Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belongs to Paramount; all Lord
of the Rings related characters belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely
borrowing them.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Eleven: Flotsam and Jetsam
"Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those you wear now. A modest plan. Hardly one in which my help is needed!" ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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Hoshi's strange companions ran through the day and into the night, ceaselessly pounding over the rocks and grasses of the Rohan plains. Off in the distance smoke from a village curled over tongues of fire licking at the sky.
:Tell me more, my dear,: said Annatar. :How did you come here?:
:A black ball,: said Hoshi, looking to the west and the faintest glimmer of the setting sun. :It burned with a strange fire inside. We touched it and we traveled through a very strange place and then we were here.: Her memories were clouded. It was very hard to think about anything.
:A link between this world and yours...: said Annatar. :How very curious. Tell me about your ship. About all these faces I see in your mind. They are not all Men, are they not?:
She watched the plume of white drift up into the black abyss, fading into nothingness as the darkness took it over. :We've met a lot of different people on this trip,: she said in her mind. :The Andorians, the Klingons, the Xindi... so many more, too. They're all out there in those stars, and Enterprise got to make contact with them. Plus, on our ship there's Doctor Phlox, who is Denobulan, and Sub-Commander T'Pol, who is Vulcan:
:Your ship, tell me of your ship.:
:It's a warp five ship,: Hoshi thought to him. :That means we can go five times the speed of light, I think... or something like that. I don't understand it, really. Trip could tell you.:
:Who is Trip?:
:Our engineer,: Hoshi said. Her eyelids drooped; the rhythmic stride of the orc who carried her lulled her mind into drowsiness. :He can build anything. He treats the warp engines like they are his children. If anything's wrong, he won't rest until he's fixed it, whether it's the engines or the communications array or the transporters.: She saw them each in her mind as she thought the words, lingering fondly on each. Such things she had taken for granted on that ship; she might well never have them again.
A flash in her mind; a red eye; and then Annatar's calm voice was back. :How interesting these machines are. How much scope they have, how many possibilities. Your people have mastered a power of which my world only dreams.:
:What power is that?: Hoshi asked, and again the red eye brightened in her mind, sparks flying from it. She saw rings, gold and silver and set with jewels, some carved with indecipherable letters; and she saw one ring, plainer than all the rest, yet when her mind's eye glimpsed it she felt power. And she felt Annatar's desire to possess this little thing.
:I know the secrets of metal,: said Annatar, his mental voice smooth. :I know how to mold it. Its power is my own and none but me should wield it.: A hard edge crept into his words, and Hoshi shivered a little. :None but me should wield it!:
The fire in her mind blossomed and erupted into great leaping shivers of red and gold. Hoshi's head pounded, and her eyes closed, sending her deep into the realms of sleep. Just before she lost all shreds of consciousness she heard Annatar say, :But perhaps I will not need it...: A deep, insiduous laugh, a flash of circuitry, electricity... for an instant she saw the same glass globe that had brought them here. And then she was gone, deep in the depths of a restless, dreamless sleep, bouncing gently on the shoulders of her monstrous captors.
The orcs continued their relentless march onward, heedless of the conversation between their master and their captive. They did not care in any case; they merely obeyed their master's orders, no more, no less.
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Malcolm liked the heavy, solemn quiet of the trees. The green forest around him breathed life from every leaf and branch, from every little bit of moss and every fern. The footsteps of the horse beneath him fell so softly on the soft forest loam that he barely heard it. It was a sight rarely seen when one lived on a starship, a forest such as this. The other knowledge in his mind whispered memories of greater forests, higher trees, more lovely and ancient than even this venerable growth, and he wondered if he would ever see it again.
He had run wild in the woods in his youth, both as Man and Maia, both loving the trees and the wildness and the sound of the wind creaking the branches. In one life he had barely left, in the other he had been there far less than he would have liked, but both treasured the time equally. He had clambered high into the tops of the branches, right into the canopy, and looked out over the waving sea of green, the only sea he ever really appreciated. Ah, but our sea is different, said the other inner voice, and for an instant a wave of longing for the crashing of the waves on the shore swept through him, and for once Malcolm thought of the great expanses of water without terror. When he looked at the stars from his window he felt the same way, as if the universe were endless and it was all his to explore. This was what his father saw, he knew, and for once he understood the man's love for the Royal Navy, for the open water. How curious that he had never seen the parallel before now.
Gandalf rode beside him, gazing into the dark branches above them, his lips pursed and eyes crinkled. He thought of Frodo, Malcolm know, and once more he wished he had met this little hobbit whom Gandalf held in such high regard. Such an unlikely person to carry the fate of them all hanging innocently on a silver chain around his neck.
But it was what Sauron would not expect, of course. They had a chance. A slim chance, yes, but a chance nonetheless.
More than Hoshi had, perhaps. Sick dread filled his heart at the thought of the little linguist in the hands of Sauron. Gandalf had talked him out of going after her earlier, had found him in the stables preparing to ride out into the wilderness. Deep in his heart he knew that such a venture was madness, but thoughts of her among the brutish Uruk-hai and the filthy Orcs had riled him to a frenzy. He shook his head in desperation, and Gandalf looked at him sharply.
"I cannot sense Sauron's plans for Hoshi, tórdilthen, but I feel that he will do her no harm," said the old wizard softly.
"I know," said Malcolm. "I feel it too." His hands clenched around the reins. "It is as you and Frodo---you know they may be in danger, and you cannot help them. He wants Hoshi for something, but I cannot fathom what, only that he needs no torture to take what he wants from her mind." He fell silent for a moment. "I suppose that in itself is a form of torture."
"I am sorry, Malcolm," said Gandalf, and his words were sincere. "I would charge in with you and rescue the fair maid. I would take the burden from Frodo and dispose of it myself were I able. But that is not my part to play in this war. And it is not yours either."
"What is my part?" said Malcolm bitterly. "I cannot see it yet."
"Nor can I," said Gandalf. "But I see enough that I know you will not end up dead on the plains of Rohan chasing after Uruk-hai. Be patient, be of good advice, and in time it will become clear to us."
"Do you know your part?" asked Malcolm, the words bursting from his lips before he could silence them.
The old wizard smiled, his wise blue eyes sad. "I know as you know," he said. "Snatches and no more. The tide comes in and out, and I see possibilities and pathways that may be and may not be, and many that I think shall come to pass do not." He looked away, into the depths of the forest, clucking gently to Shadowfax. "Our actions will become clear, for we have purpose in all that we do, tórdilthen, but we must be patient and watchful, for a missed opportunity may turn the tables in an instant, and another may turn them round once more."
He felt the truth in the old wizard's words, though he did not like it. "Malcolm," said Gandalf quietly, "it is good to have friends in this world to help you through. Let them be your strength."
"I have changed since coming here," Malcolm replied, "in more ways than the readily apparent. I shall try not to slip into my old habits... I have glimpsed friendship here and I should not let it go so easily."
"That is why you came back to us," said Gandalf, smiling sadly. "You could have stepped back to your own world, and left us all behind. But you did not, and for that I thank you."
"I could not leave this world," said Malcolm, "and I could not leave Hoshi." He thought of the raven-haired young woman as she had been on Enterprise, lively, intelligent, and loyal, and his fingers gripped hard at the reins. "The purposes are one and the same, for something shall come of her being here that only I will be able to prevent. And I could not let your world be destroyed by the Eye, for I have come to love it."
"I also," said Gandalf. "And it will be a shame to leave it..." He did not speak further, and Malcolm did not press. They rode in silence, a little bubble of solemnity among the earnest war talk of Aragorn, Éomer, and Théoden and the bantering of Gimli and Legolas. The trees soon began to thin out, and presently Malcolm glimpsed a shining black tower through the canopy, four sharp spires protruding from the top.
"Isengard," said Gandalf. "The home of Saruman, once the White and now nothing."
"It is impressive," said Malcolm, gazing up at the high tower, which seem to grow ever larger as they approached.
"As was Saruman, before his mind turned to metal," said Gandalf with just a hint of sadness in his voice. He spoke in the ancient tongue. "He was brilliant and clever, wisest of us all. He was a friend, too. And yet the darkness proved too much for him, and he succumbed to it, dreaming his own dreams of power instead of wisdom." He smiled ruefully. "Now look how he has fallen."
They came to the edge of the woods, where a ruined, crumbling wall surrounded by knee-deep water loomed before them, blocking their view of all but the very top of the high tower. Malcolm stared, unprepared for his first sight of what he knew must be the mysterious Halflings---the hobbits!
There in front of them, perched on a great rubble-heap, were two small figures lying on it at their ease, grey-clad, hardly to be seen among the stones. There were bottles and bowls and platters laid beside them, as if they had just eaten well, and now rested from their labor. One seemed asleep; the other, with crossed legs and arms behind his head, leaned back against a broken rock and sent from his mouth long wisps and little rings of thin blue smoke.
One leapt to his feet and waved merrily. "Welcome, my lords," he cried, "to Isengard! We are the doorwardens. The Lord Saruman is within; but at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or, doubtless he would be here to welcome such honorable guests."
"You, you young rascals!" cried Gimli from his seat behind Legolas. "A merry hunt you've led us, and here we find you feasting and---and smoking!"
"We are sitting on the field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," said the other hobbit, grinning. "The salted pork is particularly good!" He took a huge bite and chewed, nodding at Gimli with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Salted pork?" said the Dwarf in awe.
"Hobbits," muttered Gandalf. "And was it Saruman that ordered you to guard his damaged doors, and watch for the arrival of guests, when your attention could be spared from plate and bottle?"
"No, good sir, the matter escaped him," said the first hobbit gravely. "He has been much occupied. Our orders came from Treebeard, who has taken over the management of Isengard."
Théoden nudged his mount forward and regarded the two hobbits with a long, solemn gaze. "So these are the lost ones of your company, Gandalf? The days are fated to be filled with marvels. Already I have seen many since I left my house; and now here before my eyes stands yet another of the folk of legend. Are these the Halflings, that some among us call the Hobytlan?"
"Hobbits, if you please, lord," said the second one, standing up as well. "I am Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, though you may call me Pippin, and this is Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc, who is called Merry. And here is another marvel, for we have never before found people that knew any story concerning hobbits, though we have wandered in many lands!"
"We have but little lore about them," replied Théoden, and Malcolm was quite surprised to see the hint of a smile at the corners of the old man's mouth. "They are said to do little and to avoid the sight of men, being able to vanish in a twinkling; and they can change their voices to resemble the piping of birds. But I had not heard that they spouted smoke from their mouths." A true smile lit on the king's face, an expression Malcolm had not seen before on the grim old monarch, and he was amazed at the power of these little people to so cheer an old, bitter man.
"It is an art which we have not practiced for more than a few generations. It was Tobald Hornblower, of Longbottom in the Southfarthing, who first grew the true pipe-weed in his gardens..."
Gandalf, looking alarmed, broke in. "You do not know your danger, Théoden king," he said urgently, "for these hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss their history and their families to the ninth degree if you encourage them! Some other time, perhaps, but for now, I must speak with Treebeard as soon as possible! Where is he, Merry? Did he leave me no message, or has plate and bottle driven it from your mind?"
"He left a message," said Merry, "and I was coming to it, but I have been hindered by other questions! I was to say that, if the Lord of the Mark and Gandalf will ride to the northern wall they will find Treebeard there, and he will welcome them. I may add that they will also find food of the best there, it was discovered and selected by your humble servants."
Gandalf laughed. "That is better!" he said. "Well, Théoden, will you ride with me to find Treebeard? When you see Treebeard, you will learn much. For Treebeard is Fangorn, and the eldest and chief of the Ents, and when you speak with him you will hear the speech of the oldest of all living things."
"I will come with you," said Théoden. "Bring them along," he added, motioning to Merry and Pippin. Both hobbits bowed; Malcolm nodded to them as they straightened up and rode away, leaving Éomer, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli behind to scoop the hobbits into the saddle with them. The young wizard could feel the curious eyes of the hobbits on his back, but he did not tarry as he followed Théoden and Gandalf around to the other side of the tower.
He scarce believed his eyes when he saw what he had believed to be a stationary tree move and turn towards them. "Young Master Gandalf!" His tawny eyes lit curiously on Malcolm. "And a new wizard... to replace Saruman?"
"In a manner of speaking," said Malcolm shortly. "I have come to help."
Treebeard's limbs creaked as he bent to look at them all. "You were not part of this world before," said the ancient Ent slowly in Old Entish (Malcolm marveled anew at his sudden innate mastery of all the strange languages of Middle-Earth) and looked up towards the sky. "Nor were we, for a time," Treebeard added sadly, and switched back into Common Speech. "I'm glad you have come, both of you. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a wizard here to manage, locked in his tower."
Gandalf shook his head. "And there he must remain, but I have now a last task to do before I go: I must pay Saruman a farewell visit. Dangerous, and probably useless, but it must be done." He nudged Shadowfax and trotted toward the long black stair leading into the tower. "Saruman, Saruman!" he cried, and struck the wall with his staff. "Saruman, come forth!"
For some time there was no answer. At last the window above the door was unbarred, and they saw a figure standing at the rail, looking down upon them: an old man, swathed in a great cloak, the color of which was not easy to tell, for it changed if they moved their eyes or if he stirred. His face was long, with a high forehead, he had deep darkling eyes, hard to fathom, though the look that they bore now was grave and malevolent, and a little weary. His hair and beard were white, but strands of black still showed about his lips and ears.
"Well?" he said now with gentle question. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day? Two at least of you I know by name. Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help or counsel here. But you, Théoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, why have you not come before, and as a friend?"
Théoden looked at him with a steady gaze, quiet and patient. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he said nothing. Malcolm felt the compulsion within Saruman's words, and hoped that the darkness would not take Théoden once again. He gripped his staff a little tighter, and saw to his left that Gandalf did the same.
"What have you to say, Théoden King? Will you have peace with me, and all the aid that my knowledge, founded in long years, can bring?" Still Théoden did not answer. Whether he strove with anger or doubt none could say. Éomer spoke.
"Lord, hear me!" he said. "Have we ridden forth to victory only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? What aid would he give to you, forsooth? All he desires is to escape from his plight. Remember Théodred and Helm's Deep, my lord!"
"If we speak of poisoned tongues what shall we say of yours, young serpent?" snapped Saruman. Éomer's eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment his hand strayed to his sword.
"You try to sweep the very foundations of our land from under our feet," said Éomer fiercely. "Your trickery will not avail you this time, old man. My sword may make sure of that."
Malcolm, quick as lightning, leaned over and gripped his friend's arm. "Hold your hand, Éomer," he said quietly. "We shall see what Gandalf wants done with the snake."
Saruman's cold eyes glittered. "And you, young imposter, who are you? A clever trick of Gandalf's, sent to make me fearful for my life? Wizard? Warrior? Hah! The two of you will certainly have Sauron shaking in his boots!"
"There's an image," muttered Pippin. "He'd have a job getting them to stay on, wouldn't he?"
Malcolm smothered a snicker; Saruman looked even more outraged, gripping the edge of the railing with white knuckles. "I say, Théoden King," said the former White Wizard, "shall we have peace and friendship? It is ours to command"---with a dark glare at Éomer and Malcolm---"and no one else's."
"We will have peace," said Théoden thickly. "Yes, we will have peace, when you and all your works have perished---and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us! You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men's hearts."
"Gibbets and crows!" snarled Saruman, beside himself with wrath. He leaned over the rail as if he would smite the King with his staff. "Dotard! You give me brag and abuse; I do not need you! So be it. Go back to your stinking huts." He turned to Gandalf. "Gandalf---are we not members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-Earth? Our friendship would profit us both alike. Much we could still accomplish together, to heal the disorders of the world."
Gandalf merely laughed, looking for an instant at Malcolm with a smile in his eyes. "Saruman, Saruman!" he said, still laughing, "You should have been a king's jester! I fear we are beyond your comprehension, both me and our young brother here. But listen, Saruman, for the last time! Will you not come down? I give you a last chance to turn to new things, perhaps."
A shadow passed over Saruman's face; then it went deathly white. For a second he hesitated, and no one breathed. Then he spoke, and his voice was shrill and cold. "Keep your offers of second chances, old friend," he said, and drew back into the tower. "And young wizard, try not to drop your staff the first time you use it!" he added sarcastically.
"Come back, Saruman!" cried Gandalf, and to the great surprise of everyone watching Saruman turned again, and as if dragged against his will he came slowly back to the iron rail, leaning on it, breathing hard. His face was lined and shrunken. His hand clutched his heavy black staff (idly, Malcolm wondered why it was black, since Saruman had been the White Wizard) like a claw.
"You have no color now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council," said the wizard sternly, yet there was a hint of regret in his voice. "Saruman, your staff is broken." There was a crack, and the staff split asunder in Saruman's hand, and the head of it fell down at Gandalf's feet. With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled away. At that moment a heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above. It glanced off the iron rail, even as Saruman left it, and passing close to Gandalf's head, it smote the stair near Shadowfax's feet. The ball was unharmed; it rolled on down the steps, a globe of crystal, dark, but glowing with a heart of fire. As it bounded away into the water, Pippin ran after it and picked it up.
Malcolm started; in amazement, he gazed at the thing clutched in the hobbit's hands. A palantir, the thing which had brought him here. He had thought them lost, but of course that would be folly, wouldn't it? Gandalf had spoken of one before, and Sauron of course had one...
He thought that should he need to, he could bring himself back to his own world, but he had not considered how Hoshi would return. He may yet need this palantir. Gandalf beckoned hastily to Pippin. "I'll take that, Pippin my lad," he said, and quickly wrapped it in his cloak. He spurred on Shadowfax and nodded meaningfully at Malcolm, who quickly followed.
"I did not know there were any that still existed," said Malcolm softly, once they were some distance from the others.
"Then through a palantir you came?" said Gandalf, and Malcolm nodded. Carefully he handed the younger wizard the cloth-wrapped bundle. "I do not know how such a thing would be possible, but clearly it is."
"This is not the same one," said Malcolm, looking at it for an instant before throwing the wrapping over it once more. Even in that short moment he felt a presence watching from within---he had no urge to look longer. "And the hands... I remember the hands. Burning in red flame, withered and terrible... I should not like to see them again, but for that I may need that one to bring Hoshi back." He returned the bundle to Gandalf and took up the reins of his horse. "If I can bring Hoshi back."
The others had caught up, and they began to ride away from the wizard's tower, chatting amongst themselves. Gandalf did not notice, and neither did Malcolm, that Pippin was silent, and his eyes followed the bundled palantir sitting snugly in Gandalf's lap.
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Sorry about the wait... stuff decided to all happen at once. Hopefully I will get the next one up soon too.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Eleven: Flotsam and Jetsam
"Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those you wear now. A modest plan. Hardly one in which my help is needed!" ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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Hoshi's strange companions ran through the day and into the night, ceaselessly pounding over the rocks and grasses of the Rohan plains. Off in the distance smoke from a village curled over tongues of fire licking at the sky.
:Tell me more, my dear,: said Annatar. :How did you come here?:
:A black ball,: said Hoshi, looking to the west and the faintest glimmer of the setting sun. :It burned with a strange fire inside. We touched it and we traveled through a very strange place and then we were here.: Her memories were clouded. It was very hard to think about anything.
:A link between this world and yours...: said Annatar. :How very curious. Tell me about your ship. About all these faces I see in your mind. They are not all Men, are they not?:
She watched the plume of white drift up into the black abyss, fading into nothingness as the darkness took it over. :We've met a lot of different people on this trip,: she said in her mind. :The Andorians, the Klingons, the Xindi... so many more, too. They're all out there in those stars, and Enterprise got to make contact with them. Plus, on our ship there's Doctor Phlox, who is Denobulan, and Sub-Commander T'Pol, who is Vulcan:
:Your ship, tell me of your ship.:
:It's a warp five ship,: Hoshi thought to him. :That means we can go five times the speed of light, I think... or something like that. I don't understand it, really. Trip could tell you.:
:Who is Trip?:
:Our engineer,: Hoshi said. Her eyelids drooped; the rhythmic stride of the orc who carried her lulled her mind into drowsiness. :He can build anything. He treats the warp engines like they are his children. If anything's wrong, he won't rest until he's fixed it, whether it's the engines or the communications array or the transporters.: She saw them each in her mind as she thought the words, lingering fondly on each. Such things she had taken for granted on that ship; she might well never have them again.
A flash in her mind; a red eye; and then Annatar's calm voice was back. :How interesting these machines are. How much scope they have, how many possibilities. Your people have mastered a power of which my world only dreams.:
:What power is that?: Hoshi asked, and again the red eye brightened in her mind, sparks flying from it. She saw rings, gold and silver and set with jewels, some carved with indecipherable letters; and she saw one ring, plainer than all the rest, yet when her mind's eye glimpsed it she felt power. And she felt Annatar's desire to possess this little thing.
:I know the secrets of metal,: said Annatar, his mental voice smooth. :I know how to mold it. Its power is my own and none but me should wield it.: A hard edge crept into his words, and Hoshi shivered a little. :None but me should wield it!:
The fire in her mind blossomed and erupted into great leaping shivers of red and gold. Hoshi's head pounded, and her eyes closed, sending her deep into the realms of sleep. Just before she lost all shreds of consciousness she heard Annatar say, :But perhaps I will not need it...: A deep, insiduous laugh, a flash of circuitry, electricity... for an instant she saw the same glass globe that had brought them here. And then she was gone, deep in the depths of a restless, dreamless sleep, bouncing gently on the shoulders of her monstrous captors.
The orcs continued their relentless march onward, heedless of the conversation between their master and their captive. They did not care in any case; they merely obeyed their master's orders, no more, no less.
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Malcolm liked the heavy, solemn quiet of the trees. The green forest around him breathed life from every leaf and branch, from every little bit of moss and every fern. The footsteps of the horse beneath him fell so softly on the soft forest loam that he barely heard it. It was a sight rarely seen when one lived on a starship, a forest such as this. The other knowledge in his mind whispered memories of greater forests, higher trees, more lovely and ancient than even this venerable growth, and he wondered if he would ever see it again.
He had run wild in the woods in his youth, both as Man and Maia, both loving the trees and the wildness and the sound of the wind creaking the branches. In one life he had barely left, in the other he had been there far less than he would have liked, but both treasured the time equally. He had clambered high into the tops of the branches, right into the canopy, and looked out over the waving sea of green, the only sea he ever really appreciated. Ah, but our sea is different, said the other inner voice, and for an instant a wave of longing for the crashing of the waves on the shore swept through him, and for once Malcolm thought of the great expanses of water without terror. When he looked at the stars from his window he felt the same way, as if the universe were endless and it was all his to explore. This was what his father saw, he knew, and for once he understood the man's love for the Royal Navy, for the open water. How curious that he had never seen the parallel before now.
Gandalf rode beside him, gazing into the dark branches above them, his lips pursed and eyes crinkled. He thought of Frodo, Malcolm know, and once more he wished he had met this little hobbit whom Gandalf held in such high regard. Such an unlikely person to carry the fate of them all hanging innocently on a silver chain around his neck.
But it was what Sauron would not expect, of course. They had a chance. A slim chance, yes, but a chance nonetheless.
More than Hoshi had, perhaps. Sick dread filled his heart at the thought of the little linguist in the hands of Sauron. Gandalf had talked him out of going after her earlier, had found him in the stables preparing to ride out into the wilderness. Deep in his heart he knew that such a venture was madness, but thoughts of her among the brutish Uruk-hai and the filthy Orcs had riled him to a frenzy. He shook his head in desperation, and Gandalf looked at him sharply.
"I cannot sense Sauron's plans for Hoshi, tórdilthen, but I feel that he will do her no harm," said the old wizard softly.
"I know," said Malcolm. "I feel it too." His hands clenched around the reins. "It is as you and Frodo---you know they may be in danger, and you cannot help them. He wants Hoshi for something, but I cannot fathom what, only that he needs no torture to take what he wants from her mind." He fell silent for a moment. "I suppose that in itself is a form of torture."
"I am sorry, Malcolm," said Gandalf, and his words were sincere. "I would charge in with you and rescue the fair maid. I would take the burden from Frodo and dispose of it myself were I able. But that is not my part to play in this war. And it is not yours either."
"What is my part?" said Malcolm bitterly. "I cannot see it yet."
"Nor can I," said Gandalf. "But I see enough that I know you will not end up dead on the plains of Rohan chasing after Uruk-hai. Be patient, be of good advice, and in time it will become clear to us."
"Do you know your part?" asked Malcolm, the words bursting from his lips before he could silence them.
The old wizard smiled, his wise blue eyes sad. "I know as you know," he said. "Snatches and no more. The tide comes in and out, and I see possibilities and pathways that may be and may not be, and many that I think shall come to pass do not." He looked away, into the depths of the forest, clucking gently to Shadowfax. "Our actions will become clear, for we have purpose in all that we do, tórdilthen, but we must be patient and watchful, for a missed opportunity may turn the tables in an instant, and another may turn them round once more."
He felt the truth in the old wizard's words, though he did not like it. "Malcolm," said Gandalf quietly, "it is good to have friends in this world to help you through. Let them be your strength."
"I have changed since coming here," Malcolm replied, "in more ways than the readily apparent. I shall try not to slip into my old habits... I have glimpsed friendship here and I should not let it go so easily."
"That is why you came back to us," said Gandalf, smiling sadly. "You could have stepped back to your own world, and left us all behind. But you did not, and for that I thank you."
"I could not leave this world," said Malcolm, "and I could not leave Hoshi." He thought of the raven-haired young woman as she had been on Enterprise, lively, intelligent, and loyal, and his fingers gripped hard at the reins. "The purposes are one and the same, for something shall come of her being here that only I will be able to prevent. And I could not let your world be destroyed by the Eye, for I have come to love it."
"I also," said Gandalf. "And it will be a shame to leave it..." He did not speak further, and Malcolm did not press. They rode in silence, a little bubble of solemnity among the earnest war talk of Aragorn, Éomer, and Théoden and the bantering of Gimli and Legolas. The trees soon began to thin out, and presently Malcolm glimpsed a shining black tower through the canopy, four sharp spires protruding from the top.
"Isengard," said Gandalf. "The home of Saruman, once the White and now nothing."
"It is impressive," said Malcolm, gazing up at the high tower, which seem to grow ever larger as they approached.
"As was Saruman, before his mind turned to metal," said Gandalf with just a hint of sadness in his voice. He spoke in the ancient tongue. "He was brilliant and clever, wisest of us all. He was a friend, too. And yet the darkness proved too much for him, and he succumbed to it, dreaming his own dreams of power instead of wisdom." He smiled ruefully. "Now look how he has fallen."
They came to the edge of the woods, where a ruined, crumbling wall surrounded by knee-deep water loomed before them, blocking their view of all but the very top of the high tower. Malcolm stared, unprepared for his first sight of what he knew must be the mysterious Halflings---the hobbits!
There in front of them, perched on a great rubble-heap, were two small figures lying on it at their ease, grey-clad, hardly to be seen among the stones. There were bottles and bowls and platters laid beside them, as if they had just eaten well, and now rested from their labor. One seemed asleep; the other, with crossed legs and arms behind his head, leaned back against a broken rock and sent from his mouth long wisps and little rings of thin blue smoke.
One leapt to his feet and waved merrily. "Welcome, my lords," he cried, "to Isengard! We are the doorwardens. The Lord Saruman is within; but at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or, doubtless he would be here to welcome such honorable guests."
"You, you young rascals!" cried Gimli from his seat behind Legolas. "A merry hunt you've led us, and here we find you feasting and---and smoking!"
"We are sitting on the field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," said the other hobbit, grinning. "The salted pork is particularly good!" He took a huge bite and chewed, nodding at Gimli with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Salted pork?" said the Dwarf in awe.
"Hobbits," muttered Gandalf. "And was it Saruman that ordered you to guard his damaged doors, and watch for the arrival of guests, when your attention could be spared from plate and bottle?"
"No, good sir, the matter escaped him," said the first hobbit gravely. "He has been much occupied. Our orders came from Treebeard, who has taken over the management of Isengard."
Théoden nudged his mount forward and regarded the two hobbits with a long, solemn gaze. "So these are the lost ones of your company, Gandalf? The days are fated to be filled with marvels. Already I have seen many since I left my house; and now here before my eyes stands yet another of the folk of legend. Are these the Halflings, that some among us call the Hobytlan?"
"Hobbits, if you please, lord," said the second one, standing up as well. "I am Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, though you may call me Pippin, and this is Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc, who is called Merry. And here is another marvel, for we have never before found people that knew any story concerning hobbits, though we have wandered in many lands!"
"We have but little lore about them," replied Théoden, and Malcolm was quite surprised to see the hint of a smile at the corners of the old man's mouth. "They are said to do little and to avoid the sight of men, being able to vanish in a twinkling; and they can change their voices to resemble the piping of birds. But I had not heard that they spouted smoke from their mouths." A true smile lit on the king's face, an expression Malcolm had not seen before on the grim old monarch, and he was amazed at the power of these little people to so cheer an old, bitter man.
"It is an art which we have not practiced for more than a few generations. It was Tobald Hornblower, of Longbottom in the Southfarthing, who first grew the true pipe-weed in his gardens..."
Gandalf, looking alarmed, broke in. "You do not know your danger, Théoden king," he said urgently, "for these hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss their history and their families to the ninth degree if you encourage them! Some other time, perhaps, but for now, I must speak with Treebeard as soon as possible! Where is he, Merry? Did he leave me no message, or has plate and bottle driven it from your mind?"
"He left a message," said Merry, "and I was coming to it, but I have been hindered by other questions! I was to say that, if the Lord of the Mark and Gandalf will ride to the northern wall they will find Treebeard there, and he will welcome them. I may add that they will also find food of the best there, it was discovered and selected by your humble servants."
Gandalf laughed. "That is better!" he said. "Well, Théoden, will you ride with me to find Treebeard? When you see Treebeard, you will learn much. For Treebeard is Fangorn, and the eldest and chief of the Ents, and when you speak with him you will hear the speech of the oldest of all living things."
"I will come with you," said Théoden. "Bring them along," he added, motioning to Merry and Pippin. Both hobbits bowed; Malcolm nodded to them as they straightened up and rode away, leaving Éomer, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli behind to scoop the hobbits into the saddle with them. The young wizard could feel the curious eyes of the hobbits on his back, but he did not tarry as he followed Théoden and Gandalf around to the other side of the tower.
He scarce believed his eyes when he saw what he had believed to be a stationary tree move and turn towards them. "Young Master Gandalf!" His tawny eyes lit curiously on Malcolm. "And a new wizard... to replace Saruman?"
"In a manner of speaking," said Malcolm shortly. "I have come to help."
Treebeard's limbs creaked as he bent to look at them all. "You were not part of this world before," said the ancient Ent slowly in Old Entish (Malcolm marveled anew at his sudden innate mastery of all the strange languages of Middle-Earth) and looked up towards the sky. "Nor were we, for a time," Treebeard added sadly, and switched back into Common Speech. "I'm glad you have come, both of you. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a wizard here to manage, locked in his tower."
Gandalf shook his head. "And there he must remain, but I have now a last task to do before I go: I must pay Saruman a farewell visit. Dangerous, and probably useless, but it must be done." He nudged Shadowfax and trotted toward the long black stair leading into the tower. "Saruman, Saruman!" he cried, and struck the wall with his staff. "Saruman, come forth!"
For some time there was no answer. At last the window above the door was unbarred, and they saw a figure standing at the rail, looking down upon them: an old man, swathed in a great cloak, the color of which was not easy to tell, for it changed if they moved their eyes or if he stirred. His face was long, with a high forehead, he had deep darkling eyes, hard to fathom, though the look that they bore now was grave and malevolent, and a little weary. His hair and beard were white, but strands of black still showed about his lips and ears.
"Well?" he said now with gentle question. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day? Two at least of you I know by name. Gandalf I know too well to have much hope that he seeks help or counsel here. But you, Théoden Lord of the Mark of Rohan, why have you not come before, and as a friend?"
Théoden looked at him with a steady gaze, quiet and patient. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he said nothing. Malcolm felt the compulsion within Saruman's words, and hoped that the darkness would not take Théoden once again. He gripped his staff a little tighter, and saw to his left that Gandalf did the same.
"What have you to say, Théoden King? Will you have peace with me, and all the aid that my knowledge, founded in long years, can bring?" Still Théoden did not answer. Whether he strove with anger or doubt none could say. Éomer spoke.
"Lord, hear me!" he said. "Have we ridden forth to victory only to stand at last amazed by an old liar with honey on his forked tongue? What aid would he give to you, forsooth? All he desires is to escape from his plight. Remember Théodred and Helm's Deep, my lord!"
"If we speak of poisoned tongues what shall we say of yours, young serpent?" snapped Saruman. Éomer's eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment his hand strayed to his sword.
"You try to sweep the very foundations of our land from under our feet," said Éomer fiercely. "Your trickery will not avail you this time, old man. My sword may make sure of that."
Malcolm, quick as lightning, leaned over and gripped his friend's arm. "Hold your hand, Éomer," he said quietly. "We shall see what Gandalf wants done with the snake."
Saruman's cold eyes glittered. "And you, young imposter, who are you? A clever trick of Gandalf's, sent to make me fearful for my life? Wizard? Warrior? Hah! The two of you will certainly have Sauron shaking in his boots!"
"There's an image," muttered Pippin. "He'd have a job getting them to stay on, wouldn't he?"
Malcolm smothered a snicker; Saruman looked even more outraged, gripping the edge of the railing with white knuckles. "I say, Théoden King," said the former White Wizard, "shall we have peace and friendship? It is ours to command"---with a dark glare at Éomer and Malcolm---"and no one else's."
"We will have peace," said Théoden thickly. "Yes, we will have peace, when you and all your works have perished---and the works of your dark master to whom you would deliver us! You are a liar, Saruman, and a corrupter of men's hearts."
"Gibbets and crows!" snarled Saruman, beside himself with wrath. He leaned over the rail as if he would smite the King with his staff. "Dotard! You give me brag and abuse; I do not need you! So be it. Go back to your stinking huts." He turned to Gandalf. "Gandalf---are we not members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-Earth? Our friendship would profit us both alike. Much we could still accomplish together, to heal the disorders of the world."
Gandalf merely laughed, looking for an instant at Malcolm with a smile in his eyes. "Saruman, Saruman!" he said, still laughing, "You should have been a king's jester! I fear we are beyond your comprehension, both me and our young brother here. But listen, Saruman, for the last time! Will you not come down? I give you a last chance to turn to new things, perhaps."
A shadow passed over Saruman's face; then it went deathly white. For a second he hesitated, and no one breathed. Then he spoke, and his voice was shrill and cold. "Keep your offers of second chances, old friend," he said, and drew back into the tower. "And young wizard, try not to drop your staff the first time you use it!" he added sarcastically.
"Come back, Saruman!" cried Gandalf, and to the great surprise of everyone watching Saruman turned again, and as if dragged against his will he came slowly back to the iron rail, leaning on it, breathing hard. His face was lined and shrunken. His hand clutched his heavy black staff (idly, Malcolm wondered why it was black, since Saruman had been the White Wizard) like a claw.
"You have no color now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council," said the wizard sternly, yet there was a hint of regret in his voice. "Saruman, your staff is broken." There was a crack, and the staff split asunder in Saruman's hand, and the head of it fell down at Gandalf's feet. With a cry Saruman fell back and crawled away. At that moment a heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above. It glanced off the iron rail, even as Saruman left it, and passing close to Gandalf's head, it smote the stair near Shadowfax's feet. The ball was unharmed; it rolled on down the steps, a globe of crystal, dark, but glowing with a heart of fire. As it bounded away into the water, Pippin ran after it and picked it up.
Malcolm started; in amazement, he gazed at the thing clutched in the hobbit's hands. A palantir, the thing which had brought him here. He had thought them lost, but of course that would be folly, wouldn't it? Gandalf had spoken of one before, and Sauron of course had one...
He thought that should he need to, he could bring himself back to his own world, but he had not considered how Hoshi would return. He may yet need this palantir. Gandalf beckoned hastily to Pippin. "I'll take that, Pippin my lad," he said, and quickly wrapped it in his cloak. He spurred on Shadowfax and nodded meaningfully at Malcolm, who quickly followed.
"I did not know there were any that still existed," said Malcolm softly, once they were some distance from the others.
"Then through a palantir you came?" said Gandalf, and Malcolm nodded. Carefully he handed the younger wizard the cloth-wrapped bundle. "I do not know how such a thing would be possible, but clearly it is."
"This is not the same one," said Malcolm, looking at it for an instant before throwing the wrapping over it once more. Even in that short moment he felt a presence watching from within---he had no urge to look longer. "And the hands... I remember the hands. Burning in red flame, withered and terrible... I should not like to see them again, but for that I may need that one to bring Hoshi back." He returned the bundle to Gandalf and took up the reins of his horse. "If I can bring Hoshi back."
The others had caught up, and they began to ride away from the wizard's tower, chatting amongst themselves. Gandalf did not notice, and neither did Malcolm, that Pippin was silent, and his eyes followed the bundled palantir sitting snugly in Gandalf's lap.
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Sorry about the wait... stuff decided to all happen at once. Hopefully I will get the next one up soon too.