Disclaimer: I don't own anything. And if you feel the need to sue me, I will gladly give up all my homework and tests…
Chapter Twenty-Five
"You fell!" exclaimed Aragorn, almost like he was trying to convince himself that the wizard who stood in front of us was no more than an apparition, one of Fangorn's many tricks.
"Through fire and water," Gandalf replied. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought the Balrog of Morgoth." Although he was not generous in description of this battle, clear pictures of his struggle drifted throughout my mind. Gandalf raising his glowing sword to deflect the fiery blows of the Balrog, the battle cries of both the wizard and the demon rising in the air as they fought for their lives. "Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." I could see the Balrog fall at last with a cry, defeated, as Gandalf, bruised and bleeding, collapsed on the ground, clearly exhausted. "Darkness took me and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and every day was as long as the life age of the earth." Cosmic landscapes swooped all around, and I could not help but feel like I was in some sort of really bad science movie that my seventh grade teacher would force the class to watch every Thursday. "But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done." Feeling like I had been in a flashback, I looked up at the wizard with wonder.
"Gandalf!" murmured Aragorn in awe.
"Gandalf?" replied the wizard, seeming surprised at the use of his name. "Oh yes," he continued, "That is what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." I raised my eyebrows in confusion. If this wasn't Gandalf, who was he? His long lost twin brother?
"Gandalf!" Gimli said, seeming slightly confused.
"I am Gandalf the White," he replied, his eyes twinkling slightly. A relieved smile began to creep at the corners of my mouth and tears were brimming in my eyes. "And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide." He said this last part ominously, with determination riding in his kindly gaze.
"Gandalf," I said after a moment. The wizard turned his eyes to mine. "I know you're all super powerful and all knowing now, but…" The tears of relief that I had managed to keep under control suddenly overflowed on to my cheeks and I stepped forward to hug him. "I really missed you," I choked out as tears flowed down my cheeks. Gandalf patted me gently on the back, like a grandfather would, and it took quite a bit of my self-control to not completely break down in happy sobs. It's so hard to describe exactly what I felt that day, other than I felt so incredibly happy and sad at the same time.
"But next time you feel like getting new clothes, please just go to a tailor or something instead of dying…" I said after a moment, pulling away. Gandalf's face broke out into a smile and he chuckled, patting me on the shoulder.
"I did miss your humor, Haley," he replied.
"She's not so funny after two days without sleep…" Gimli muttered under his breath.
I settled on stealing his helmet as an act of revenge.
*
We finally exited the forest, journeying once again into bright sunlight. The fact that our view was mainly of smoking corpses had escaped me for the moment. Fangorn was almost too much to bear and I had no desire to remain in there any longer than necessary.
"One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed," Gandalf said once we were out in the open. He whistled sharply and the melody echoed across the plain. The answering whinny of a horse was heard soon afterward. This same horse soon came into view as it galloped across the plain. He was gorgeous. He ran gracefully, almost like a gazelle, his white coat flashing brilliantly in the sun. His tail trailed behind him like a flawless colorless ribbon floating on the breeze.
"That is one of the mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell," Legolas reported after a moment.
"Shadowfax," Gandalf said gently, as the horse approached us. He stopped obediently in front of Gandalf, lowering his head to be petted. "He's the lord of all horses and has been my friend through many dangers."
I quietly approached Calatar as everyone began the process of saddling up. I gently smoothed his mane as I attempted to get comfortable in the saddle, gently swatting a fly away from one of his shoulders.
"Please don't throw me off," I whispered for the second time that day. His velvet ears twitched slightly and he whinnied softly, almost as if he had heard me. I gently nudged his sides, preparing myself again for another nerve-wracking ride across the plains.
*
I'm not sure how long we rode—but it was long enough. I was slightly more relaxed than I had been on my previous ride, but riding was still not my most favorite activity.
"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf said as I pulled Calatar to a stop next to Aragorn. Edoras appeared to be a rather large fortress built upon a lone hill. "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown." Gandalf paused for a moment. "Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."
"Just what we need…" I muttered.
*
About twenty minutes later we had entered Edoras. I reluctantly dismounted Calatar, feeling slightly uneasy. The guards that occupied the front entrance were less than friendly, and my best guess was that they were often deprived of female companionship, judging from the looks that some of them were giving me. I glared at the one closest to me, who averted his eyes immediately. I smirked and quickly followed after Gandalf and the others.
We received mostly hostile looks as we journeyed across what I'd call a poor excuse for a courtyard. I made a point of making a few faces at those who seemed particularly disgruntled. Those individuals did not bother me after that.
"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli muttered.
A company of guards approached us as we climbed the stairs to what I assumed was the dwelling place of the king.
"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame—by order of Grima Wormtongue," the head guard commanded.
Grima Wormtongue? I thought to myself. What kind of freak name is that?
To my surprise, Gandalf did not protest to their demands, but rather nodded for us to do so. I hesitantly removed my bow and quiver of arrows (which I never used anyway) from my back and handed it to one of the guards. I retrieved my hunting knife from where I had stashed it in my cloak and handed it over. Finally, I unbuckled my scabbard from my waist and reluctantly gave it to the guard.
"Don't lose this. Don't steal it. Don't break it. Don't bend it. Don't scratch it. Don't even touch it unless you're returning it to me…" I warned him as the sword left my hands. The guard nodded and moved noticeably further away from me. I held back a smile.
Meanwhile, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn were all making a big show of disarming themselves, pulling knives and God knows what else out of their pockets, boots…after a while I began to lose track of everything.
Once the guards had obtained every last piece of our weaponry—or at least as far as I knew—we prepared to enter the building…only to be stopped again.
"Your staff," the guard said, gesturing to Gandalf.
"Eh? Oh. No, you wouldn't part an old man from his walking stick?" Gandalf replied, stooping over with "age". It was hard not to smile, but I managed to keep a straight face. The guard rolled his eyes and waved us in. I followed closely behind Aragorn, feeling uneasy without the familiar weight of my sword at my hip.
As I took my first steps into the hall, I noticed how much it smelled like Mrs. Thorpton's home. Mrs. Thorpton was an elderly woman of ninety-seven who lived next door to Aunt Kate. She had been practically bedridden for nearly six years, but absolutely refused to go to a nursing home. I was often sent over to bring her dinner when her caretaker couldn't make the trip over. I always thought her house smelled like mothballs and sour perfume and I'm guessing she hadn't aired it out since the Watergate scandal.
This is exactly what the hall smelled like; only there was a faint trace of something foul lingering in the air and it was slightly smoky as well, which made my nose twitch. I made an effort to breathe through my mouth.
At the very end of the hall there was a very large and ornate throne and upon it was seated a very shrunken and frail man, who I assumed was the king. This man literally looked about seven hundred years old. He sat wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe that looked at least as old as he was and I'm guessing it had never been washed. His face was a road map of wrinkles and lines, but from the way they pulled at the corners of his mouth and eyes and furrowed at his forehead, you could tell that they weren't caused by laughing, but from pain and worry. His wispy hair billowed out from his head in a white cloud, similar to Albert Einstein's, but slightly longer and very unkempt. His beard was almost a yellowish color, caught between being a youthful brown and turning white with age. His skin was unnaturally pasty, like he hadn't seen sunlight in many years, and his hands rested on his lap, his fingernails grossly overgrown, cracking and yellowing with age. His eyes were his most striking feature. At one point they must have been a bright blue and as clear and sharps as a hawk's, but they now were clouded with age and his gaze was completely lifeless. The crown that sat on his head was more of a mockery rather than a symbol for his station. He looked no more capable of walking across the room much less ruling a country. It was one of the saddest things I have ever seen.
"My Lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming. An herald of woe," a voice said. I looked to the king's right and was assaulted with an image that bore a strange resemblance to Michael Jackson with a nose. This man who had spoken could have been no other than Grima Wormtongue—his repulsive name fit his appearance perfectly. His pale sweaty skin was unnaturally white—more so than the King's—and brownish circles dwelt under his black beady eyes while his colorless lips were frozen in a sneer. He had a head of dark wavy hair so greasy that it seemed to glisten in the light. He looked like a snake.
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf said in greeting, seeming to ignore Wormtongue's comments.
"He is not welcome," Wormtongue whispered to the King.
"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" the King wheezed. His voice might have once been strong and powerful, but it had weakened with age and disuse.
"A just question, my liege," Wormtongue whispered to the King. He stood up and turned to face us.
"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest." I frowned and opened my mouth, ready to give Wormtongue a good tongue-lashing and a bit of a lecture on general cleanliness.
Fortunately (for my sake), Aragorn saw this and immediately clamped his hand over my mouth.
"Quiet," he whispered in my ear, that familiar chastising tone creeping back into his voice. I sighed and nodded in submission and he removed his hand. I settled on glaring at Wormtongue instead.
"Silence!" bellowed Gandalf. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" The wizard suddenly pulled his staff out from underneath his cloak and a look of astonishment swept over Grima's features.
"Your staff…" He turned to the guards angrily. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"
The guards seem to take this as a command to attack and so they did, rushing toward us from all sides. My eyes widened. I should not have given them my hunting knife. Why on earth did I give them my hunting knife when I could have brought it in without them seeing it and actually be protected? Why did I have to be such an idiot and follow all the rules?
So when one of the heavily armed men came charging at me, I did the only logical thing I could think of: I screamed and delivered the most powerful kick I could muster.
Lucky for me, I got him where it really hurts.
Panicked, I tried to think of something I could do. I spotted another guard who was getting dangerously close to Aragorn. I sprinted as fast as I could and jumped onto his back, catching him completely off guard and causing him to emit a string of curses. This was probably not the smartest thing I could have done, but at that point, I was desperate.
"Théoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in shadows," Gandalf said approaching the King as I attempted to cover the guard's eyes. Gimli had Wormtongue pinned on the floor nearby. "Hearken to me! I will release you from the spell!" The guard staggered for a moment, nearly sending me flying. The laughter of the King was the response to Gandalf's exclamation.
"You have no powers here, Gandalf the Grey!" he cackled in a voice that seemed not his own. The guard swung his sword back blindly. The blade came into contact with my shoulder and I let go, toppling backward on the floor. I struggled to get up, my shoulder smarting painfully.
"I shall draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf said, standing tall. I had managed to stand up and get myself as far away from the guard as I could, sticking close to Aragorn, who probably knew a heck of a lot more about fighting without weapons against guys with weapons than I did. A blonde-haired woman rushed into the room and tried to run to the King. Aragorn caught her, cautioning her to wait.
"If I go, Théoden dies," the King hissed. My eyes widened. This was getting a little scary.
"You did not kill me, you will not kill him!" Gandalf bellowed, seeming to grow in height.
"Rohan is mine!" This time the King's voice had changed. It was deeper and laced with evil.
"Be gone!"