them live so they can oppose me again at a later date. No, the world of Man will end before the week is done.'
Saruman threw open the window completely so that the swarm of terrifying warriors outside could be seen, stretching from the tower to beyond the distant hills. It was beyond massive. 'I will see to it that Gandalf dies and stays dead and that his precious lost Dúnedain King of the Númenórian bloodline follows his lead. Then and only then can I carry on with my plans and Middle-Earth will at last be MINE!'
'Yes,' Wormtongue gave a singular giggle, 'and then I will take Éowyn to be my wife!'
'Who's doing what now?'
***
It was pure chance that Frodo was in the Palantír room, listening in when Saruman and Wormtongue spoke. As a rule he avoided the place but this one time he'd chosen it as his hiding spot. The reason for hiding was this:
A while back he had felt a tad bit warm and so got a couple of the Dark Tower orcs to come cool him off with large fans. However, since he was made entirely of flame this caused him to grow drastically to the point where Barad-dûr was very nearly burned down. The Witch-King had been chasing him around with a fire extinguisher for the better part of two weeks until he was more or less back to regular size.
Frodo didn't like the Witch-King much. Aside from the whole stabbing him with a Morgul blade and hence cursing him for all eternity way back when, he was the only citizen of Barad-dûr not won over by Frodo's hobbity charm. This miffed the hobbit-in-blazing-eyeball-body and put a slight dent in his self-confidence.
'Zis hardly matterz,' he said to himself in (our equivalent of) a German accent because it made him sound tough, 'Eet vill be only a matter of taime oontil he breaaaaaaks.'
But he'd gotten off topic again.
'?'
Saruman.
'Right.'
'War on Helms Deep. Bad. Friends are there. Good. But scary Gandalf-wannabe is sending villains there. Bad. Hmmmmm.'
It was time for Frodo to make use of what he had discovered (one day while bored) within this fiery alien cage of his. He drew his mind inward, shuddering at the darkness and detriment that dwelled within Sauron's "body", and down mental avenues and psychological alleyways. There. He touched upon a primal place set there before the Dark Lord's final creation. It was like a seed and he prodded it with his mind, coaxing it to grow…
***
In his candle-lit chamber the Witch-King was pouring over maps in preparation for the battle he would soon be launching. He suddenly looked up, writing-quill dripping with ink, halted mid word. 'Is it me or did it just get colder?'
***
It was a solemn procession that crossed beneath an overcast sky, fleeing from a stronghold no longer safe and towards another. Rohirrim soldiers rode at strategic parts of the column, sharp eyes ever watchful of the flat land around them. It was somewhere around seven in the morning and the grass was still wet with dew which soaked through the soft leather boots of the walkers but had no ill effect on the more important people who had horses of their own to ride. Éowyn rode upon a ruddy mare, chatting to a few of her handmaidens ridding beside her, breaths coming out in huge wafts of steam.
From the east came a biting wind carrying unseasonable frost. It found its way across and down the nape of every neck, stinging eyes and chapping unprotected hands.
Éowyn shivered. 'The cold seems to have crept back uninvited. And here I'd hoped spring had finally pushed back the relentless march of winter's chill.'
She blinked in surprise when she felt a soft, thick material drape around her shoulders. Boromir was there, wrapping his fur-lined cloak about her.
'My lord,' she stammered, 'thank you but it isn't necessary, I have my own…'
'I would be honored, dear lady, if you would wear it.'
Boromir smiled at her, and then pushed his horse forward to join Théoden at the front.
He was so handsome. So very gentleman like. Éowyn began to wonder why she hadn't noticed it before. She suddenly felt quite thankful for the chill, as it hid the blush that desperately tried to give her away.
Another cold breeze ripped across the plains slamming into Boromir. But he was in no danger of freezing… especially with the four dozen Rohirrim women fawning all over the handsome Gondorian, ready and willing to give up their cloaks at his slightest shiver.
And they say good looks aren't everything.
***
'…they also say that Sauron is trying to freeze the world.' Théoden said conspiratorially, raising a snowy eyebrow.
'Do they now?' said Gandalf, absentmindedly twirling at Shadowfax's mane with one long finger.
'Yes. They believe that the Eye has gone mad and wants now to destroy Middle-Earth rather than concur it… mind you they say the reasoning behind that is His fear of this Lost King of yours.' he nodded his head back at Aragorn who was half asleep in his saddle.
'It's not that I take the fears and superstitions of my people lightly,' Théoden continued, 'but now that we are on the run from our own land, they see everything as a herald of our end. Such as this blasted cold wind… as I've just mentioned.'
He gave a chuckle in spite of himself, but Gandalf wore a look of deep puzzlement, his eyes often moving to the eastern horizon. All it took was Boromir's galloping entrance to snap him back to the here-and-now. The Wizard swung his staff…
WHACK
'OW!' cried Boromir.
'Sorry, reflex.' Without Pippin around to vent on, Boromir was the next best thing.
The Gondorian eyed Gandalf cautiously, edging his horse backward and away from him. He found himself beside Aragorn. The two men rode in silence for a time until Boromir couldn't contain himself any longer.
'So………………………. what do you think of Éowyn?'
Aragorn winced, his eyes still closed. 'I try not to.'
'But it's an impossibility isn't it?' sighed Boromir happily, 'She's so fair. So light of step…'
Aragorn snorted, 'Which makes it almost impossible to detect her when you're fleeing for your sanity.'
Boromir however wasn't paying any attention to the Ranger. '…so soft of countenance…'
'So hard of hearing.'
'…beyond compare…'
'She's beyond comprehension too.'
'Fair of face.'
'Quick of pace.'
'Breathtakingly radiant.'
'Heart-achingly persistent.'
'And she's a nice dresser.'
Aragorn could see that this wasn't going anywhere. So he gave up. 'You know what Boromir? You're right, she is quite a catch. In fact she's just perfect for you.'
'Gosh, really?' Boromir gushed, 'Now I'm all embarrassed!' He playfully punched Aragorn, but being a very strong and well-muscled man, this knocked the Ranger off his horse.
The tussle that broke out because of this went unnoticed by Théoden who was watching one of his Scouts ride back to report; his steed huffing and frothing.
'My Lord,' the man said while saluting, his face pink and puffy 'there is rumor of a Warg patrol approaching from the west.'
'As is to be expected.' replied the King. The plains were dangerous at the best of times, especially now that there was no doubt as to Isengard's intentions toward Rohan.
But suddenly a fierce howling filled the air and an entire host of wild canine-riding orcs came swarming over the western ridge! The orcs squealed like demonic pigs at the sight of their prey, and urged the beasts they rode to move faster. The Rohirrim froze in their horror. Théoden rounded on the Scout. '"Rumor of a Warg patrol?" Buddy, you have a VERY loose grasp of the concept of a rumor doncha? I SLAP YOU SILLY!'
And so he did.
Children and adults alike began to wail in terror at the gradually approaching threat. Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn rode to join the Rohirrim warriors with Éomer (still standing because he refused to ride any horse but his own) at their front, waiting for their King's order. Théoden turned to Gandalf, desperation evident on his aging face. 'Gandalf, we will go to hold them off, but there may be traps ahead as well. Please, protect my people!'
Gandalf nodded, then raised his ivory staff high into the air, Shadowfax rearing. A relieved cry broke out amongst the people, 'Follow the White Wizard! He will protect us! Follow the White Wizard!'
Amongst the surge of people turning to follow Gandalf, Théoden could see one rider trying hard to reach him. Éowyn called to her King and Uncle, eyes hopeful.
Théoden groaned. He knew where this was going. She was in one of those I-can-do-anything-you-can-do-better moods again. His dearly departed sister's young daughter wanted a piece of the action.
But Gandalf reached out, snatching the reigns of her horse with surprising strength, and turned her about. 'I'll need you to help me lead your people to Helms Deep. I'm afraid I don't know the way so well.' He said this with a smile and Éowyn sighed, slightly disappointed. How could she possibly refuse? Throwing one last deploring look at her uncle she set about the task at hand.
Théoden let out a relieved sigh, that Gandalf's a crafty bugger, then turned to face his warriors. Their eyes were upon him, expectant. Théoden racked his brain for some awe-inspiring historically memorable speech to give them…
'Well? What are we waiting for? Lez' go!'
The responding battle cry was echoed by the nearing thunder of Warg-Riders. The Rohirrim charged with swords raised high in the air. Horses and fierce canines swarmed the plain, two loud waves of bloody intention. Time slowed and sped at the same time as the two forces collided, and real time was replaced with battle time.
***
Bodies crashed and writhed together in an orgy of death! Swords, arrows, axes, spears and socks with rocks in them were exchanged callously and indiscriminately at anyone looking remotely like an enemy. It wasn't long though before the Men (and one Elf) gained the upper hand and the body count of orc and warg rose quickly. The orcs were viscous as a norm but the Men even more so because of the wives and children they had, and their determination to protect them at all costs. The battle was nearly done with the ferocity at its peak when Boromir suddenly found himself tied by the leg to a stray warg's reigns. Not a good sign. The rider-less creature tore across the plain in a mad frenzy; Boromir forced along for the ride. Then he noticed that the warg was leading him toward a conveniently placed cliff edge. He decided it best to begin seeking aid in this dilemma.
'Um guys…?'
thuda thump thuda thump
'Uh… um… guys… I'm kinda stuck.'
thuda thump thuda thump
'Help?…… help! HELP!'
thudathumpthudumpthudump
'You guys suck!!!'
Aragorn slew the last orc-rider easily and stood, surveying the carnage while catching his breath. He paused, then whipped his head to the side, tangled hair wet with blood, sweat and grime slapping against his cheek. 'Where's Boromir?'
A chilling cry broke out and echoed throughout the field:
'SinceAragornneverfelloffthecliffinthebookitmakesjustasmuchsensethatIdooooooooooooooooooooooo!'
The cry was Boromir's and Aragorn turned in time to watch as the kamikaze warg dragged the brave Gondorian up off the cliff edge and out of sight.
'no… NO!' Aragorn charged forward, sword in hand, eyes wide and fearful. Éomer and Legolas caught up with him, holding him back from the edge of the precipice thinking that he might jump off in his haste to save their fallen friend and so share his fate. At the bottom surged a roiling river punctuated by razor rocks. Aragorn scanned the waters frantically. The warg lay shredded on the rocks but of Boromir… there was no sign.
Aragorn sagged slowly backwards into a seated position, breathing ragged. His gaze on nothing.
Théoden walked up to them, exchanged a quick word with his nephew Éomer, and then also came forward to stand before the mouth of the precipice. He looked so old. They were all silent.
Théoden put a hand to his brow. 'It brings me much grief that Denethor must now share my sorry fate… in loosing his only son.'
Aragorn spoke quietly, still in shock over the loss of his comrade. 'Lord Denethor has another son.'
'He does? Since when!?!?'
Legolas lowered his eyes. A great sadness came upon him at the loss of a member of the Fellowship… but at the same time he couldn't help but feel that in some cruel yet inevitable way, universal balance had been restored.
To be continued…
KT SHY: gasp!
Shagster: So sad, so sad.
KT SHY: *slaps her own hand* bad KT!
Anyway… I hope you aren't starting to tire of lengthy chapters dear readers, I try to keep things entertaining and all -_________- Only a few more chapters to go and we can get back to the fabulous adventures of Sauron! I do hope you've been missing the little bastard (excuse my Elvish) if even only for a little bit. Regarding the "poftah" bit, you have no idea how long I went listening to the Monty Python skit with the Bruces thinking they were referring to flatulency (just today in fact). Boromir mirror's my naivete in this act. If I've offended anyone I do apologize, just remember I mean no disrespect to anybody, as I write for giggles alone and should be taken with a grain of salt. I love people. ^_______________________________^
Shagster: Salt's good on french-fries.
KT SHY: I'm listening to some strange music right now… System of a Down doing "The Legend of Zelda"…. Truly inspirational! ("Link… he come to town… come to saaaaave, the princess Zelda…")
Shagster (sings to the Camp Town Lady): I got KT a goggley-head Gimli, Gimli, I got KT a googley-head, Gimli, Gimli, yay.
KT SHY: And as always please feel free to press the pretty little button down there… No, not the Report Possible Abuse option… the Submit a Review one! I love feedback, and this is a huge chapter so if you find errors please let me hear from you! Ooh! And please follow in YunSuks ChunSah's example by recommending EOP to everyone you know and love, or even the people you hate so much that you spend all day imagining them in various cruel situations! Tackling complete strangers and dragging them to your house or the nearest Internet access computer is plausible too! Later! ^_____________________^
(psst… button)
l
l
l
l
v