Disclaimer: Enterprise and all related characters belong to Paramount; Lord
of the Rings and all related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 5: The March to Helm's Deep
Men of that land called it Helm's Deep, after a hero of old wars who had made his refuge there. Ever steeper and narrower it wound inward from the north under the shadow of the Thrihyrne, till the crowhaunted cliffs rose like mighty towers on either side, shutting out the light.
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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Aragorn still gazed at them with an utterly bemused face. A curious little surge of amusement went through Malcolm; the same expression had taken up near-permanent residence on his face since he had woken from his seven-day sleep these few weeks ago. Good to see that perhaps it had finally moved on.
He was acutely conscious, standing in front of these two men, that he smelled of blacksmith's shed and sweat, and that they were both a good ten centimeters taller than him. The dark-haired warrior, Aragorn, had picked up his sword when Théoden had led them outside after Wormtongue, and Malcolm gazed longingly at the black scabbard hung almost nonchalantly at the man's side. His ribs twinged a bit, unexpectedly, and let him know in no uncertain terms just why that sword was beyond his abilities just now.
Gandalf's eyes did not leave Hoshi's; Malcolm did not move, his hand still on her shoulder. "We don't know how we came here," said Hoshi in English, her voice strangely high, almost like a little girl's. "We saw a black ball, very smooth and shiny, and when we touched it we saw...."
She gazed upwards at him, the words breaking off in mid-sentence.
"We saw hands on fire," said Malcolm, cutting in quickly with a glance at Aragorn. He spoke in Common Speech, out of courtesy, wondering while he spoke what Hoshi was looking so very aghast about. "And stars, and fire, and clouds. A long road."
"I saw you," said Hoshi, so softly that both Aragorn and Malcolm leaned closer to hear her. "You were looking at us, before the long road. You spoke but I did not understand."
Gandalf looked very troubled. "That is a thing which drew heavily on my mind," he said. "I saw many strange things when I passed from one world to the other and back again. A great silver machine, floating in nothingness, yet inside there was life...."
"That is Enterprise!" cried Malcolm. "Our ship!"
The wizard shook his head. "I do not know its name. It is beyond my experience, ships that tread darkness instead of water. And many strange beings I saw, such that has never been seen in Middle Earth at all. But there is much I do not remember.... and the story itself, of how I came to see such things, is a very long one, and we have not the time to tell it now."
Aragorn stared down at the ground. "It is no easy story to tell, either," he murmured, and gazed away to the east suddenly, where the sky seemed always fringed with heavy cloud, no matter what the day or the weather in Rohan. Then he came back to himself, shaking his head, and smiled at the two of them. "Come, fair maiden," he said to Hoshi, taking her hand. "You and your warrior here must find a place for the four of us, since I do believe the mistress of this hall has weightier matters on her mind at the moment."
In any other man, Malcolm would have taken his words as a tease, or sarcasm, but in this one it was simply a statement of fact. The man carried himself like the proudest Royal Navy officer, bringing wisdom and knowledge of long tradition with him, but at the same time he was not haughty and overbearing. He simply was, and that was all.
The elf and the dwarf stood atop the steps of Meduseld, waiting patiently for their friends to catch up. They spoke in low voices of one called Saruman and of the death of Théodred, and of Éomer's banishment.
"Éomer?" said Malcolm, butting right into their conversation. "You have seen Éomer?"
The elf, cool and complacent, looked him up and down in such a calculating manner that Malcolm could have sworn he was looking at a Vulcan. A Vulcan with long blonde hair and a quiver of arrows, to be sure, but a Vulcan nonetheless. It was not the elf, though, who responded. "Aye, lad, that we have," said the stout dwarf, clapping Malcolm on the arm. "Not two days ago, riding north."
"Wormtongue banished him," said Malcolm. "He is needed here." His tongue tripped over the words, trying to find the right ones. "Threats.... orcs.... the Rohirrim must fight. There are few left."
"There are very few left indeed," said Aragorn ominously, eyes dark with worry. "Théoden's bewitchment may prove to be a grave blow to Rohan."
"Right now is not the time to speak of this," said Gandalf. "The king's son lies unburied in his deathbed. Today will be a time of mourning. Come. There will be time for talk of war later. Indeed, you shall be quite tired of war talk ere it finishes." He put his arm about Hoshi and the others followed in their wake, joining the crowd of mourners in the Golden Hall.
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"Do you think that Enterprise has had funerals for us yet?" said Malcolm the next day, as they climbed the hill back to the city. The mounds of the tombs of the kings of Rohan lay behind them, white speckled and oddly beautiful in a morbid way.
Hoshi looked over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the two old men who stood silently before the newly-dug grave of Théodred. Gandalf's white hair blew in the wind. Théoden shook his head slowly, staring in disbelief at the mound before him. As she watched he bent to pick one of the white flowers--- simbelmynë, was it?---and twisted it around in his fingers.
Malcolm watched Hoshi and saw what she saw; when they were out of sight of the grave mounds she gave him a scornful glare. "I don't want to think about it," she said flatly. "I am alive here. That is what matters."
"We've been gone a month, almost," said Malcolm, clenching his hands into fists in an almost unconscious gesture. "They've given us up for lost. How could they not?"
The look Hoshi gave him would have made a Vulcan flinch. "I don't want to talk about it," she told him, each word cold and biting. Then she turned and strode up to join Éowyn, leaving a very bemused armory officer in her wake. He swore, with all the force of his sailing ancestry behind it, and stumbled back down the hill. Not to the graves---he did not want to think about it, either, really---but around the walls to the front gate. There he flopped into the grass and lay on his back, looking at the clouds scud across the sky. Somewhere out there (or maybe somewhen, he amended himself, for he had a growing suspicion that they were not in their proper time at all) was Enterprise, flying away among the stars without them. Facing the Xindi, perhaps, or the Suliban, or any other of the myriad of enemies. No orcs in space, no Saruman and possession, no Wormtongue, just faceless aliens concealed in their hostile ships....
He knew only an inkling of the passing events, but he knew enough to gather that what was happening here was earth shaking. The dark threat to the east that the warriors spoke of, the evil place where the sun never shone, what was its name? He could not remember, and it irked him, because that name was important.
And here he was going all out trying to figure things out! As if he were a part of this world at all. It was not his responsibility to save these people, not in the slightest. He had no part in their war, no matter how grandiose.
"If he touches my sister, kill him," said Éomer's voice in his mind, the image of the proud warrior flashing before his eyes. Like or not, he said to himself, you do have a responsibility. Éomer is not here; it falls to you to protect Éowyn. And Hoshi, of course. If either of them would even accept his protection....
"Malcolm!" snapped a voice across the waving grasses. Malcolm bolted upright, gazing around until his eyes fell on Gandalf and Théoden, striding quickly towards him.
"Who are they?" he asked as the two men came up to him. Gandalf, holding a wide-eyed young girl in his arms as well as the reins of a horse in one hand, raised an eyebrow at him. The girl gazed from the boy in Théoden's arms to the horse and Gandalf. "Where is Mama?" she cried plaintively, clutching at the wizard's white robes.
"Hush, child," he said softly, handing the reins to Malcolm. The boy stirred in the king's arms and opened his eyes. For a moment the boy gazed around blankly and then started upwards so quickly that Théoden nearly dropped him.
"Garold! Freda! Where are you?" he cried, struggling out of the king's grip and onto the ground. He swayed and gasped as his knees gave out beneath him.
"I'm here!" cried Freda, reaching out to her brother. "Éothain, here I am!" He looked over and grasped her hand weakly, smiling.
"Your horse is too large for you, boy," said Théoden, keeping the boy on his feet with one strong arm. "A lad your size should ride a mare or a pony, not a great stallion like Garold here."
"I tried," said the boy. "I rode all night.... to raise the alarm...." He slumped forward into Théoden's arms, the king willingly taking up the boy's weight.
"Raise the alarm?" said Gandalf to the little girl, resuming their trek up the hill. "What does he mean, raise the alarm?"
"They burned our village," said Freda, a tear slipping down her dirt- smudged cheek. "Big ugly men with torches came and set fire to the roofs. Mama told us to go to Edoras and tell the king. But I don't know who the king is."
Théoden did not say anything as the little girl sobbed into Gandalf's beard. The wizard stroked her hair until she quieted, and they climbed up the hill in silence. Malcolm looked from one child to the other, wondering what it cost Théoden to hold someone else's son in his arms when his own lay dead under a white-flowered hill, and said nothing at all. He parted from Gandalf and Théoden at the steps of Meduseld and delivered the horse into the skilled hands of the stablemasters.
Aragorn, Éowyn, and Hoshi were holding a whispered conference over the head of the dazed boy and the little girl; Malcolm detected matters of healing in the air and steered far clear of the subject, having had far too much experience of Éowyn's medicinal talents for a lifetime. He saw Legolas and Gimli, with whom he had shared a dormitory the prior night, and sat down with them.
"Have some beer, laddie," said the jovial dwarf, pushing a tankard towards him. "You're looking a bit peaky there. You need beer and red meat, that's the ticket." Malcolm took it but did not drink. Whatever the brewers of Rohan put in their beer, it did not suit his tastes at all. He took a hunk of bread and chewed on it absently, wondering if red meat would really help any with his recuperation. Aragorn and Hoshi left their conference with Éowyn and came and sat next to Malcolm, taking food and drink for themselves.
Legolas nodded to them, but kept his eyes on the little boy and girl now eagerly eating bowls of soup. Éowyn draped a blanket around the girl's shoulders and looked up at the king, sitting stiffly on his throne with Gandalf next to him. "They had no warning," she said. "They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go, rick, cot, and tree."
"Where is Mama?" said Freda again; Éowyn hushed her, but the pain showed clear in both their eyes as each gazed at the king. Gandalf's wise old eyes gazed at them both, and then lit on Hoshi and Malcolm.
"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash on you, all the more potent for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children," Gandalf said urgently. "You must fight. You have left it almost too late, Théoden king."
"Indeed my eyes were almost blind," said Théoden. He looked around the room, eyes settling on the two displaced Starfleet officers. Malcolm stared back, unafraid, and took a bite of bread. The king had favored both him and Hoshi with many a curious glance since his awakening the day before, but still he had not asked who they were or what they were doing in his hall.
"How far back his treachery goes, who can guess?" said Gandalf, following the king's gaze. "He was not always evil. Once I do not doubt that he was the friend of Rohan; and even when his heart grew colder, he found you useful still. But for long now he has plotted your ruin, wearing the mask of friendship, until he was ready. In those years Wormtongue's task was easy, and all that you did was swiftly known in Isengard; for your land was open and strangers came and went. And ever Wormtongue's whispering was in your ears, poisoning your thought, chilling your heart, weakening your limbs, while others watched and could do nothing, for your will was in his keeping."
Théoden's eyes flashed dangerously at the wizard. "And I wonder what spells he may still leave in place," he said, standing up and coming forward to the table where Hoshi and Aragorn sat, quietly eating. Hoshi caught on to his meaning at once and drew herself up.
"My lord, I am no spy from Saruman," she said, words biting and harsh. "Nor is my friend. We came here through some magic, and all we want is to return. And believe me, if we could find a way to do it, we would!"
"You sit in my hall, eating my food, and dare to speak to me thus?" said Théoden, eyes wide. "In the past you would be slain for such talk!"
"You'll have to come through me to slay anyone!" cried Malcolm, leaping up from the table and upsetting the tankard of beer. No one said a word as king and lieutenant faced each other down, eyes blazing. Hoshi's jaw tightened and she placed a hand on both of their chests and pushed hard, breaking the power struggle apart. Malcolm fell back onto the bench, hand to his chest, trying to draw in breath as splinters of pain shot through his still-sore ribs.
"Idiot," Hoshi said to him in English. "Next time you protect me, wait until you're in shape to do it."
Malcolm, still wheezing, glared at the wizard as the old man snorted loudly. "What did she say?" demanded Gimli, banging his tankard on the table. The wizard only smiled and shook his head.
"We are drawn apart by Isengard at one end and Barad-dur at the other," he said, ignoring Gimli. "Isengard will not leave you alone. We cannot afford to provoke division within our own cause. You have not enough fighters that you can afford to lose this one here."
Théoden glared at everyone, obviously not liking Gandalf's words, but stepped away from Hoshi and Malcolm. "Isengard will overcome us," he said heavily. "No matter how many fighters we have."
"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak," said Aragorn.
"Éomer is loyal to you," added Malcolm, finally getting his breath under control.
Aragorn nodded. "His men will return and fight for their King."
"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," Théoden spat. "Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is you want of me. But I will not bring further hurt to my people. I will not risk open war."
Aragorn's lips thinned. "Open war is upon you," he said fiercely. "Whether you would risk it or not."
"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan," said Théoden, hand straying to his sword. Malcolm sighed; the man was simply too confrontational. He almost liked him better as a shaggy lump on a dusty throne. Gimli burped loudly.
Gandalf looked from one to the other. "Then what is the king's decision?" he asked, a hint of ice in his voice. Théoden looked at him, flinty-eyed, and then at the banner of Eorlingas hanging from the wall. "We shall go to Helm's Deep. There we may withstand a thousand sieges. The enemy will come and fall trying to break the walls, and we shall outlast them."
From the looks that passed between Gandalf and Aragorn, Malcolm gathered that they liked this decision not one bit, but it was as Théoden had said: he was king of Rohan, and they were merely strangers with no real power here.
Malcolm, looking at them, was oddly pleased that at last someone was in the same boat as him.
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They left early the next morning, a train of people stretching out over the plains. The women and children wept; the men looked over their shoulder at their home, and all were dejected and pale-faced. Malcolm strode with Éowyn and Hoshi, a pack of foodstuff and medicines on his back. Apparently the seeming incompetence the women had diagnosed him with as a result of his injuries did not extend to carrying their things.
Gimli rode next to them on Arod, a flighty white gelding that he had acquired from Éomer as the Rohirrim rode north. For a time Éowyn pressed him for news of her brother, but the dwarf could tell her little, and the talk turned to dwarves themselves.
"It's true, you don't see many dwarf women!" said Gimli gaily, rocking back and forth as the flighty Arod weaved beneath him. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they are often mistaken for dwarf men."
"It's the beards," said Aragorn softly from behind them, showing rather a lot of teeth in his wide grin. Éowyn laughed, a high, girlish giggle that made both Malcolm and Hoshi glance at the younger woman with surprise. Their eyes met and they both nodded. Malcolm grinned too. Éowyn had it bad for the ragged man from the north.
"And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women!" Gimli said. "And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground! Which is of course ridiculous....whoa!!" Arod skittered forward and stopped short, throwing Gimli to the ground, and whickered gaily. Éowyn rushed forward and brushed the dwarf off as he protested, "It's all right, it's all right! That was deliberate, it was deliberate." Hoshi laughed and went forward to help, leaving Aragorn and Malcolm walking side by side.
"Deliberate, of course," said Malcolm, chuckling.
Aragorn laughed, still looking at Éowyn. Her golden hair blazed in the sunlight and her fair features lit up with an inner light. Personally, Malcolm felt Hoshi far outshone the pale Éowyn, even if he barely admitted it to himself, but he was not one to mock other men's taste in women. But when he looked at Aragorn again, he discarded his earlier observation as he saw the sadness in the other man's eyes. Almost unconsciously Aragorn's hand crept to the shining silver pendant around his neck, and Malcolm knew that somewhere he had left another woman behind, one whom Éowyn, no matter how she might try, could never replace.
"You came from another time?" asked Aragorn suddenly, breaking from his reverie.
"I think so," said Malcolm. "Gandalf agrees, but he does not know how it happened."
"Things do not happen for no reason," said Aragorn. "You are strange, but you are here for some purpose."
Malcolm looked out over the mountains to the south, their dusty peaks hazy in the morning light, before he answered. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "I can't think what that reason could be, though."
Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know either. But you are a man of war, I see this clearly. Perhaps you will turn our fortunes in the coming battles."
"I'm not much for hand-to-hand combat," said Malcolm apologetically. "We do not use swords where I come from."
"Your ship, which flies among the stars? What do you use then?" Aragorn asked, a curious note in his voice.
How to explain phase pistols or torpedoes or phase cannons? Plasma rifles? "We can....we can focus light so it kills," said Malcolm helplessly, not knowing the word for gun or cannon (if these people even had such things, which he doubted). "And we can make explosions. Very big explosions."
Aragorn's brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you then a wizard? To control light in a such a way?"
"No....It's not magic, it's physics," said Malcolm, using the English word. He knew Aragorn would not understand, and he sighed. "We could defeat Saruman easily with such things, but there are none here. I am in charge of the weapons of my ship, and I could build one if I had the right materials, but you don't have any of the right things here."
"Perhaps Gandalf could help you," said Aragorn. "He will return in four more days. He left yesterday morning."
"I think I'd have to change your entire industrial basis to do that," said Malcolm, grinning. "And I don't think you have one in the first place, since I have to say 'industrial' in English."
Aragorn gave him a bemused expression, not understanding. "Well, you will be helpful at Helm's Deep, I think," he said, and clapped Malcolm gently on the shoulder. "We will weather this storm, every man together, no matter how strange their way of coming here."
They went on in silence. Malcolm smiled slightly as he walked, watching Hoshi and Éowyn, and thinking that perhaps it was not such a terrible thing to be here after all.
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This is going to be a very long story. I don't know what I'm getting myself into! But it's fun to write.... I don't think I've ever had so much fun writing fan fiction before!
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 5: The March to Helm's Deep
Men of that land called it Helm's Deep, after a hero of old wars who had made his refuge there. Ever steeper and narrower it wound inward from the north under the shadow of the Thrihyrne, till the crowhaunted cliffs rose like mighty towers on either side, shutting out the light.
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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Aragorn still gazed at them with an utterly bemused face. A curious little surge of amusement went through Malcolm; the same expression had taken up near-permanent residence on his face since he had woken from his seven-day sleep these few weeks ago. Good to see that perhaps it had finally moved on.
He was acutely conscious, standing in front of these two men, that he smelled of blacksmith's shed and sweat, and that they were both a good ten centimeters taller than him. The dark-haired warrior, Aragorn, had picked up his sword when Théoden had led them outside after Wormtongue, and Malcolm gazed longingly at the black scabbard hung almost nonchalantly at the man's side. His ribs twinged a bit, unexpectedly, and let him know in no uncertain terms just why that sword was beyond his abilities just now.
Gandalf's eyes did not leave Hoshi's; Malcolm did not move, his hand still on her shoulder. "We don't know how we came here," said Hoshi in English, her voice strangely high, almost like a little girl's. "We saw a black ball, very smooth and shiny, and when we touched it we saw...."
She gazed upwards at him, the words breaking off in mid-sentence.
"We saw hands on fire," said Malcolm, cutting in quickly with a glance at Aragorn. He spoke in Common Speech, out of courtesy, wondering while he spoke what Hoshi was looking so very aghast about. "And stars, and fire, and clouds. A long road."
"I saw you," said Hoshi, so softly that both Aragorn and Malcolm leaned closer to hear her. "You were looking at us, before the long road. You spoke but I did not understand."
Gandalf looked very troubled. "That is a thing which drew heavily on my mind," he said. "I saw many strange things when I passed from one world to the other and back again. A great silver machine, floating in nothingness, yet inside there was life...."
"That is Enterprise!" cried Malcolm. "Our ship!"
The wizard shook his head. "I do not know its name. It is beyond my experience, ships that tread darkness instead of water. And many strange beings I saw, such that has never been seen in Middle Earth at all. But there is much I do not remember.... and the story itself, of how I came to see such things, is a very long one, and we have not the time to tell it now."
Aragorn stared down at the ground. "It is no easy story to tell, either," he murmured, and gazed away to the east suddenly, where the sky seemed always fringed with heavy cloud, no matter what the day or the weather in Rohan. Then he came back to himself, shaking his head, and smiled at the two of them. "Come, fair maiden," he said to Hoshi, taking her hand. "You and your warrior here must find a place for the four of us, since I do believe the mistress of this hall has weightier matters on her mind at the moment."
In any other man, Malcolm would have taken his words as a tease, or sarcasm, but in this one it was simply a statement of fact. The man carried himself like the proudest Royal Navy officer, bringing wisdom and knowledge of long tradition with him, but at the same time he was not haughty and overbearing. He simply was, and that was all.
The elf and the dwarf stood atop the steps of Meduseld, waiting patiently for their friends to catch up. They spoke in low voices of one called Saruman and of the death of Théodred, and of Éomer's banishment.
"Éomer?" said Malcolm, butting right into their conversation. "You have seen Éomer?"
The elf, cool and complacent, looked him up and down in such a calculating manner that Malcolm could have sworn he was looking at a Vulcan. A Vulcan with long blonde hair and a quiver of arrows, to be sure, but a Vulcan nonetheless. It was not the elf, though, who responded. "Aye, lad, that we have," said the stout dwarf, clapping Malcolm on the arm. "Not two days ago, riding north."
"Wormtongue banished him," said Malcolm. "He is needed here." His tongue tripped over the words, trying to find the right ones. "Threats.... orcs.... the Rohirrim must fight. There are few left."
"There are very few left indeed," said Aragorn ominously, eyes dark with worry. "Théoden's bewitchment may prove to be a grave blow to Rohan."
"Right now is not the time to speak of this," said Gandalf. "The king's son lies unburied in his deathbed. Today will be a time of mourning. Come. There will be time for talk of war later. Indeed, you shall be quite tired of war talk ere it finishes." He put his arm about Hoshi and the others followed in their wake, joining the crowd of mourners in the Golden Hall.
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"Do you think that Enterprise has had funerals for us yet?" said Malcolm the next day, as they climbed the hill back to the city. The mounds of the tombs of the kings of Rohan lay behind them, white speckled and oddly beautiful in a morbid way.
Hoshi looked over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the two old men who stood silently before the newly-dug grave of Théodred. Gandalf's white hair blew in the wind. Théoden shook his head slowly, staring in disbelief at the mound before him. As she watched he bent to pick one of the white flowers--- simbelmynë, was it?---and twisted it around in his fingers.
Malcolm watched Hoshi and saw what she saw; when they were out of sight of the grave mounds she gave him a scornful glare. "I don't want to think about it," she said flatly. "I am alive here. That is what matters."
"We've been gone a month, almost," said Malcolm, clenching his hands into fists in an almost unconscious gesture. "They've given us up for lost. How could they not?"
The look Hoshi gave him would have made a Vulcan flinch. "I don't want to talk about it," she told him, each word cold and biting. Then she turned and strode up to join Éowyn, leaving a very bemused armory officer in her wake. He swore, with all the force of his sailing ancestry behind it, and stumbled back down the hill. Not to the graves---he did not want to think about it, either, really---but around the walls to the front gate. There he flopped into the grass and lay on his back, looking at the clouds scud across the sky. Somewhere out there (or maybe somewhen, he amended himself, for he had a growing suspicion that they were not in their proper time at all) was Enterprise, flying away among the stars without them. Facing the Xindi, perhaps, or the Suliban, or any other of the myriad of enemies. No orcs in space, no Saruman and possession, no Wormtongue, just faceless aliens concealed in their hostile ships....
He knew only an inkling of the passing events, but he knew enough to gather that what was happening here was earth shaking. The dark threat to the east that the warriors spoke of, the evil place where the sun never shone, what was its name? He could not remember, and it irked him, because that name was important.
And here he was going all out trying to figure things out! As if he were a part of this world at all. It was not his responsibility to save these people, not in the slightest. He had no part in their war, no matter how grandiose.
"If he touches my sister, kill him," said Éomer's voice in his mind, the image of the proud warrior flashing before his eyes. Like or not, he said to himself, you do have a responsibility. Éomer is not here; it falls to you to protect Éowyn. And Hoshi, of course. If either of them would even accept his protection....
"Malcolm!" snapped a voice across the waving grasses. Malcolm bolted upright, gazing around until his eyes fell on Gandalf and Théoden, striding quickly towards him.
"Who are they?" he asked as the two men came up to him. Gandalf, holding a wide-eyed young girl in his arms as well as the reins of a horse in one hand, raised an eyebrow at him. The girl gazed from the boy in Théoden's arms to the horse and Gandalf. "Where is Mama?" she cried plaintively, clutching at the wizard's white robes.
"Hush, child," he said softly, handing the reins to Malcolm. The boy stirred in the king's arms and opened his eyes. For a moment the boy gazed around blankly and then started upwards so quickly that Théoden nearly dropped him.
"Garold! Freda! Where are you?" he cried, struggling out of the king's grip and onto the ground. He swayed and gasped as his knees gave out beneath him.
"I'm here!" cried Freda, reaching out to her brother. "Éothain, here I am!" He looked over and grasped her hand weakly, smiling.
"Your horse is too large for you, boy," said Théoden, keeping the boy on his feet with one strong arm. "A lad your size should ride a mare or a pony, not a great stallion like Garold here."
"I tried," said the boy. "I rode all night.... to raise the alarm...." He slumped forward into Théoden's arms, the king willingly taking up the boy's weight.
"Raise the alarm?" said Gandalf to the little girl, resuming their trek up the hill. "What does he mean, raise the alarm?"
"They burned our village," said Freda, a tear slipping down her dirt- smudged cheek. "Big ugly men with torches came and set fire to the roofs. Mama told us to go to Edoras and tell the king. But I don't know who the king is."
Théoden did not say anything as the little girl sobbed into Gandalf's beard. The wizard stroked her hair until she quieted, and they climbed up the hill in silence. Malcolm looked from one child to the other, wondering what it cost Théoden to hold someone else's son in his arms when his own lay dead under a white-flowered hill, and said nothing at all. He parted from Gandalf and Théoden at the steps of Meduseld and delivered the horse into the skilled hands of the stablemasters.
Aragorn, Éowyn, and Hoshi were holding a whispered conference over the head of the dazed boy and the little girl; Malcolm detected matters of healing in the air and steered far clear of the subject, having had far too much experience of Éowyn's medicinal talents for a lifetime. He saw Legolas and Gimli, with whom he had shared a dormitory the prior night, and sat down with them.
"Have some beer, laddie," said the jovial dwarf, pushing a tankard towards him. "You're looking a bit peaky there. You need beer and red meat, that's the ticket." Malcolm took it but did not drink. Whatever the brewers of Rohan put in their beer, it did not suit his tastes at all. He took a hunk of bread and chewed on it absently, wondering if red meat would really help any with his recuperation. Aragorn and Hoshi left their conference with Éowyn and came and sat next to Malcolm, taking food and drink for themselves.
Legolas nodded to them, but kept his eyes on the little boy and girl now eagerly eating bowls of soup. Éowyn draped a blanket around the girl's shoulders and looked up at the king, sitting stiffly on his throne with Gandalf next to him. "They had no warning," she said. "They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go, rick, cot, and tree."
"Where is Mama?" said Freda again; Éowyn hushed her, but the pain showed clear in both their eyes as each gazed at the king. Gandalf's wise old eyes gazed at them both, and then lit on Hoshi and Malcolm.
"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash on you, all the more potent for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children," Gandalf said urgently. "You must fight. You have left it almost too late, Théoden king."
"Indeed my eyes were almost blind," said Théoden. He looked around the room, eyes settling on the two displaced Starfleet officers. Malcolm stared back, unafraid, and took a bite of bread. The king had favored both him and Hoshi with many a curious glance since his awakening the day before, but still he had not asked who they were or what they were doing in his hall.
"How far back his treachery goes, who can guess?" said Gandalf, following the king's gaze. "He was not always evil. Once I do not doubt that he was the friend of Rohan; and even when his heart grew colder, he found you useful still. But for long now he has plotted your ruin, wearing the mask of friendship, until he was ready. In those years Wormtongue's task was easy, and all that you did was swiftly known in Isengard; for your land was open and strangers came and went. And ever Wormtongue's whispering was in your ears, poisoning your thought, chilling your heart, weakening your limbs, while others watched and could do nothing, for your will was in his keeping."
Théoden's eyes flashed dangerously at the wizard. "And I wonder what spells he may still leave in place," he said, standing up and coming forward to the table where Hoshi and Aragorn sat, quietly eating. Hoshi caught on to his meaning at once and drew herself up.
"My lord, I am no spy from Saruman," she said, words biting and harsh. "Nor is my friend. We came here through some magic, and all we want is to return. And believe me, if we could find a way to do it, we would!"
"You sit in my hall, eating my food, and dare to speak to me thus?" said Théoden, eyes wide. "In the past you would be slain for such talk!"
"You'll have to come through me to slay anyone!" cried Malcolm, leaping up from the table and upsetting the tankard of beer. No one said a word as king and lieutenant faced each other down, eyes blazing. Hoshi's jaw tightened and she placed a hand on both of their chests and pushed hard, breaking the power struggle apart. Malcolm fell back onto the bench, hand to his chest, trying to draw in breath as splinters of pain shot through his still-sore ribs.
"Idiot," Hoshi said to him in English. "Next time you protect me, wait until you're in shape to do it."
Malcolm, still wheezing, glared at the wizard as the old man snorted loudly. "What did she say?" demanded Gimli, banging his tankard on the table. The wizard only smiled and shook his head.
"We are drawn apart by Isengard at one end and Barad-dur at the other," he said, ignoring Gimli. "Isengard will not leave you alone. We cannot afford to provoke division within our own cause. You have not enough fighters that you can afford to lose this one here."
Théoden glared at everyone, obviously not liking Gandalf's words, but stepped away from Hoshi and Malcolm. "Isengard will overcome us," he said heavily. "No matter how many fighters we have."
"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak," said Aragorn.
"Éomer is loyal to you," added Malcolm, finally getting his breath under control.
Aragorn nodded. "His men will return and fight for their King."
"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," Théoden spat. "Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is you want of me. But I will not bring further hurt to my people. I will not risk open war."
Aragorn's lips thinned. "Open war is upon you," he said fiercely. "Whether you would risk it or not."
"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan," said Théoden, hand straying to his sword. Malcolm sighed; the man was simply too confrontational. He almost liked him better as a shaggy lump on a dusty throne. Gimli burped loudly.
Gandalf looked from one to the other. "Then what is the king's decision?" he asked, a hint of ice in his voice. Théoden looked at him, flinty-eyed, and then at the banner of Eorlingas hanging from the wall. "We shall go to Helm's Deep. There we may withstand a thousand sieges. The enemy will come and fall trying to break the walls, and we shall outlast them."
From the looks that passed between Gandalf and Aragorn, Malcolm gathered that they liked this decision not one bit, but it was as Théoden had said: he was king of Rohan, and they were merely strangers with no real power here.
Malcolm, looking at them, was oddly pleased that at last someone was in the same boat as him.
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They left early the next morning, a train of people stretching out over the plains. The women and children wept; the men looked over their shoulder at their home, and all were dejected and pale-faced. Malcolm strode with Éowyn and Hoshi, a pack of foodstuff and medicines on his back. Apparently the seeming incompetence the women had diagnosed him with as a result of his injuries did not extend to carrying their things.
Gimli rode next to them on Arod, a flighty white gelding that he had acquired from Éomer as the Rohirrim rode north. For a time Éowyn pressed him for news of her brother, but the dwarf could tell her little, and the talk turned to dwarves themselves.
"It's true, you don't see many dwarf women!" said Gimli gaily, rocking back and forth as the flighty Arod weaved beneath him. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they are often mistaken for dwarf men."
"It's the beards," said Aragorn softly from behind them, showing rather a lot of teeth in his wide grin. Éowyn laughed, a high, girlish giggle that made both Malcolm and Hoshi glance at the younger woman with surprise. Their eyes met and they both nodded. Malcolm grinned too. Éowyn had it bad for the ragged man from the north.
"And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women!" Gimli said. "And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground! Which is of course ridiculous....whoa!!" Arod skittered forward and stopped short, throwing Gimli to the ground, and whickered gaily. Éowyn rushed forward and brushed the dwarf off as he protested, "It's all right, it's all right! That was deliberate, it was deliberate." Hoshi laughed and went forward to help, leaving Aragorn and Malcolm walking side by side.
"Deliberate, of course," said Malcolm, chuckling.
Aragorn laughed, still looking at Éowyn. Her golden hair blazed in the sunlight and her fair features lit up with an inner light. Personally, Malcolm felt Hoshi far outshone the pale Éowyn, even if he barely admitted it to himself, but he was not one to mock other men's taste in women. But when he looked at Aragorn again, he discarded his earlier observation as he saw the sadness in the other man's eyes. Almost unconsciously Aragorn's hand crept to the shining silver pendant around his neck, and Malcolm knew that somewhere he had left another woman behind, one whom Éowyn, no matter how she might try, could never replace.
"You came from another time?" asked Aragorn suddenly, breaking from his reverie.
"I think so," said Malcolm. "Gandalf agrees, but he does not know how it happened."
"Things do not happen for no reason," said Aragorn. "You are strange, but you are here for some purpose."
Malcolm looked out over the mountains to the south, their dusty peaks hazy in the morning light, before he answered. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "I can't think what that reason could be, though."
Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know either. But you are a man of war, I see this clearly. Perhaps you will turn our fortunes in the coming battles."
"I'm not much for hand-to-hand combat," said Malcolm apologetically. "We do not use swords where I come from."
"Your ship, which flies among the stars? What do you use then?" Aragorn asked, a curious note in his voice.
How to explain phase pistols or torpedoes or phase cannons? Plasma rifles? "We can....we can focus light so it kills," said Malcolm helplessly, not knowing the word for gun or cannon (if these people even had such things, which he doubted). "And we can make explosions. Very big explosions."
Aragorn's brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you then a wizard? To control light in a such a way?"
"No....It's not magic, it's physics," said Malcolm, using the English word. He knew Aragorn would not understand, and he sighed. "We could defeat Saruman easily with such things, but there are none here. I am in charge of the weapons of my ship, and I could build one if I had the right materials, but you don't have any of the right things here."
"Perhaps Gandalf could help you," said Aragorn. "He will return in four more days. He left yesterday morning."
"I think I'd have to change your entire industrial basis to do that," said Malcolm, grinning. "And I don't think you have one in the first place, since I have to say 'industrial' in English."
Aragorn gave him a bemused expression, not understanding. "Well, you will be helpful at Helm's Deep, I think," he said, and clapped Malcolm gently on the shoulder. "We will weather this storm, every man together, no matter how strange their way of coming here."
They went on in silence. Malcolm smiled slightly as he walked, watching Hoshi and Éowyn, and thinking that perhaps it was not such a terrible thing to be here after all.
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This is going to be a very long story. I don't know what I'm getting myself into! But it's fun to write.... I don't think I've ever had so much fun writing fan fiction before!