Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related characters belong to Paramount. Lord
of the Rings and all related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. But the
combination is all mine!
Author's Note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Some of the questions posed I will attempt to answer in this chapter but you have to look for them. Otherwise, what's the fun of me just TELLING you?
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 4: The King of the Golden Hall
"Alas," he said, "that these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned! Alas for Boromir the brave! The young perish and the old linger, withering."
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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"All of the groups have checked in except Reed and Sato," said Sub- Commander T'Pol as Captain Archer and Commander Tucker walked onto the bridge from the turbolift. "They are two hours and eleven minutes overdue."
"Have you tried to get their communicators?" asked Archer. The look T'Pol gave him answered that question; logically it would be the first thing she'd try, of course. He bit his lip back and added, "No response at all?"
"The communicators are functioning perfectly. Their failure to respond is not due to mechanical error," said T'Pol calmly.
"What could they be doing that they would be two hours late to check in and ignore your hails?" said Archer. Trip, standing at his shoulder, snorted explosively. The captain rolled his eyes and chose to ignore that.
"Well, come on, Jon, you gotta admit them going down there, just the two of them," whispered Trip, still snickering.
"I do not believe Lieutenant Reed would be so irresponsible as to forget his check-in time for mere copulation," said T'Pol, perfectly serious. Archer rolled his eyes again and wondered if she sometimes just said things like that because she knew it would set Trip off. "Furthermore," she added, "it is fraternization between ranks and against Starfleet regulations."
"I'll have one of the shuttle pilots swing by and check on them," said Archer as the engineer turned bright red from trying not to laugh. "Trip, isn't there something you can take care of in Engineering?"
Trip made it as far as the turbolift before he let out a great guffaw. The doors slid shut and the bridge crew could still hear him chuckling until the lift went down too far for the sound to carry any farther.
Archer sighed. "Do you say these things on purpose?" he asked T'Pol.
"I do not understand, Captain," she replied, with one eyebrow elegantly raised.
"Never mind," he told her, and turned to the pilot's station. "Travis, you feel like doing a little flying around?"
"Aye sir!" said the young pilot. "See if I can find Hoshi and Malcolm?"
"Bring them back up here," said Archer. "They're probably fine, but if they're going to miss check-in times and ignore hails, then I don't want them down there."
Mayweather hopped up from the console and beckoned one of the crewmen to take his place. "I'll get them," he promised earnestly. "Even if they are copulating," he added, with a perfectly straight face.
Archer couldn't hold it in and ran for the ready room. It just wouldn't do, if the crew saw their captain convulsed in fits of laughter.
But an hour later he was no longer laughing: Travis found two packs and footprints in the sand, and a curious wooden box, but no sign of either of the missing officers. Tracks marked a path to a low stone wall, ruined for eons, and then simply vanished into thin air. No tracks leading away from the site. No other tracks to tell what might have happened. Nothing at all.
They had simply vanished.
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Hoshi sat on the high steps in front of the Golden Hall, her hair flying in black clouds around her ears. She gazed down at the streets of Edoras below, watching the noon bustle of the city folk below. A few of them, passing close to the Hall, looked up at her; some smiled and nodded, others turned away after an uneasy glance. To a people who were very European in appearance (Hoshi knew that there was no Europe here but she couldn't find another way to characterize their appearance) she seemed very exotic indeed. A similar sort of feeling probably existed in European countries and America when Asians first started immigrating to those mainly Caucasian countries. She wondered what they would make of Travis. Or T'Pol. Or Phlox.
Thinking of her crewmates on Enterprise, by now surely presuming her and Malcolm dead, she felt the prickle of tears at the edges of her eyes. It had been nearly a month since they'd come to this strange place, and still she could not recall her old home without wanting to weep. It was part of the reason she had thrown herself so much into every task she could find, helping Éowyn with the administration of the Hall and Edoras and teaching Malcolm the Common Speech. She knew he thought her emphatic teaching overly zealous. But she didn't care. Whatever it took, she would not break down. She must get through this with her sanity intact.
From the yards around the side of the Hall she heard the men training. She didn't have to look to know Malcolm would be among them, breathing heavily and ignoring his still-healing ribs as he tried to learn the arts of sword fighting and archery. Éomer's proclamation he had taken straight to heart, and for the three days since the Marshal had been banished, he had wrung himself to a dripping rag trying to get back into fighting shape.
Hoshi privately thought it a bit insane. Men---they just had to know that they could kill whatever came their way. Well, no, she knew was being unfair as soon as she thought it. Malcolm was not a killer.
Of course, it was much easier to be a pacifist when one could simply set the setting on the phase pistol to stun.
Hoshi sighed. Both she and Éowyn had told him he was only going to aggravate his ribs but he went out anyway. Stubborn Malcolm, always so stubborn. But she was glad he was here all the same.
And according to the men, he was a rather good shot with a bow and arrows. "Eyes of an Elf!" they said, patting him on the back. "Now, can you do it from the back of a horse?"
She sighed. Perhaps it was a good thing he was adjusting to this life. At the moment it seemed rather unlikely that they would ever get back to Enterprise.
The door to the Hall slammed and Éowyn strode out, her normally pale cheeks flushed and angry, her sea-blue eyes burning with cold fire. She passed right by Hoshi and simply stood, gazing out to the grassy plains around the city, golden hair blowing across her face and shoulders. The wind was very fierce that day, indeed. A green and gold flag above her tore from the standard with a great rip and tumbled on the wind down the hill.
"Éowyn," Hoshi said softly. The woman started and then turned around, and Hoshi saw the tears in her eyes, welling like springs in the desert.
"Oh, my friend, that I should live in such evil times," murmured the young woman. Her eyes grew very round and her cheeks paled. "Théodred is dead, Hoshi. And his father will not go to the body. I fear that he does not even hear my words. And always that foul Wormtongue is pacing my steps." Almost unconsciously her hand went to her cheek; Hoshi grew very still.
"If he comes near you Malcolm will protect you," said Hoshi quietly. Éowyn gave her an amazed look.
"I can protect myself, my friend," she answered. "I have not trained in the use of a blade for years for nothing. Wormtongue is only a threat to my country. Not to me."
Hoshi did not mention Éomer's words as he rode from the city. Instead she gazed down the hill, tracing the path of the green flag as it reached the gates and went up and over the wall in a flutter of wind.
"Our country flaps like that banner," said Éowyn softly. "Pulled from the standard and tumbling in the wind with no control whatsoever."
But Hoshi had stopped watching the flag. "Look, Éowyn," she cried, jumping to her feet. "Riders! Who are they?"
"Riders? Who comes to Edoras?" said Éowyn softly, drawing away from the edge of the steps. "Naught but more of Wormtongue's lackeys, no doubt." She turned from the view and went back inside, shoulders set with anger.
Hoshi stayed and watched as the three riders made their way up the hill. No, not three, four---one smaller man rode behind a taller companion, his legs too short to easily control the big horse. A very old man, dressed in gray, his beard and hair long and white, rode a great white horse whose like Hoshi had never seen. She did not have the practiced eye of even a child of Rohan, but one could not live in Edoras for even a short time and not pick up something about judging horses.
The second man, his face strange looking and weather-beaten, gazed upwards at her. She knew that he saw her standing there and was unaccountably unnerved by his gaze. Hoshi drew back from the ledge but still she felt his eyes upon her, bearing deep into her mind and soul. A lion of a man, this one, strong and powerful but graceful and noble at the same moment.
And the other horse, the one with two riders, bore the strangest of all. The first rider sat with a light, confident seat, his straight white-blond hair neatly falling over his shoulders, whipping idly in the breeze. He rode with a slender grace, his hands gentle on the reins. His companion, a short round man with a long reddish beard, clutched the blonde one's waist with considerably less grace.
"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," said the little one; Hoshi saw the people quickly look at him and then cringe away. Surely he did not know of the prince's death, or his words would not be so harsh. They grieved for king and heir, the latter dead for all time, the former as good as dead before his time.
She drew back behind one of the carved pillars, staying in the shadow as the four dismounted and climbed the steps to the Golden Hall. Háma, the Doorward, stepped forward to meet them, his guards tall and straight behind his back. Hoshi's fists clenched; Háma stayed out of fierce loyalty to the king, but the rest of the men there were loyal to Wormtongue and not Théoden.
"Here I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter," said Háma. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." A look of disgust crossed his face. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue." The words left his tongue as if he had tasted something foul (and so he had, Hoshi thought), but he kept his shoulders tall and straight, obeying his king's will even if the king could no longer deliver sane orders.
The blonde man stepped forward first, handing two long knives, a quiver of arrows, and an elaborately carved bow to the hands of the guards. "Keep these well," he said sternly, "for they come from the Golden Wood and the Lady of Lothlórien gave them to me."
"It is not my will to put aside my sword or to deliver it to the hand of any other man," said the dark-haired man slowly, stepping up himself.
"It is the will of Théoden," said Háma.
"This is idle talk," said the white-haired man in annoyance. "Here at least is my sword, goodman Háma. Keep it well." He handed it to Háma. "Now let me pass. Come, Aragorn!"
"Here I set it," said the dark man, called Aragorn. "I command you not to touch it."
"Well," said the short one, "if it has Aragorn's sword to keep it company, my axe may stay here, too, without shame. Now, then, if that is all as you wish, let us go and speak with your master."
Háma, though, did not move. "Your staff," he said, nodding at the long white wooden stick held fast in the old man's hand.
"Hmm?" said the old man innocently. "Oh! You would not part an old man from his walking-stick, would you?" Háma, still looking reluctant, nodded once and then stepped aside. The odd company went inside.
Hoshi shivered. She had noticed just as the golden-haired one had set down his arrows that his ears were pointed, sweeping up in an elegant curve from his temples. An elf, then, one of that mysterious ancient race of which Éowyn had told her stories. And his short companion with the great beard must be a dwarf then, the diggers of metal from under mountains, carriers of axes and fierce tempers.
A hand on her shoulder startled her out of the bemused reverie, and she spun around, heart racing. But it was only Malcolm, face smudged with dust and soot. He smelled of metal and smoke. "You were in the smithy again," said Hoshi. "You smell horrible."
He grinned. "Sorry. I shall have to have a bath, I suppose. What's the matter with you?"
"Some very strange people just came to the door," said Hoshi. "Come on. I want to see who they are." She took his hand and pulled him into the Hall behind her, getting no trouble from the doorguards since they had followed the odd visitors into the Hall a few moments before.
To their very great surprise the king's eyes were open, burning with a bright light, and gazing straight at the white-bearded man. "Truth to tell your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf," said Théoden, voice raspy from disuse. "You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"
Hoshi drew Malcolm around the edges of the Hall. They would not be welcome here if they were seen, but perhaps if they stayed on the fringes, they could see what was happening. Never before had the king spoken or looked so very alert as now, which, Hoshi amended, was still not as alert as a normal person by any means.
"A just question, my liege," said Gríma with a sneer, rising from the dais on which he had been seated. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer of cheap tricks chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him; ill news is an ill guest."
"A witless worm you have become! Therefore be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!" said Gandalf. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls." He raised his white staff and a peal of thunder cracked through the Hall. Wormtongue hissed and drew back against the king's throne.
"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff! That fool, Háma, has betrayed us all!" cried the pale advisor, shrinking away from the terrifying visage of the white-bearded Gandalf. Hoshi gazed in amazement as the old man strode forward, gleaming staff in hand, and said in a powerful voice:
"Théoden, son of Thengel! Too long have you sat in the shadows! Harken to me! I release you from the shadows!" He stood just before the dais; the king raised his head a little and began to laugh as the eyes of the two old men met and gazed deep at the other. Behind Gandalf Gríma's followers fought with the old man's three companions as they tried to get to the dais, but they were no match for the fierce defense of the man, elf, and dwarf. Malcolm, beside her, gasped in awe of the fighting skills. But Hoshi's eyes were still drawn to the battle of wills between the old men before the dais.
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!" said the king, his eyes widening with laughter. Gandalf's face hardened, and he threw off his grey cloak. All present in the hall gasped as a blinding white light shone forth from the old man's shoulders. Théoden cried out and threw himself away from the brilliant glare, twisting in his chair.
"I draw you out, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" cried the white figure. Out of the corner of her eye Hoshi saw Éowyn rush into the hall and gasp at the sight of her uncle threatened on his very throne. The dark- haired one, Aragorn, caught her arms and held her back, whispering, "Wait!"
"If I go, Théoden dies," the king said. Both Hoshi and Malcolm looked at each other, completely baffled.
"You did not kill me.... You will not kill him!" said Gandalf, raising his staff higher. The king drew back, hissing.
"Rohan is mine!"
"Be gone!" said Gandalf. The ancient king lunged off the chair; Gandalf smote him a blow to the forehead and he fell backwards, gasping and moaning.
"What just happened?" whispered Malcolm to Hoshi, who shook her head numbly. Something important, she had no doubt, but what it was, she had no idea.
Éowyn finally managed to wrench herself from Aragorn's grasp, and rushed to the aid of her uncle. As they watched, the age and wear seemed to melt from his features; the dust and pale skin of his long enchantment fell away like dirt washed away by the rain, and he gazed solemnly on Éowyn's tear- streaked but smiling face.
"I know your face," he said softly. "Éowyn, Éowyn!" He looked around at the hall. Gandalf smiled kindly at him.
"Breathe the free air again, my friend," said the old man. Hoshi could not believe that this was the same king standing before them. He looked alive again, no longer a mere husk but a living, breathing soul. His eyes gazed at each and every one of them, even the two displaced Starfleet officers; he did not know them and for a moment the confusion showed in his face, but he did not say anything.
"Dark have been my dreams of late," said Théoden, gripping Éowyn's shoulder as he straightened up. "Your fingers would remember their old strength better.... if they grasped your sword," said Gandalf impishly. The sword of the king was brought forth, and Théoden gripped it with a grim smile. Then he turned to Gríma, who was mewling under the bootheels of the dwarf. Grasping the back of the former advisor's robe, he roared and dragged Wormtongue out onto the steps of the Hall and tossed him down the stairs.
"I've only ever served you, my lord!" whimpered Gríma, clutching his fingers in desperation and writing on the ground.
"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" cried the king, striding strong and tall over the pitiful wretch Wormtongue. The great sword rose in his hands, readying itself for a sweeping cut downwards, but Aragorn leapt forward and grabbed his arm before the blow could fall.
"No, my lord! Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account," said the dark-haired warrior. Wormtongue spat at Aragorn's kindly hand and scrambled away from the steps of the Hall, quickly wresting a horse from one of the townspeople and galloping out through the gate on it.
"Good riddance," muttered Malcolm and spat himself, off the side of the steps in the direction Wormtongue had taken.
"Hail Théoden King!" cried Háma, and the crowd took up the call. But the king had no ears for it; he gazed around at the people in bafflement.
"Where is my son?" he said plaintively. "Where is Théodred?"
Éowyn came down then and drew him away; Hoshi closed her eyes and sighed. Such a terrible thing to wake up to, she thought. But of course, she and Malcolm had experienced much the same thing. If their crewmates were not dead, they were long gone and there was little hope of ever seeing them again. Malcolm, sensing her distress, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Hoshi opened her eyes and smiled weakly back at him. "I'm all right," she said. He nodded, not smiling back, and did not take his hand away. She looked across the steps to the crowd of visitors and guards and citizens milling about, their mixed grief and happiness creating a strange feel in mood.
The eagle eyes of the old man, Gandalf, were fixed upon them with laser precision. As Hoshi returned his gaze he and the other man, Aragorn, came up to them.
"And here we have something that does not belong," said Gandalf.
"Your look is strange, fair maiden," said Aragorn, "and yours as well, stranger, yet not so strange as hers. Who are you?"
"I am Hoshi Sato, and this is Malcolm Reed," said Hoshi quickly, extending her hand to shake. Aragorn gave her a strange look but took it gently and let her shake quickly. Malcolm did not move.
"You are not where you should be," said Gandalf, his eyes brooding. He stared at them intently, as if he were trying to memorize every feature of their faces, and then reached out to Hoshi's forehead with one long arm. "You are not where you should be at all."
Aragorn and Malcolm looked one another up and down, neither sure what to do. Hoshi stayed still as a stone, questions stirring through her mind with the intensity of a roaring fire. "Ah," said Gandalf finally, and took his hand away. "You have come a long way indeed."
Hoshi and Malcolm stared at each other, completely aghast, and then at the old man, while Aragorn's brow wrinkled in confusion.
"Tell me," said Gandalf solemnly, "how did you come here?"
He spoke in English.
********************* I'm trying my best to get stuff up quickly.... life, unfortunately, gets in the way at times. Keep looking for chapters, I'll keep working on them, and I'll try to actually finish Mind and Body too.
Author's Note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Some of the questions posed I will attempt to answer in this chapter but you have to look for them. Otherwise, what's the fun of me just TELLING you?
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 4: The King of the Golden Hall
"Alas," he said, "that these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned! Alas for Boromir the brave! The young perish and the old linger, withering."
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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"All of the groups have checked in except Reed and Sato," said Sub- Commander T'Pol as Captain Archer and Commander Tucker walked onto the bridge from the turbolift. "They are two hours and eleven minutes overdue."
"Have you tried to get their communicators?" asked Archer. The look T'Pol gave him answered that question; logically it would be the first thing she'd try, of course. He bit his lip back and added, "No response at all?"
"The communicators are functioning perfectly. Their failure to respond is not due to mechanical error," said T'Pol calmly.
"What could they be doing that they would be two hours late to check in and ignore your hails?" said Archer. Trip, standing at his shoulder, snorted explosively. The captain rolled his eyes and chose to ignore that.
"Well, come on, Jon, you gotta admit them going down there, just the two of them," whispered Trip, still snickering.
"I do not believe Lieutenant Reed would be so irresponsible as to forget his check-in time for mere copulation," said T'Pol, perfectly serious. Archer rolled his eyes again and wondered if she sometimes just said things like that because she knew it would set Trip off. "Furthermore," she added, "it is fraternization between ranks and against Starfleet regulations."
"I'll have one of the shuttle pilots swing by and check on them," said Archer as the engineer turned bright red from trying not to laugh. "Trip, isn't there something you can take care of in Engineering?"
Trip made it as far as the turbolift before he let out a great guffaw. The doors slid shut and the bridge crew could still hear him chuckling until the lift went down too far for the sound to carry any farther.
Archer sighed. "Do you say these things on purpose?" he asked T'Pol.
"I do not understand, Captain," she replied, with one eyebrow elegantly raised.
"Never mind," he told her, and turned to the pilot's station. "Travis, you feel like doing a little flying around?"
"Aye sir!" said the young pilot. "See if I can find Hoshi and Malcolm?"
"Bring them back up here," said Archer. "They're probably fine, but if they're going to miss check-in times and ignore hails, then I don't want them down there."
Mayweather hopped up from the console and beckoned one of the crewmen to take his place. "I'll get them," he promised earnestly. "Even if they are copulating," he added, with a perfectly straight face.
Archer couldn't hold it in and ran for the ready room. It just wouldn't do, if the crew saw their captain convulsed in fits of laughter.
But an hour later he was no longer laughing: Travis found two packs and footprints in the sand, and a curious wooden box, but no sign of either of the missing officers. Tracks marked a path to a low stone wall, ruined for eons, and then simply vanished into thin air. No tracks leading away from the site. No other tracks to tell what might have happened. Nothing at all.
They had simply vanished.
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Hoshi sat on the high steps in front of the Golden Hall, her hair flying in black clouds around her ears. She gazed down at the streets of Edoras below, watching the noon bustle of the city folk below. A few of them, passing close to the Hall, looked up at her; some smiled and nodded, others turned away after an uneasy glance. To a people who were very European in appearance (Hoshi knew that there was no Europe here but she couldn't find another way to characterize their appearance) she seemed very exotic indeed. A similar sort of feeling probably existed in European countries and America when Asians first started immigrating to those mainly Caucasian countries. She wondered what they would make of Travis. Or T'Pol. Or Phlox.
Thinking of her crewmates on Enterprise, by now surely presuming her and Malcolm dead, she felt the prickle of tears at the edges of her eyes. It had been nearly a month since they'd come to this strange place, and still she could not recall her old home without wanting to weep. It was part of the reason she had thrown herself so much into every task she could find, helping Éowyn with the administration of the Hall and Edoras and teaching Malcolm the Common Speech. She knew he thought her emphatic teaching overly zealous. But she didn't care. Whatever it took, she would not break down. She must get through this with her sanity intact.
From the yards around the side of the Hall she heard the men training. She didn't have to look to know Malcolm would be among them, breathing heavily and ignoring his still-healing ribs as he tried to learn the arts of sword fighting and archery. Éomer's proclamation he had taken straight to heart, and for the three days since the Marshal had been banished, he had wrung himself to a dripping rag trying to get back into fighting shape.
Hoshi privately thought it a bit insane. Men---they just had to know that they could kill whatever came their way. Well, no, she knew was being unfair as soon as she thought it. Malcolm was not a killer.
Of course, it was much easier to be a pacifist when one could simply set the setting on the phase pistol to stun.
Hoshi sighed. Both she and Éowyn had told him he was only going to aggravate his ribs but he went out anyway. Stubborn Malcolm, always so stubborn. But she was glad he was here all the same.
And according to the men, he was a rather good shot with a bow and arrows. "Eyes of an Elf!" they said, patting him on the back. "Now, can you do it from the back of a horse?"
She sighed. Perhaps it was a good thing he was adjusting to this life. At the moment it seemed rather unlikely that they would ever get back to Enterprise.
The door to the Hall slammed and Éowyn strode out, her normally pale cheeks flushed and angry, her sea-blue eyes burning with cold fire. She passed right by Hoshi and simply stood, gazing out to the grassy plains around the city, golden hair blowing across her face and shoulders. The wind was very fierce that day, indeed. A green and gold flag above her tore from the standard with a great rip and tumbled on the wind down the hill.
"Éowyn," Hoshi said softly. The woman started and then turned around, and Hoshi saw the tears in her eyes, welling like springs in the desert.
"Oh, my friend, that I should live in such evil times," murmured the young woman. Her eyes grew very round and her cheeks paled. "Théodred is dead, Hoshi. And his father will not go to the body. I fear that he does not even hear my words. And always that foul Wormtongue is pacing my steps." Almost unconsciously her hand went to her cheek; Hoshi grew very still.
"If he comes near you Malcolm will protect you," said Hoshi quietly. Éowyn gave her an amazed look.
"I can protect myself, my friend," she answered. "I have not trained in the use of a blade for years for nothing. Wormtongue is only a threat to my country. Not to me."
Hoshi did not mention Éomer's words as he rode from the city. Instead she gazed down the hill, tracing the path of the green flag as it reached the gates and went up and over the wall in a flutter of wind.
"Our country flaps like that banner," said Éowyn softly. "Pulled from the standard and tumbling in the wind with no control whatsoever."
But Hoshi had stopped watching the flag. "Look, Éowyn," she cried, jumping to her feet. "Riders! Who are they?"
"Riders? Who comes to Edoras?" said Éowyn softly, drawing away from the edge of the steps. "Naught but more of Wormtongue's lackeys, no doubt." She turned from the view and went back inside, shoulders set with anger.
Hoshi stayed and watched as the three riders made their way up the hill. No, not three, four---one smaller man rode behind a taller companion, his legs too short to easily control the big horse. A very old man, dressed in gray, his beard and hair long and white, rode a great white horse whose like Hoshi had never seen. She did not have the practiced eye of even a child of Rohan, but one could not live in Edoras for even a short time and not pick up something about judging horses.
The second man, his face strange looking and weather-beaten, gazed upwards at her. She knew that he saw her standing there and was unaccountably unnerved by his gaze. Hoshi drew back from the ledge but still she felt his eyes upon her, bearing deep into her mind and soul. A lion of a man, this one, strong and powerful but graceful and noble at the same moment.
And the other horse, the one with two riders, bore the strangest of all. The first rider sat with a light, confident seat, his straight white-blond hair neatly falling over his shoulders, whipping idly in the breeze. He rode with a slender grace, his hands gentle on the reins. His companion, a short round man with a long reddish beard, clutched the blonde one's waist with considerably less grace.
"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," said the little one; Hoshi saw the people quickly look at him and then cringe away. Surely he did not know of the prince's death, or his words would not be so harsh. They grieved for king and heir, the latter dead for all time, the former as good as dead before his time.
She drew back behind one of the carved pillars, staying in the shadow as the four dismounted and climbed the steps to the Golden Hall. Háma, the Doorward, stepped forward to meet them, his guards tall and straight behind his back. Hoshi's fists clenched; Háma stayed out of fierce loyalty to the king, but the rest of the men there were loyal to Wormtongue and not Théoden.
"Here I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter," said Háma. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." A look of disgust crossed his face. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue." The words left his tongue as if he had tasted something foul (and so he had, Hoshi thought), but he kept his shoulders tall and straight, obeying his king's will even if the king could no longer deliver sane orders.
The blonde man stepped forward first, handing two long knives, a quiver of arrows, and an elaborately carved bow to the hands of the guards. "Keep these well," he said sternly, "for they come from the Golden Wood and the Lady of Lothlórien gave them to me."
"It is not my will to put aside my sword or to deliver it to the hand of any other man," said the dark-haired man slowly, stepping up himself.
"It is the will of Théoden," said Háma.
"This is idle talk," said the white-haired man in annoyance. "Here at least is my sword, goodman Háma. Keep it well." He handed it to Háma. "Now let me pass. Come, Aragorn!"
"Here I set it," said the dark man, called Aragorn. "I command you not to touch it."
"Well," said the short one, "if it has Aragorn's sword to keep it company, my axe may stay here, too, without shame. Now, then, if that is all as you wish, let us go and speak with your master."
Háma, though, did not move. "Your staff," he said, nodding at the long white wooden stick held fast in the old man's hand.
"Hmm?" said the old man innocently. "Oh! You would not part an old man from his walking-stick, would you?" Háma, still looking reluctant, nodded once and then stepped aside. The odd company went inside.
Hoshi shivered. She had noticed just as the golden-haired one had set down his arrows that his ears were pointed, sweeping up in an elegant curve from his temples. An elf, then, one of that mysterious ancient race of which Éowyn had told her stories. And his short companion with the great beard must be a dwarf then, the diggers of metal from under mountains, carriers of axes and fierce tempers.
A hand on her shoulder startled her out of the bemused reverie, and she spun around, heart racing. But it was only Malcolm, face smudged with dust and soot. He smelled of metal and smoke. "You were in the smithy again," said Hoshi. "You smell horrible."
He grinned. "Sorry. I shall have to have a bath, I suppose. What's the matter with you?"
"Some very strange people just came to the door," said Hoshi. "Come on. I want to see who they are." She took his hand and pulled him into the Hall behind her, getting no trouble from the doorguards since they had followed the odd visitors into the Hall a few moments before.
To their very great surprise the king's eyes were open, burning with a bright light, and gazing straight at the white-bearded man. "Truth to tell your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf," said Théoden, voice raspy from disuse. "You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"
Hoshi drew Malcolm around the edges of the Hall. They would not be welcome here if they were seen, but perhaps if they stayed on the fringes, they could see what was happening. Never before had the king spoken or looked so very alert as now, which, Hoshi amended, was still not as alert as a normal person by any means.
"A just question, my liege," said Gríma with a sneer, rising from the dais on which he had been seated. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer of cheap tricks chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him; ill news is an ill guest."
"A witless worm you have become! Therefore be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!" said Gandalf. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls." He raised his white staff and a peal of thunder cracked through the Hall. Wormtongue hissed and drew back against the king's throne.
"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff! That fool, Háma, has betrayed us all!" cried the pale advisor, shrinking away from the terrifying visage of the white-bearded Gandalf. Hoshi gazed in amazement as the old man strode forward, gleaming staff in hand, and said in a powerful voice:
"Théoden, son of Thengel! Too long have you sat in the shadows! Harken to me! I release you from the shadows!" He stood just before the dais; the king raised his head a little and began to laugh as the eyes of the two old men met and gazed deep at the other. Behind Gandalf Gríma's followers fought with the old man's three companions as they tried to get to the dais, but they were no match for the fierce defense of the man, elf, and dwarf. Malcolm, beside her, gasped in awe of the fighting skills. But Hoshi's eyes were still drawn to the battle of wills between the old men before the dais.
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!" said the king, his eyes widening with laughter. Gandalf's face hardened, and he threw off his grey cloak. All present in the hall gasped as a blinding white light shone forth from the old man's shoulders. Théoden cried out and threw himself away from the brilliant glare, twisting in his chair.
"I draw you out, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" cried the white figure. Out of the corner of her eye Hoshi saw Éowyn rush into the hall and gasp at the sight of her uncle threatened on his very throne. The dark- haired one, Aragorn, caught her arms and held her back, whispering, "Wait!"
"If I go, Théoden dies," the king said. Both Hoshi and Malcolm looked at each other, completely baffled.
"You did not kill me.... You will not kill him!" said Gandalf, raising his staff higher. The king drew back, hissing.
"Rohan is mine!"
"Be gone!" said Gandalf. The ancient king lunged off the chair; Gandalf smote him a blow to the forehead and he fell backwards, gasping and moaning.
"What just happened?" whispered Malcolm to Hoshi, who shook her head numbly. Something important, she had no doubt, but what it was, she had no idea.
Éowyn finally managed to wrench herself from Aragorn's grasp, and rushed to the aid of her uncle. As they watched, the age and wear seemed to melt from his features; the dust and pale skin of his long enchantment fell away like dirt washed away by the rain, and he gazed solemnly on Éowyn's tear- streaked but smiling face.
"I know your face," he said softly. "Éowyn, Éowyn!" He looked around at the hall. Gandalf smiled kindly at him.
"Breathe the free air again, my friend," said the old man. Hoshi could not believe that this was the same king standing before them. He looked alive again, no longer a mere husk but a living, breathing soul. His eyes gazed at each and every one of them, even the two displaced Starfleet officers; he did not know them and for a moment the confusion showed in his face, but he did not say anything.
"Dark have been my dreams of late," said Théoden, gripping Éowyn's shoulder as he straightened up. "Your fingers would remember their old strength better.... if they grasped your sword," said Gandalf impishly. The sword of the king was brought forth, and Théoden gripped it with a grim smile. Then he turned to Gríma, who was mewling under the bootheels of the dwarf. Grasping the back of the former advisor's robe, he roared and dragged Wormtongue out onto the steps of the Hall and tossed him down the stairs.
"I've only ever served you, my lord!" whimpered Gríma, clutching his fingers in desperation and writing on the ground.
"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" cried the king, striding strong and tall over the pitiful wretch Wormtongue. The great sword rose in his hands, readying itself for a sweeping cut downwards, but Aragorn leapt forward and grabbed his arm before the blow could fall.
"No, my lord! Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account," said the dark-haired warrior. Wormtongue spat at Aragorn's kindly hand and scrambled away from the steps of the Hall, quickly wresting a horse from one of the townspeople and galloping out through the gate on it.
"Good riddance," muttered Malcolm and spat himself, off the side of the steps in the direction Wormtongue had taken.
"Hail Théoden King!" cried Háma, and the crowd took up the call. But the king had no ears for it; he gazed around at the people in bafflement.
"Where is my son?" he said plaintively. "Where is Théodred?"
Éowyn came down then and drew him away; Hoshi closed her eyes and sighed. Such a terrible thing to wake up to, she thought. But of course, she and Malcolm had experienced much the same thing. If their crewmates were not dead, they were long gone and there was little hope of ever seeing them again. Malcolm, sensing her distress, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Hoshi opened her eyes and smiled weakly back at him. "I'm all right," she said. He nodded, not smiling back, and did not take his hand away. She looked across the steps to the crowd of visitors and guards and citizens milling about, their mixed grief and happiness creating a strange feel in mood.
The eagle eyes of the old man, Gandalf, were fixed upon them with laser precision. As Hoshi returned his gaze he and the other man, Aragorn, came up to them.
"And here we have something that does not belong," said Gandalf.
"Your look is strange, fair maiden," said Aragorn, "and yours as well, stranger, yet not so strange as hers. Who are you?"
"I am Hoshi Sato, and this is Malcolm Reed," said Hoshi quickly, extending her hand to shake. Aragorn gave her a strange look but took it gently and let her shake quickly. Malcolm did not move.
"You are not where you should be," said Gandalf, his eyes brooding. He stared at them intently, as if he were trying to memorize every feature of their faces, and then reached out to Hoshi's forehead with one long arm. "You are not where you should be at all."
Aragorn and Malcolm looked one another up and down, neither sure what to do. Hoshi stayed still as a stone, questions stirring through her mind with the intensity of a roaring fire. "Ah," said Gandalf finally, and took his hand away. "You have come a long way indeed."
Hoshi and Malcolm stared at each other, completely aghast, and then at the old man, while Aragorn's brow wrinkled in confusion.
"Tell me," said Gandalf solemnly, "how did you come here?"
He spoke in English.
********************* I'm trying my best to get stuff up quickly.... life, unfortunately, gets in the way at times. Keep looking for chapters, I'll keep working on them, and I'll try to actually finish Mind and Body too.