Author's Notes: It's been way too long since my last update. I'm very sorry for making everyone wait. I just finished the fall semester a few days ago. The last month or so has had me so busy writing lab reports and studying for endless exams that I just couldn't find time to do any free writing. Now that I'm on winter break, you can all expect some much needed updates.
The action starts in this chapter, though not until the second half. A few recognizable characters join in and the mystery increases further.
SarahB: No, I'm not the Nightstalker from the "Hornblower" boards. I don't even know what "Hornblower" is. Sorry.
Chapter 2
The first rays of morning saw Prince Faramir in the stables, attending to his horse. He could have asked a stable hand to do it, but he found the quiet, monotonous task of brushing the coat to quiet his restless mind. Eowyn stood silently off to the side, occasionally stepping in to assist her husband. Faramir was about to lead the horse outside and mount up when one of his advisors appeared in the stable entrance.
"My lord, you have a visitor."
It was all Faramir could do not to simply get on his horse and run the man over. "As you can see, I am in haste. I do not have the time to spare for any visitors. I must reach Minas Tirith by tomorrow night. Tell this visitor that I shall meet with him upon my return."
"That is what I told him, my lord, but he insists upon seeing you immediately and swears that he will not take long."
How many times have I heard that one before? Faramir mentally winced. Duty winning over everything else, Faramir reluctantly handed the reigns over to Eowyn and stalked out of the stables after his advisor, grumbling all the way. Every fiber of his being wanted to simply run back to his horse and ride off, but his duty as Prince of Ithilien obligated him to see this visitor and conduct the meeting with all dignity. His relentless questions would simply have to wait a few more hours.
Faramir was about to enter his home and make for the sitting room where he usually received guests when his advisor stopped him for the second time that day.
"Forgive me my lord, but he insisted on meeting you outside in the gardens."
This stopped Faramir in his tracks. Lords and nobles always conducted their business with others in a designated meeting room. It was not unusual for a noble to request a meeting elsewhere; whatever he could do to give himself an advantage during negotiations; but requesting a meeting in the gardens was unheard of. Garden meetings were typically only for lovers, family, and very close friends. His curiosity piqued, Faramir allowed himself to be led away from the house. A new question was added to the ever growing collection in his mind. Who was this visitor?
They entered the gardens and found no one there to meet them.
"This is most odd, my lord," The advisor scratched his head. "I swear that I left him here a moment ago. Where could he have gone?"
"Indeed you did leave me here," A voice from the trees above them called out, causing both men to jump in surprise. "But I find the trees a more comfortable place to wait than the ground."
Looking upward, Faramir caught a glimpse of very familiar blonde hair among the leaves and branches. A broad smile crossed his face and the prince nearly laughed out loud in delight at seeing the last person he expected.
"Well met, Legolas!" He chuckled as the son of Thranduil leapt to the ground and landed with notable cat-like grace.
"Mae govannae, honored Prince of Ithilien," Legolas answered with a mock bow. "It has been so dreadfully long since we last spoke, my liege, even for an immortal being such as myself."
Faramir rolled his eyes, but smiled at the elven prince's
mannerism. Faramir's advisor, meanwhile,
stared in mixed shock and disgust at the elf's reckless behavior and casual
address to his lord.
"What can I do for you, Legolas?" Faramir came straight to the point. As much as he enjoyed the elf prince's
company, Faramir was still in a hurry.
As if reading his mind, and there were times when Faramir swore he could, Legolas smiled knowingly. "I know that you are in a hurry to get to Minas Tirith and I did say that this meeting would be quick. I wish to ask you a simple question."
"Oh?" Faramir raised an eyebrow. "And what is this question?"
"May I accompany you on your journey to Minas Tirith?"
The Prince of Ithilien did a double take. "That is all?"
Legolas nodded.
"Well, yes. I would appreciate your company. Why?"
Legolas motioned for Faramir to follow him as he headed for the stables. "This meeting was intended to be brief and I mean to keep it that way. I asked to join you and you said yes. Any other questions may be answered while we travel."
Faramir could not help but laugh. "I knew there was a reason why I liked you from the moment we first met, Legolas. The unfailing logic of the elves is a breath of fresh air in relation to the vague politics of Men."
The elf prince smiled in response. "If this meeting is done, then I suggest we ride. We have already lost precious time standing here and talking. Gimli will be getting impatient."
"Gimli?" Faramir stopped short. "He is here as well?"
"Yes, he is with Arod near the stables."
"You do know that I could punish you for lying to me, Lord of the Ithillien elves. You said that only you would be accompanying me, not an entire group."
"If you would recall, my lord, I did not ask to accompany you alone."
Faramir merely rolled his eyes again and smiled. "And here I thought that elves were not capable of deceit."
"Only to those who do not look hard enough."
As the pair continued their verbal sparring, they came upon the stables. Sure enough, Gimli and Arod were there. The dwarf was leaning against the outer wall, watching as Eowyn affectionately stroking Arod's mane, with an air of disbelief. Arod, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying Eowyn's attentions. The stallion of Rohan nuzzled her cheek with his nose in affectionate recognition.
"I honestly do not see how any could hug that unpredictable beast as if he was a gentle babe," Gimli scoffed. "He could turn and bite your hand off at any time, I will have you know."
Eowyn laughed and patted the stallion's broad shoulders. "He might bite a dwarf that insults his intelligence, but never one he has known since he was a colt."
"Och! I will never understand how you Rohirrim can stand those crazy beasts; much less treat them with such reverence. They are wild, ill-tempered, bull headed, wiley-"
"And here I thought you were beginning to enjoy riding," Legolas interrupted as he and Faramir came into view.
"The day I express any enjoyment in riding that demon is the day I shave my beard," Gimli growled back.
"Then perhaps, with the amount of time you have been spending on Arod's back, I may see a bare faced dwarf before I cross the sea," The elf grinned.
Gimli would have countered the elf with an equally nasty comment when Faramir interrupted.
"Gentlemen, or gentledwarf and gentleelf as the case may be, I believe that we are all in
a hurry to reach Minas Tirith as soon as possible. You may settle this as we travel. Now let us be off."
Legolas and Gimli looked at each other and a silent message passed between
them. Nodding in unison, they both
mounted onto Arod. Faramir gave Eowyn a
quick kiss before he too mounted up.
As the sun steadily rose over Middle Earth, three riders upon two horses could be seen galloping across the fields toward Minas Tirith.
* * *
It was the perfect day for riding. The sun shone warm and bright upon the plains. The lush fields of grass swayed in a light breeze. The scent of fresh flowers perfumed the air while bird songs filled the world with serene music. Everywhere you looked, there was peace and happiness. It was one of those days when nothing could spoil someone's happiness; especially the happiness of two particular hobbits.
Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took laughed and chatted as they rode their ponies over the rolling fields. The two Rohirrim escorting them could not help but smile and laugh along with their smaller charges. Every year, the Riders of Rohan would do everything they could think of to curry favor with King Éomer and gain the privilege of escorting the two halfling knights on their annual journey to Rohan and Gondor. The competition sometimes got a bit fierce, but the reward was always worth it. Merry and Pippin provided a fresh outlook on life to their escorts. It was amazing that they still maintained a bit of their old innocence, even after all they had experienced during the War of the Ring four years ago. That innocence was contagious to the Riders of Rohan, making the trip from Rivendell to Rohan and Gondor more of a vacation than a mission.
This year, Ranan and Baldor were the lucky riders that won the privilege of escort duty; having spent the past few months shining the saddles of Éomer's favorite horses at the crack of dawn every morning. As they rode, the two Rohirrim attempted to learn the tavern songs of the hobbits and would sing along at each chorus. It was a strange thing to see and hear two noble riders of the Mark and two halfling knights belting out bawdy tavern songs, but none of them seemed to care. All that was on their minds was enjoying a nice, relaxing ride.
As the sun began to set upon the horizon, Pippin assumed his usual role of enquiring when they were going to stop for the night. The hobbit's stomach gave an encouraging growl that caused the Rohan guards to chuckle. Merry's stomach growled back in agreement.
"Fear not, master hobbits, for we will stop soon," Baldor smiled. "Fangorn forest is just in the distance, close enough to Isengard that we will be safe for the night. The Ents have made sure that no evil has entered these parts since Sauron fell."
"Well that's a relief to hear," Pippin sighed as he hopped off his pony's back and immediately went for the saddle bags filled with provisions. "I for one never want to see this area like it once was, all barren and filled to the brink with those Uruk-hai."
"You and me both, Pip. I don't ever want to see any breed of orc again for the rest of my life and beyond," Grumbled Merry as he brought out pots to boil water.
Ranan looked up from where he had been building the fire. "As long as the Ents guard Isengard, we are completely safe in these parts. We shall all rest easy tonight."
"You might, but I won't rest easy until I'm well away from this area," Merry mumbled to himself, a shudder running down his spine as unwanted memories of the past threatened to surface.
Within hours the four travelers were rolling out bedding. Pippin sighed with contentment as he flopped onto his back upon his pile of blankets, hands resting upon his full stomach.
"Ah yes, a nice hobbit-sized meal was just what this Took needed," The younger hobbit gave his belly an appreciative pat. "The quest would have been much less traumatic if Gandalf had let us pack more food. Don't you think so, Merry? Merry?"
But Merry either did not hear the question or was ignoring his cousin. He was sitting on the edge of the light given off by the fire. His head was drooping forward and shadows of the forest obscured any expression that was upon his face. His hands were clenched into fists within his lap, as if he was trying to resist the urge to lash out at something in anger. When Merry made no response to the question, Pippin was instantly on his guard. He had learned by now that when Merry sat so still, danger was drawing near.
Ranan glanced over at the still hobbit. "Master Meriadoc? Is all well?"
The young Brandybuck lifted his head slightly, just enough for the fire light to illuminate the tense frown upon his face. "Something evil's drawing closer. I can practically taste the darkness emanating from it," His voice was scarcely above a whisper.
"Merry?" Pippin walked over to his cousin, loosening his sword in its scabbard. "What is it, Merry? What's coming?"
Merry simply gazed off into the forest. "It's here."
It was at that moment that a snapping twig on the outskirts of the camp caught everyone's attention. Both hobbits unsheathed their swords and the two Rohirrim notched arrows to their bows. All weapons were instantly pointing at the black cloaked figure that stepped into the firelight. Gloved hands rose upward from within the confines of the cloak in a gesture of surrender.
"Peace, friends, for I mean no harm. Forgive me for startling you, but I had hoped that you might share your fire with a weary traveler this night."
"We will share the fire if you identify yourself as a friend, rather than a foe," Ranan pulled his arrow farther back on the bow string. "Show your face."
Wordlessly, the cloaked figure reached for his hood and pulled it back, revealing the face of a man in his late twenties. His face was streaked with dirt and his matted blonde hair swept past his shoulders. Both Baldor's and Ranan's eyes widened in disbelief.
"This can not be," Baldor gasped. "Gárulf? Is it truly you?" [1]
The cloaked man nodded and smiled gently at the Rohirrim. "Indeed it is I, Baldor. Long have been the years since we were last together."
"But this is impossible!" Ranan burst out. "You were slain by Saruman's Uruk-hai four years ago. We saw you fall and buried you with two others. To this day, I still remember how your mount, Hasufel, mourned for your loss. "
Gárulf merely smiled at his fellow Rohirrim's outburst. "Indeed I did fall, Ranan. But I was still clinging to life by a thread when my body was buried. Shortly after the company departed, I was able to claw my way back to the surface through the loose dirt of my grave. Even though I was in the open air once more, I almost died for real. As luck would have it, some refugees on their way to Edoras happened upon me and tended to my injuries. Alas, for the trauma of my situation affected my memory and so I ended up wandering in the wild these past four years without knowing who I was. Only a few weeks ago did I stumble upon the place where I had been wrongly buried and my full memories returned."
"I can not believe this," Ranan muttered under his breath, though he lowered his bow.
Baldor, on the other hand, dropped his bow entirely and embraced his lost comrade. "All this time I thought you were dead, but you have been brought back to us. This is truly a miracle."
"Amazing," Pippin smiled as he turned to Merry. "Even after four years, old friends who've survived the war are still being reunited. Isn't this amazing Merry?"
But Merry did not share the younger hobbit's delight. He was staring intently at the man before him, trying to figure out why he felt so cold and uneasy in this man's presence. The last time he had ever felt this cold was when…no, he would not think about that. Memories such as that one were something he did not wish to dwell on. It was at that moment that Gárulf turned to face the hobbits directly. Merry gasped and recoiled in shock.
The Man's eyes were glowing blood red.
"Merry? Merry what is it? What's wrong?" Pippin grabbed his cousin by the arm as he tried to back up. He looked up at the long lost rider of Rohan in confusion. The man seemed normal enough to him. What would make Merry become so terrified all of a sudden?
Merry shakily spoke to Pippin in a low voice without taking his sight off of those horrid eyes. "Look at his eyes, Pippin. What do you see?"
"His eyes?" Pippin looked back up at the Man, analyzing him carefully before turning back to Merry. "His eyes aren't that bad, Merry. They're actually a nice shade of blue with a little green mixed in."
"No!" Merry hissed. "They're not blue, they're red. They're glowing the same color as blood."
"Is there a problem, Master Meriadoc?" Baldor turned to where Merry was trying to wrestle his way out of Pippin's grip.
"Get him away!" Merry suddenly screamed. "He's not your friend! His eyes are red like fresh blood! Get him away!"
Pippin kept a desperate grip on Merry's shoulders. "Stop it Merry! His eyes aren't red! It's all right, he's their friend!"
"No! He reeks of darkness! Let me go!"
Gárulf watched the struggling hobbit with growing horror. He knew. How was it possible that this halfling could see the truth? The Man's eyes narrowed dangerously as he pulled a sword hidden in his cloak loose from its scabbard. Whoever this little being was, he could not be allowed to live, lest he ruin all future plans.
"Gárulf, what are you doing?" Baldor shouted as he and Ranan leapt in front of their fellow rider.
In a flash of steel, both riders of Rohan fell dead to the ground before either could choke out a scream. Gárulf turned again to the hobbits and lifted his blood stained blade into the air. Pippin stared down at their fallen guards and then back up to their murderer in terror. His mind in turmoil, the young hobbit barely remembered grabbing Merry by the arm and running for his life.
Together they ran toward the distant shadows of Fangorn forest, the murdering Rohirrim on their heels. The looming branches of the trees were soon over their heads and they plunged into the darkness. Gárulf tried to follow, but roots began to spring up from the ground, tripping him and creating greater distance between the Man and his prey. Howling in frustration, Gárulf began hacking away at the roots with his sword. He could not let those halflings escape!
As they ran, the hobbits heard the trees begin to moan in anger. Several branches swept down, as if trying to swat them away, but the hobbits managed to duck and weave their way through the onslaught. All around them, Fangorn forest roared from the pain of its roots being sliced. Spotting a gap between the roots of a particularly large tree, Merry dove in and dragged Pippin down with him. Even with the forest slowing their pursuer, there was no way that two hobbits could outrun a fully grown Man bent on their blood. Without warning, the roots they hid among shifted and the two hobbits were suddenly lifted into the air by two arm-like branches. Gárulf came crashing through the enraged forest. Seeing his quarry trapped within the branches of the tree, he let out a harsh laugh and charged them with his sword raised.
The Man barely knew what hit him as the tree holding the hobbits raised up half of its roots and brought them down upon him, ending the Man's life instantly.
"Hrum, Hoom," A deep, rumbling voice sounded above the hobbits. "I did not think to see you in the forest so soon again, little hobbits."
Merry and Pippin looked up from the branches that entangled them and twin smiles broke out on their faces. Overjoyed, Pippin cried out to their rescuer.
"Treebeard!"
[1] For those who haven't read the books, Gárulf was the original rider of Hasufel, the horse that Éomer loaned to Aragorn in "The Two Towers". He was one of three slain while battling the party of Uruk-hai that had captured Merry and Pippin.
Author's Notes: Wow, I can't believe how long it's taken me to finish this chapter. It's actually good timing, since "The Two Towers" was just released and more people know who the Ents are now. Fear not, the next chapter is mapped out and should be up by next week when I return from a brief vacation. This was my first time attempt to write action, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated.
Lost? Want to know what exactly is going on here? In the next chapter, some much needed answers are revealed…
