Failure By Design: Thank you. I am glad you like quirky humor, as it is probably the only kind I am capable of writing!
Andi-Black: As requested, one update.
Grumpy: As Gandalf would say, even when your intentions are good it is perilous to use a Ring of Power.
AzureDragoness: Yes, I admit it: I love foreshadowing.
Kelly Kragen: Your guess regarding Gríma is right on target.
Dragonfly: Both motives work without contradicting one another: Saruman wants to create trouble both for Gandalf and for the Elves riding to meet him. You could add a third one as well: making the Rohirrim dependent upon him by depriving them of their crops and herds.
Joee: Ai! This chapter does not contain Legolas, but the next one will. He is journeying to Erebor in the company of Tathar. Also, just a few minutes ago I posted an elfling Anomen story under the title "Scout's Honor." There now, will that do?
Chapter 26: Concentric Circles
In Lothlórien, a bewildered Haldir clung to his talan as it dipped and swayed in the wind that roared through the Golden Valley. Never had such a tempest struck the land of the Galadhrim, no, not in his lifetime, nor in the lifetimes of those older than he. On another flet, a shaken Celeborn lurched toward Galadriel, who had pressed herself against the trunk of the mallorn tree that rose through the center of the dwelling, which itself stood in the midst of Caras Galadhon. "Galadriel," he shouted as he reached her, "we must abandon this tree."
The Lady of Lothlórien shook her head.
"No, Celeborn," she called in answer, "if this tree falls, then Caras Galadhon falls, and then you know what must follow. Let us remain steadfast." She raised aloft Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, and chanted words that Celeborn could not hear above the wind.
Yes, thought Celeborn, he did indeed know what would follow if the center did not hold. If Caras Galadhon fell, then Lothlórien would fall, and if Lórien fell, no Elf kingdom would be far behind. The destruction of Caras Galadhon would be like the stone cast into a pond, sending out ripples in concentric circles. For their city was the heart of elvendom in Middle Earth. Let the heart once stop beating, and there would be no life left elsewhere.
In Northern Mirkwood, wood elves abandoned their cottages and hastened to the safety of the Great Hall, dolven as it was into the good earth. Trees crashed about them as they fled. So many forest giants were found windfallen the next day that it would be long before Tathar and the other carpenters would need to cut any live ones. The trees had toppled in great swathes, so that, as the trunks were dragged off by the carpenters, large open spaces were left behind to which elflings flocked to fly their kites. As Men were wont to say, "It is an ill wind as blows nobody any good." The elflings at least had cause to rejoice.
In Isengard, Saruman snarled in frustration, foam flying from his lips, as he prowled the summit of Orthanc, casting his eyes wildly from side to side as the grounds of his fortress were swamped by the overflowing Isen. Saruman vowed to never again fall victim to the power of the river, resolving instead to order his creatures to erect a dam across it. "Yes," he thought, "a dam will do nicely. Such a structure will allow me to control the river and protect myself from its moods; moreover, I can then make use of the river's thwarted power to turn the wheels of various engines that I have long wished to devise. Yes," he gloated, "I shall turn this river to account, taming its wildness and shaping it into one of my servants." It would be many years before this plan would come to fruition, but the seeds were planted this night.
In Edoras, terrified families huddled together as the thatched roofs were torn from their houses. Terrified children shrieked as mothers and fathers flung themselves upon them to protect the young ones from the rain and hail that poured into the breached cottages. Panicked horses reared and plunged and kicked against their stalls as the wind peeled planks from the sides of the stables. A whey-faced Gríma hid underneath his bed as the Men of Fengel's household ran outside to make their way to the stables, there to help the stableboys calm the steeds, lest they hurt themselves in their panic. As for Gandalf, he forced his way from cottage to cottage, bent against the wind, urging the frightened folk to abandon their flimsy shelters for the security of Fengel's great Golden Hall. Many were the children that he carried beneath his own cloak, thus speeding the passage of the refugees by relieving them of the need to make repeated trips between cottage and Hall.
When the tempest stilled, Gandalf and Fengel were the first to walk the ramparts to survey the damage. Walls had collapsed, their foundations washed away by the torrents of water that had poured down the slopes. Such hay as had been gathered during the time of drought had been spoilt, the haystacks having collapsed and the fodder having become soaked and befouled by mud. Such stock as had not been in the barns was badly bruised and very likely would have to be put down. There would be meat enough that winter, but fewer calves would be born in the spring; there would consequently be less milk for butter and cheese, as well as less meat the following winter because fewer animals would be available for butchering.
As Fengel and Gandalf took stock of the situation, a few Men gathered to watch them, Gríma among them. "Interesting," muttered that personage as if he were speaking to himself and did not intend to be overheard.
"What's that you say?" asked one of the Men.
"Oh, nothing," Gríma said. "Just—that," he added, gesturing vaguely toward king and wizard. The other Men studied the two with renewed interest.
"Don't like that," said one at last.
"Don't like what?" asked another.
"That conjurer looks to be spying out our fortifications and making note of our weaknesses," replied his fellow.
"And like as not some of those weaknesses are of his own devising," added another Man, the young Rider who had earlier cast aspersions upon Gandalf in the presence of Fengel himself. "There has been naught but odd doings and peculiar happenings since his arrival here. First, the drought, a longer and harsher one than anyone can remember, and now this storm, the like of which no one has ever seen. Only magic could explain these misfortunes, and the only magician hereabouts is yonder wizard."
"And now," another Rider pointed out, "that same wizard is privy to information about the state of our defenses, which at the moment are rather poor, all things being considered. This is altogether too bad!"
"But what are we to do?" cried the young Rider in frustration. "The King trusts the old conjurer!"
"He is loyal to the magician," said Gríma slyly, "for he has known him of old. Doubtless loyalty is an excellent trait—in the main."
"True," said an agéd Rider, "and it is thus out of the question for Fengel to act against the wretched wizard. We cannot ask that of him, to turn upon someone whom he has treated as a friend for so many years. It is up to us to take action, thus freeing Fengel from any imputation of treachery."
"Yes," exclaimed the young Rider excitedly. "The King's nobility of character prevents him from acting, so we must step into the breach."
"Aye," said the older Rider, "and we must tell Fengel nothing, so that the act will not lie upon his conscience or stain his honor."
Gríma had by now slipped away, for the plot had developed an impetus of its own. Indeed, since he was considered to be the King's loyal henchman, his continued presence perchance would have inhibited the discussion. Moreover, Gríma was always mindful of his own welfare. If the plot went awry, he did not want to be associated with it. And, truly, up to that point he had been careful to avoid saying anything that could be called wicked or traitorous. In fact, so clever was he that he had scarcely had to say anything at all.
Gríma now being absent, the Men eagerly discussed means of doing away with the wizard. It was pretty generally known that Gandalf kept his door bolted at night, so they knew they could not get at him then. It had also been noted that Gandalf drank wine only from bottles opened in his presence, so poisoning his drink was not an option. As for tampering with his food, he was served from the selfsame dishes as was the King, so they could not poison him without running the risk of likewise poisoning their liege. As they believed themselves to be loyal to the King—indeed, to be acting in their Lord's interests if not in fact on their Lord's behalf—they could hardly do that. The only solution was to arrange an 'accident' during the daytime, perhaps in the stable, for several of the horses were known to be quite wild.
It is in fact doubtful whether Gríma wanted Gandalf done away with altogether, for if the wizard were to die, then any knowledge he possessed about a certain place far to the north, a land quaintly called The Shire, would die with him. Besides, Gríma had too much respect for Gandalf's powers to believe that a few headstrong Riders would be able to get the better of him to the extent of bringing about his death. Still, he had hopes that the conspirators would cause the wizard an injury that would render him helpless or ineffectual. How delightful it would be if Gríma could contrive to bring Gandalf to Isengard in a state of weakness and confusion. Surely Saruman would reward Gríma most handsomely for such an achievement!
Little did Gríma guess, however, that he was not the only person in Edoras capable of lurking about and laying plots. The conversation amongst the conspirators was at this very moment being carefully observed by a figure who had silently slipped into the rubble nearby. This person listened intently, and then, after the plotters had disbanded, surreptitiously crept out of the hiding place and made for the Golden Hall. It was not easy, though, for this spy to gain a private audience with King Fengel.
"My Lord."
"You must not trouble me now; I have business to discuss with my counselors."
"But my Lord!"
"You have heard me! Be off with you!"
Tears filled the eyes of the spy, who was in fact not the least upset but knew very well how to work upon the King.
"But, Granddada, I really need to speak with you—I do!"
For all his stern demeanor, Fengel adored his grandchildren, including this feisty granddaughter of his.
"Oh, very well," he said gruffly. "But this had better not be another cat trapped in a cistern—I swear that I shall drown all the cats hereabouts if it is!"
"Good mousers, those cats," observed one of Fengel's counselors, grinning. "Be a dreadful toll taken on the grain if you did that, my Lord."
"Yes, yes," said Fengel impatiently. "Leave me with the child," he continued, waving dismissal to his counselors. "No, not you, Gríma. You may remain."
"No, not Gríma!" protested Fengel's granddaughter. She had not seen Gríma in the company of the plotters, but she instinctively distrusted him nonetheless.
"That's Master Gríma to you," Fengel chided. "He is your elder, and decorum demands that you address him so."
"Oh, I pray you, my Lord, do not rebuke the child on my account," said Gríma unctuously. "It is natural for the young to speak impulsively. I will leave you now, my Lord, for I would not intrude upon a tender moment between grandfather and granddaughter." He smiled ingratiatingly at the girl. She was not yet betrothed, and Gríma harbored the hope that his own grandson might be considered as a candidate for her hand. It would not do to alienate the child, whose wishes would no doubt have a great influence upon her doting grandfather.
For all his pains, however, he received nothing but a scowl from the child. A wild thing, Gríma thought indignantly. Well, but a wild thing could be caged. Should his grandson succeed in securing her in marriage, he would see it done. The cage would be gilded, as befit her status—and his grandson's, of course—but it would be a cage nonetheless.
For now, though, he bowed obsequiously and retired from the room. Once he was gone, Fengel abandoned his regal manner and gestured for his granddaughter to come near. He drew her onto his lap and spoke kindly.
"Now, Théodwyn, what is so important that my counselors must be driven from the chamber?"
"I overheard some Men talking on the ramparts."
Fengel frowned. He spoke gently but firmly.
"Théodwyn, have you once again been creeping about outside the Hall? You know that such behavior is not seemly."
"Theoden crawls into all sorts of spaces. Did I ever tell you it was Theoden the cat followed into the cistern?"
"No, but I had guessed it. Yet that is of no moment. Theoden is a boy, and it is to be expected that a boy will get into all sorts of scrapes."
"Granddada, that is not fair!"
"I do not see that at all. Boys are boys, and girls are girls. Each has their proper sphere. You are not made for creeping about on your hands and knees."
"Then why have I got them?" said Théodwyn promptly.
"What?" said Fengel, confused.
"Then why have I got them?"
"Got what?"
"Hands and knees."
Bemused, Fengel wondered whence came Théodwyn's odd notions. Well, someday she would marry and have children, and that would put an end to her seemingly endless questions. He wondered for a moment whether, if she had a daughter, the child would inherit her waywardness, but then he shook off the thought and returned his mind to the present.
"Enough idle chatter, child. You overheard some Men, and no doubt you wish to tell me what was said."
"Yes, Granddada. They want to hurt Master Mithrandir."
Fengel was not surprised to learn this, but he was worried nonetheless. He hid his concern from his granddaughter, however.
"Did they?" he said calmly. "When Men have time on their hands, they will while it away in reckless speech that in the end signifies nothing."
"No, Granddada," insisted Théodwyn, "they really mean to hurt him. I think"—she hesitated a moment—"I think they should like to see him dead. They called him 'Gandalf Storm Crow' and said that he had brought destruction upon the kingdom and would do worse if they dasn't stop him."
"Didn't," Fengel corrected absent-mindedly.
"Didn't stop him," Théodwyn continued. "They plan to invite him riding, and they will have him mounted upon the wildest of the horses, and they will stick a burr under the saddle, and they will contrive to provoke the horse into bucking, and Mithrandir will be thrown, and once he is upon the ground they will trample him under the hooves of their own horses, and then they will come back and tell you 'twas an accident."
The child paused for breath, and Fengel found that he himself was breathless. It was a cold-blooded plot that had just come from the lips of his granddaughter.
"Theodwýn," he said gravely. "Said they ought of me?"
"Yes, Granddada."
Fengel braced to hear the worst.
"They said you were a good and gracious king and that 'twas pity you'd been imposed upon by a wizard. They said 'twas their duty to remove his evil influence from your side, for you were too honorable to act against him yourself because of the friendship you had long shared."
Fengel exhaled. The situation was bad, but at least the Men's anger and frustration were directed neither at he himself nor at his kin.
"Know you these Men, my child?"
"Aye, Granddada."
Théodwyn recited the names of the conspirators.
"Thank you, Theodwýn. You have done well to come to me. Now go and say nothing of this matter. Tell the servant to send Gríma to me."
Théodwyn did not like that last command, but she reluctantly did as she was told. Gríma hastened to the side of the king, who had been turning over in his mind a plan to get the plotters away from court for the time being without raising anyone's suspicion.
"Gríma, it has been long since you have carried a message to Isengard, and I would not have the Lord Saruman think that we would neglect his friendship. Tomorrow, therefore, you will depart for that place bearing a letter and such gifts as we can afford in this time of scarcity. You will be well escorted, of course, by the Men whom I trust the most."
Quickly Fengel reeled off the names of the plotters. Perhaps admiration, however grudging, was due to Gríma on this occasion. For he managed to keep his countenance, his expression betraying not the slightest alarm even though, given the Men who were being sent away from Edoras, he at once suspected that the king had somehow learned of the plot.
"As you wish, my Lord," he said, his voice as smooth as ever. "I will go at once to prepare myself for the journey."
"Thank you, Gríma. Oh, yes, see that Mithrandir is summoned to my chamber."
"Of course, my Lord."
That clinched Gríma's suspicions. Mithrandir was to be told, and now there would be no hope of catching the wizard off guard. Usually Gríma was pleased to be sent to Isengard. This time, however, he dreaded the coming audience with Saruman, for he would have much to explain away. The Lord of Isengard had little patience for those who failed to fulfill his behests.
"Mithrandir, my friend," the King greeted the wizard as he approached. "I fear that we must be parted sooner than expected."
"You are going on a journey?"
"No, you are going on a journey."
"The Imladris Elves have arrived, then?"
"No, but you are going to ride out to meet them. I am afraid that the environs of Edoras are no longer a healthy place for you."
Quickly Fengel explained what he had learned and how he had dealt with the conspirators.
"Those Men will be out of the way and quite unable to come after you, but I fear lest others share their suspicions. I will furnish you with provisions and with a horse—a gentle one who will not buck, I assure you!—and you must set out toward your friends."
"If my friends were out in that storm," Gandalf pointed out, "they may have been badly battered and would no doubt have been looking forward to your hospitality. Indeed, they may be in great need of it."
Fengel was troubled.
"True, and it grieves me that circumstances do not permit me to host them. Look you, my friend: I shall see that you are provided with several packhorses that will be laden with whatever provisions can be spared. At least your friends will be able to say that they enjoyed several meals at my expense, if not at my board."
The next morning Gríma and his escort rode out, and the morning after Gandalf departed. The intervening day Fengel's servants spent in packing food and supplies for the Elves. Fengel's people provided for the Fair Folk most generously, especially given how straightened the Rohirrim's own circumstances were. Leading the string of horses, and with his health restored, Gandalf left Edoras as comfortable in his mind as he could have been, given the danger that had necessitated his hasty departure. He rode at a steady but comfortable pace, reveling in the mild weather, neither too hot nor too cold, too dry nor too wet, that had succeeded the drought and subsequent tempest. Three days out from Edoras he caught sight of a company riding toward him from the northwest. At long last he was going to be reunited with his elven friends.