Ack. Don't know what to write now that I have the chance! Hmm.
Okay, me thinkie. Okay, so basically, this story picks up when Gandalf is
in Saruman's tower of Orthanc. I'm kind of jumping back and forth between
the storyline of the movie and of the actual trilogy. Oop, Dharma & Greg
is on, you wait right here while I go watch. Tick tock, tick. Ah, I do
love that show. They're so darn cute. Ahem, where was I? Oh, hello,
when did you folks get here? Oh, right! The story! Umm, let's see now.
This is my very first fanfic. Well, the first one I've bothered to write
down on the comp. Hopefully, also the first one I actually finish. Cross
your fingers and pray! And away we go!!
"I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly."
As Gandalf came to, he was first aware of the cold. It was very cold, in fact, and getting colder as an icy rain began to pour down. Then came the sounds from far below. Ripping, rending as though the very Earth screamed. Moving carefully-O, how his body ached-Gandalf peered over the edge of Orthanc. His heart broke within him, grieving such senseless destruction of life. The rain came down harder, Gandalf turned back round sinking to the cold floor, pulling his cloak tighter. He froze suddenly aware of eyes watching him. A shape huddled opposite him against one of the stone spikes of the tower. The wizard braced himself, wary that the creature may be some lapdog of Saruman's, perhaps sent to torment him. Or perhaps playing the part of a rebellious servant being punished, assuming Gandalf will have pity on it and conspire together, only to betray the Grey to the formerly White. Aia! How his head spun! He slowed his thoughts. He was being hasty. Just wait and see. Through flashes of lightening, Gandalf's keen eyes could make out that the shape was roughly Man-sized, knees drawn up to the chest, and bare, gently muscled arms clutching shoulders that trembled with cold. His long, wet hair concealed additional features, but his breath was visible and rapid, from cold, fear, or both. Gandalf guessed, his head reeling again, that it was a youth of the race of Men. The wizard calmed, only a little. He made a move towards the youth, feeling consciousness slipping away. The youth recoiled further at the sudden motion; Gandalf stopped, but called to the youth through the rain. "Tell me, young one, how you have managed to fall from grace with Saruman at so tender an age?" Gandalf spoke the question in the common tongue; the youth inclined his head slightly. After a moment he replied, but in a language obscure. Even more shocking to the wizard was the voice: it was light. and it was feminine. Gandalf stared at her in amazement. Then he knew no more.
************************************************************** When the wizard next opened his eyes it was day, and another pair of eyes stared back at him. With his still-blurred vision and numbed brain, he for a moment thought he saw Saruman ( for who else could it have been?), and panic took him. Gandalf gave a cry of alarm, and then he remembered the young Man. Wait, it had been a girl, hadn't she? At his cry, the child started and stumbled back and kept backing until she was pressed against stone wall. Raising himself slowly, Gandalf studied her carefully. The child-well, young woman, actually-was tall, or so he supposed; at the moment her long limbs were curled in a tight ball, and she was breathing hard again, reminding him of how he first saw her the night before, albeit less soggy. Her clothing was odd and foreign: a white shirt without sleeves and breeches dark blue, made of some coarse-looking fabric. From her earlobes silver hoops swung, one on each side, with an extra hoop halfway up the curve of her left ear. She had a mane of thick curls spiraling down to her waist the color of rich mahogany that caught the sunlight like a reddish-brown gold, and smooth, pale olive skin. Her face was fair, she had a high forehead, a long, straight nose, and a full, pretty mouth. Her eyebrows were finely sculpted, though the right one stayed perked a bit, questioningly. Wide eyes held a continually startled expression, and it was her eyes that held Gandalf's attention the longest. Large, just slightly almond-shaped, and framed with long, thick lashes. The wizard had trouble designating what color they were exactly. Round the very middle were pale golden wreaths which bled into an assorted of gray, blue, and green, and at last surrounded by a deep ocean blue-green. Arda, he decided. Eyes of the woods and mountains, of the seas and the stars. Using what skill his still-aching head could muster, he searched her eyes intently and saw no malice or deceit, seeing instead gentle innocence, intelligence, and hesitation mixed with humor, though at the moment apprehension was prevalent. The wizard realized guiltily that his cry had frightened her. Remembering the odd tongue she spoke last night, he ran through in knowledge of the languages of Middle-Earth. none, it seemed, matched her accent or dialect. Gandalf felt he should try them all, at any rate. If he could find one she spoke perhaps he could reassure the child that he was not an enemy. Gandalf tried all the tongues he could think of, which were many, indeed, but to no avail. The girl listened with a look of curiosity and confusion, aware he was trying to communicate, but shaking her head each time, no, she didn't understand. The wizard seemed to have achieved one of his goals, at least partially: she appeared to fear him no longer, or at least not as before. She relaxed some, became less tightly balled up, and even stood to stretch. A look of solemn fear and awe and longing crossed her face as she gazed out at the vast expanse to be seen from the tower of Orthanc. Of amazement, to the northwest, then of sorrow and reproach--looking down into the mess of the once-beautiful Isengard. Gandalf observed he was right: she was indeed quite tall. In fact she would have stood almost at eye level with a Man of the race of Numenor. And she had not quite an Elven look about her, but something at least very ethereal. "The Quendi , Valar, and Maiar speak in thought with one another," he thought to himself. Could this child ? She seemed mortal enough, but then Gandalf knew of at least one Man who could share so strong a bonding of minds. He had to try. The wizard watched as the girl turned again to the yet-unspoiled north west, to the mountains and trees, and softly she began to sing. To his amazement, he knew not only her words: he heard--felt-- the music as she called the memory from her mind.
I had a dream of the wide, open prairie. I had a dream of the pale morning sun. I had a dream that we flew on golden wings, And we were the same, just the same, you and I.
Follow your heart, little child of the West Wind. Follow the voice that's calling you home. Follow your dreams, but always remember me: I am your Brother, under the Sun.
We are like birds of a feather. And we are two hearts joined together. And we will be forever as one, My Brother under the Sun
She stopped singing. Gandalf stood shakily. Can you understand? Do you hear me? he asked fervently. She turned to him with look of amazed pleasure. I can, she answered. I can! Trying to his excitement of this unexpected success, he asked her gently, Who are you, child? She smiled. Bonnie.
A.N.: Yeah, not the longest chapter, but I have Biology tomorrow morn, and I will be seriously screwed if I don't get some sleep. I still have a bit of homework for it, too. I'm supposed to explain about an experiment I've performed sometime during the course of my 20 years by way of Scientific Method. I think I'll tell him about the time I was 7 and me and J osh tried to make a flying potion. It involved my babysitters cup filled with water and dirt and grass and glue (to make the potion stick), and a feather. We were going to be mad scientists together, Josh and me. Anyway. PLEASE review, or I'll never speak to you again. I'll try to get a new chapter up soon, if I can wrestle the keyboard away from my sister again, preferably before midnight next time. Ah, me. Oh, and I know it's not funny or romantic yet, but give me time, it'll evolve.^_^
"I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly."
As Gandalf came to, he was first aware of the cold. It was very cold, in fact, and getting colder as an icy rain began to pour down. Then came the sounds from far below. Ripping, rending as though the very Earth screamed. Moving carefully-O, how his body ached-Gandalf peered over the edge of Orthanc. His heart broke within him, grieving such senseless destruction of life. The rain came down harder, Gandalf turned back round sinking to the cold floor, pulling his cloak tighter. He froze suddenly aware of eyes watching him. A shape huddled opposite him against one of the stone spikes of the tower. The wizard braced himself, wary that the creature may be some lapdog of Saruman's, perhaps sent to torment him. Or perhaps playing the part of a rebellious servant being punished, assuming Gandalf will have pity on it and conspire together, only to betray the Grey to the formerly White. Aia! How his head spun! He slowed his thoughts. He was being hasty. Just wait and see. Through flashes of lightening, Gandalf's keen eyes could make out that the shape was roughly Man-sized, knees drawn up to the chest, and bare, gently muscled arms clutching shoulders that trembled with cold. His long, wet hair concealed additional features, but his breath was visible and rapid, from cold, fear, or both. Gandalf guessed, his head reeling again, that it was a youth of the race of Men. The wizard calmed, only a little. He made a move towards the youth, feeling consciousness slipping away. The youth recoiled further at the sudden motion; Gandalf stopped, but called to the youth through the rain. "Tell me, young one, how you have managed to fall from grace with Saruman at so tender an age?" Gandalf spoke the question in the common tongue; the youth inclined his head slightly. After a moment he replied, but in a language obscure. Even more shocking to the wizard was the voice: it was light. and it was feminine. Gandalf stared at her in amazement. Then he knew no more.
************************************************************** When the wizard next opened his eyes it was day, and another pair of eyes stared back at him. With his still-blurred vision and numbed brain, he for a moment thought he saw Saruman ( for who else could it have been?), and panic took him. Gandalf gave a cry of alarm, and then he remembered the young Man. Wait, it had been a girl, hadn't she? At his cry, the child started and stumbled back and kept backing until she was pressed against stone wall. Raising himself slowly, Gandalf studied her carefully. The child-well, young woman, actually-was tall, or so he supposed; at the moment her long limbs were curled in a tight ball, and she was breathing hard again, reminding him of how he first saw her the night before, albeit less soggy. Her clothing was odd and foreign: a white shirt without sleeves and breeches dark blue, made of some coarse-looking fabric. From her earlobes silver hoops swung, one on each side, with an extra hoop halfway up the curve of her left ear. She had a mane of thick curls spiraling down to her waist the color of rich mahogany that caught the sunlight like a reddish-brown gold, and smooth, pale olive skin. Her face was fair, she had a high forehead, a long, straight nose, and a full, pretty mouth. Her eyebrows were finely sculpted, though the right one stayed perked a bit, questioningly. Wide eyes held a continually startled expression, and it was her eyes that held Gandalf's attention the longest. Large, just slightly almond-shaped, and framed with long, thick lashes. The wizard had trouble designating what color they were exactly. Round the very middle were pale golden wreaths which bled into an assorted of gray, blue, and green, and at last surrounded by a deep ocean blue-green. Arda, he decided. Eyes of the woods and mountains, of the seas and the stars. Using what skill his still-aching head could muster, he searched her eyes intently and saw no malice or deceit, seeing instead gentle innocence, intelligence, and hesitation mixed with humor, though at the moment apprehension was prevalent. The wizard realized guiltily that his cry had frightened her. Remembering the odd tongue she spoke last night, he ran through in knowledge of the languages of Middle-Earth. none, it seemed, matched her accent or dialect. Gandalf felt he should try them all, at any rate. If he could find one she spoke perhaps he could reassure the child that he was not an enemy. Gandalf tried all the tongues he could think of, which were many, indeed, but to no avail. The girl listened with a look of curiosity and confusion, aware he was trying to communicate, but shaking her head each time, no, she didn't understand. The wizard seemed to have achieved one of his goals, at least partially: she appeared to fear him no longer, or at least not as before. She relaxed some, became less tightly balled up, and even stood to stretch. A look of solemn fear and awe and longing crossed her face as she gazed out at the vast expanse to be seen from the tower of Orthanc. Of amazement, to the northwest, then of sorrow and reproach--looking down into the mess of the once-beautiful Isengard. Gandalf observed he was right: she was indeed quite tall. In fact she would have stood almost at eye level with a Man of the race of Numenor. And she had not quite an Elven look about her, but something at least very ethereal. "The Quendi , Valar, and Maiar speak in thought with one another," he thought to himself. Could this child ? She seemed mortal enough, but then Gandalf knew of at least one Man who could share so strong a bonding of minds. He had to try. The wizard watched as the girl turned again to the yet-unspoiled north west, to the mountains and trees, and softly she began to sing. To his amazement, he knew not only her words: he heard--felt-- the music as she called the memory from her mind.
I had a dream of the wide, open prairie. I had a dream of the pale morning sun. I had a dream that we flew on golden wings, And we were the same, just the same, you and I.
Follow your heart, little child of the West Wind. Follow the voice that's calling you home. Follow your dreams, but always remember me: I am your Brother, under the Sun.
We are like birds of a feather. And we are two hearts joined together. And we will be forever as one, My Brother under the Sun
She stopped singing. Gandalf stood shakily. Can you understand? Do you hear me? he asked fervently. She turned to him with look of amazed pleasure. I can, she answered. I can! Trying to his excitement of this unexpected success, he asked her gently, Who are you, child? She smiled. Bonnie.
A.N.: Yeah, not the longest chapter, but I have Biology tomorrow morn, and I will be seriously screwed if I don't get some sleep. I still have a bit of homework for it, too. I'm supposed to explain about an experiment I've performed sometime during the course of my 20 years by way of Scientific Method. I think I'll tell him about the time I was 7 and me and J osh tried to make a flying potion. It involved my babysitters cup filled with water and dirt and grass and glue (to make the potion stick), and a feather. We were going to be mad scientists together, Josh and me. Anyway. PLEASE review, or I'll never speak to you again. I'll try to get a new chapter up soon, if I can wrestle the keyboard away from my sister again, preferably before midnight next time. Ah, me. Oh, and I know it's not funny or romantic yet, but give me time, it'll evolve.^_^