Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR. I never did, and I never will. . . I also don't own Harry Potter or Kel or Neal.

A/N: Thank you all my faithful reviewers (cries over the fact that I don't have all that many. . .anyway) Wow, I really haven't written in a looong time! I have been very busy. . . yeah, I know, excuses, excuses. Anyway, this chapter is really long so I hope it makes up for the long waiting time. This chapter was supposed to be about Frodo and Sam, but I still haven't finished writing about them, so I decided to put up the stuff with Aragorn instead. I kind of put off writing about Sam and Frodo for a little while. . .

Chapter 15

Arrival in Edoras

Emily watched her surroundings fly past her as she clung onto her horse with all her willpower. Although Estel's canter was smooth, she still found herself bouncing uncomfortably on his back. Even so, it felt so good to be able to sit down after such a long time on her feet. She felt weariness creep up on her, and the next thing she knew, her eyelids were forcing their way shut.

Itarilde happened to glance beside her just at that moment. She saw her friend fall. Fortunately, they were at the back of the company, otherwise Emily might have been trampled.

"Emily!" Itarilde turned her horse and rushed back to retrieve her friend.

Out of the corner of his eye Aragorn saw this and ordered everyone to halt. A look of annoyance crossed Gandalf's face, and he started muttering under his breath. Legolas put a comforting hand on the wizard's shoulder.

"Have patience. We will get to Edoras soon enough."

As soon as Emily had hit the ground, she had snapped awake instantly, away only of the pain in her left shoulder, which had been the first part of her body to come into contact with the ground. She heard pounding hoof beats as Itarilde came charging over with an amused smile on her face.

"Not.. . a. . .word." Emily told her through gritted teeth.

"Next time, try not to fall asleep," she commented as she pulled a glaring Emily to her feet.

In her haste to reach her friend, Itarilde had forgotten to bring Estel, Emily's horse. So Emily had to ride pillion with Itarilde until they reached the other horses.

"Are you okay?" Itarilde asked once Emily was seated behind her. Emily nodded. She would have a bruise on her shoulder, but she wasn't seriously hurt.

As soon as Emily as mounted on her horse Gandalf led them off again, this time at a quick walk and not a headlong canter.

A while later they started to see horses dotting the landscape. Horses grazed in pastured on either side. Itarilde looked at them wistfully.

"One day, I will have a farm. . . with lots and lots of horses!" Itarilde suddenly exclaimed. "I'll name one of them Aragorn, and one of them Legolas, and another Gimli. . . unless of course the dwarf would rather not have anything to do horses?" she raised her eyebrows at Gimli.

"Name your beasts as you like, lass, but I can't say I'd be too happy living on your farm." Gimli replied, smiling.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Some time later they reached Edoras. As they rode into the capital of Rohan, Emily couldn't help but notice the look of poverty in the city. The houses looked so frail, as if they might crumble with the lightest touch.

They arrived at Meduseld, the palace of the king. The building was adorned with gold. There was not a shingle missing from the roof, nor a stone from the walls. Itarilde's mouth dropped open in wonder, but she closed it quickly when guards gave her strange looks.

Gandalf dismounted and motioned for everyone else to do the same. He walked up to a guard and talked to him in hushed tones.

"It would be much appreciated if you could stable these horses. See to it that they are cared for as well."

The guard at first looked ready to protest but complied immediately when Gandalf pressed a coin into his hand. Another guard at the door demanded, "Who are you and what business do you have at Mesuseld?"

Gandalf stepped forward. "I am Gandalf the White. Do not hinder me. I must see Theoden King right away."

The guard frowned. "And who are the others?"

"With me is Aragorn son of Arathorn, Legolas of Mirkwood, Gimli son of Gloin, Itarilde and Emily of Gondor, and Olorin the Different. We have nothing against your king, nor your nation. May we enter?"

The last words were spoken with such authority that the guard reluctantly told them, "You may enter, but I must ask you to lay down your weapons, for I cannot permit you to appear in front of King Theoden so heavily armed."

Everyone put down their weapons slowly. Harry said nothing about his wand, which was hidden in his cloak. The company looked at the guard expectantly, wondering why he hadn't opened the door yet.

"Your staff," he said to Gandalf, "That too is a weapon."

Gandalf looked offended. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick, would you?"

The guard looked uncertain but admitted them. Out of the corner of her eye, Itarilde thought she saw Gandalf wink at Aragorn. She shook her head, wondering what Gandalf was planning to do.

"Hail, Theoden King! I bring you visitors," the guard stepped out and closed the door.

Itarilde looked around her. Before them stretched a long hall leading to the throne, upon which sat King Theoden. Guards lined the hall on either side. As Itarilde lifted her eyes to look at the King, a gasp escaped her lips.

On the throne sat the palest, oldest, and frailest man she had ever seen. His eyes were tiny and unfocused, his pupils hardly visible. He was literally skin and bones. His movements were slow and careful, if he moved at all. He no longer seemed to have to will to live. As it was, Itarilde had to admit he did look as though he was on the brink of death. An aura of sickliness was about him. And on the king's right side, a disgusting-looking pale man sat, whispering in his ear. This man was Grima Wormtongue, Theoden's advisor.

"Gandalf the Grey approaches," he whispered to Theoden, "Surely he brings with him ill news. Do not listen to him, my lord. Do not lay any more on your worried mind."

Gandalf glared at Wormtongue. "Silence! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!"

The wizard halted a few feet away from Theoden. "Hail, Theoden King-"

"His staff!" Wormtongue said to Theoden, "Hama didn't completely disarm them!"

"I told you to keep silent!" Gandalf snapped, his patience wearing thin. He pointed his staff at Wormtongue, who flew 6 feet in the air and came to rest in front of Gimli.

"Grima is right," Theoden croaked. Everyone turned to look at him. "Why should I welcome you?"

"I do bring ill news," Gandalf replied, "but I also bring counsel, and hope," he raised his staff and a bright light filled the room, "Too long have you lived in the shadows, Theoden."

Theoden, by some unseen force, was pushed back violently against the back of the throne. All around the company guards rushed over to attack Gandalf. They never reached him. Most were busy getting beaten up by Legolas and Aragorn, and the rest were knocked unconscious by Harry, who repeatedly cast spells with his wand. Gimli stepped on Wortongue, "I would stay still, if I were you."

Eowyn rushed in, startled by the sudden noise that had erupted from the room. She immediately ran forward todefend her uncle, but Aragorn held her back.

"Wait," he told her.

"Wait for what? That wizard is going to kill my uncle!"

"'That wizard' will do no such thing. He is purging from Theoden the poison of Saruman. Have you not noticed that your uncle has become more and more distant? All of that is Saruman's doing."

Eowyn fell silent, remembering that a few days ago her uncle had not even recognized her.

A deep voice came from Theoden's throat. "Rohan is mine," it cackled.

"That is not my uncle's voice," Eowyn whispered.

"No," Aragorn replied gravely, "That is Saruman, speaking through him."

Gandalf once again slammed Theoden against his throne. "Leave him!" he commanded.

The deep voice came forth again. "If I go, Theoden dies. . ."

"You did not kill me; you cannot have him!" for the last time Theoden was thrown back.

In Orthanc Saruman fell to the ground, hit by Gandalf's power.

Theoden's face changed. Several lines of worry disappeared, and his eyes started to regain their focus. He no longer looked old and sickly. Itarilde saw the traces of a man who was once strong, who had led his people valiantly to battle, and perhaps to victory.

Eowyn broke free of Aragorn and ran to her uncle. A flash of recognition came into Theoden's eyes. "I know your face," he said softly. "Eowyn."

Eowyn smiled for the first time in many months, tears of joy mounting in her eyes.

"Where is my son, Theodred?" the king asked.

Eowyn's smile faded. "He. . . he fell at the fords. He was attacked by Saruman's army."

There was an awkward silence.

"What about Eomer? Where is he?"

Eowyn avoided her uncle's eyes. "Grima banished him."

Theoden put his head in his hands. "What have I done? I have led Rohan to their doom."

Gandalf walked over to Theoden and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "All is not lost, dear friend. Eomer remains loyal to you, and will come at need. Speaking of which. . ." Gandalf walked away from Theoden and started pacing in a circle in front of the throne.

"Yes?" prompted Theoden.

Gandalf paced for a moment longer, choosing his words carefully. He stopped pacing and looked at Theoden steadily. "Doom is upon Rohan. But there is still hope. Saruman aims to destroy Rohan. Even as we speak Wildmen are attacking the Westfold. Rohan will become weak. Open war is upon us. We must fight."

Theoden shook his head. "I will not risk it. I-"

"Stay still, you stupid snake!" Gimli shouted at Wormtongue, who was struggling to get up. "I'm warning you. . ."

Theoden turned to Wormtongue. "You," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "You deceived me. You led my people astray. You killed my son."

Gimli dragged Wormtongue out of the hall and threw him onto the stone steps of the palace.

"You death is justified," Theoden said, "by all the evil deeds you have done."

"No!" Wormtongue protested. "I have only ever served you, my lord! That wizard Gandalf has impaired your thought-"

"Silence!" Theoden ordered, rage resounding in every syllable. "Hama, bring me my sword!"

Hama walked up to the king, presenting him with a beautiful sword. Theoden took the sword and raised it over his head. Just as he was about to bring it down on Wormtongue, Aragorn cried out.

"No, Theoden!"

Everyone stared at him. Even Wormtongue.

"Enough blood has been spilt on his account. Must we spill more?"

For a moment Theoden didn't move. Then slowly, ever so slowly, helowered his sword. "You do not deserve to live, Grima. Yet I will give you a last chance. Leave now, but if I ever see you again I shall chop you up into a thousand pieces and leave you to rot. Do I make myself clear?"

Wormtongue stood up. "Yes, of course, my lord," he said shakily. "It was a pleasure meeting you-"

"Leave!" Theoden ordered.

Wormtongue turned and ran to the stables, where he saddled his horse and galloped off to Isengard.

"Hama," said Theoden, absently, watching Wormtongue charge off. "Gather some horsemen and order the people of Edoras to pack up their belongings. We must seek refuge at Helm's Deep."

Hama bowed. Minutes later, horses galloped around the city, their riders shouting, "By order of the King, the city must be emptied! Head to Helm's Deep!"

"Just as we arrived," Itarilde sighed, "I was hoping we could have stayed and rested for a while."

No rest for the weary, Aragorn often said. It was so incredibly true.

The first thing the Company had to do was get new saddles. They had left their saddles at the campsite where their horses had run away a couple of nights ago. So Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Emily, Ilarilde and Harry went off to the stables. Gimli had declined the offer of his own horse, as well as the invitation to go to the stables with them.

"Beastly creatures, they are," he had said, "I wish to have nothing to do with them."

On the way to the stables Harry took Galadriel's glass sphere out of his pocket. He looked into the crystal, trying to mentally push himself into the clear depths. It was different from the last time. This time he felt himself slide into another world. The first thing he saw was a black falg. On the flag there was a hand, crudely drawn on with white paint. Then he saw a stone wall. Archers were posted upon this wall, and. . .then the wall exploded. Harry wasn't given the time to ponder it, though, because the next image nearly startled a cry from his throat. There were thousands and thousands of orcs. . . all of them Saruman's orcs. They marched towards their destination at a great pace. Harry had never seen so many of these creatures.

The crystal suddenly became clear again, catching Harry by surprise. He stumbled and would have fallen if Aragorn, walking behind him, hadn't steadied him.

"Are you all right?" the ranger asked.

Harry ignored the question. "Aragorn," he said slowly, "How many orcs could Saruman send to destroy Rohan?"

Aragorn thought for a moment. "Perhaps three thousand. . . no more than that, I should say."

"What if he had more, though? What if he had ten thousand orcs?"

Aragorn frowned. "Then Rohan would fall. There would be very little chance of victory. It does not seem possible though; Saruman cannot possibly send ten thousand orcs to Helm's Deep. Why do you ask this?"

"Because I saw-"

Harry was interrupted when Gandalf suddenly exclaimed, "Helm's Deep! Why does Theoden not stand and fight? He is leading them into a trap."

"He is doing what he thinks is best for his people. Helm's Deep has protected them in the past," Aragorn replied.

They arrived at the stables. Itarilde immediately rushed inside, embracing the scent and the presence of the horses. Emily shook her head at her friend's obsession.

Gandalf walked over to Shadowfax's stall. "I must leave," he said to Aragorn. "Theoden cannot defeat Saruman's army alone," he jumped onto his horse. "Look for me at down of the fifth day." And with that, Shadowfax took off, leaving behind him a trail of dust.

The others were surprised at how much of their hope dissipated as they watched the horse and rider fly over the fields.

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