'…Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear,
And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer,
It's driven me before, it seems to have a vague,
Haunting mass appeal,
Lately I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel,
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there,
With open arms and open eyes, yeah,
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there, I'll be there,
So if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of the hive,
Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive, oh, oh,
It's driven me before, it seems to be the way…'

Incubus Drive

The TwoTowers

Chapter Thirteen Memories

"Fangorn." Gimli breathed. "What madness drove them there?" The dwarf was stood with Legolas to one side and Aragorn to the other and all were left gazing into the depths of the gnarled forest. They had just discovered the clues as to where their quarry had not so long ago ventured. Though the question of why was still left unanswered. There was the obvious, that, to them, it seemed the safest place to run. But could there have been more?

In one unanimous effort, they left the horses and ventured past the shady borders into the darkness beyond. They journeyed for little more than a few minutes in utter silence. Instead they took in their surroundings. It wasn't pleasant in the slightest. The air was humid and stagnate, where the sounds of birds would usually be heard, in its place there was an eerie creaking from the ancient trees. The dwarf noticed a bush with blood tinting its leaves. He drew nearer; rubbing a little between his fingers and tasting the substance.

"Orc blood!" He exclaimed, spitting out the minuscule particles that were inhabiting his mouth. They ran a few metres deeper into the forest, still taking the path they hoped the Hobbits had chosen and now with a greater intensity.

"These are strange tracks." Aragorn remarked, kneeling beside a large imprint in the mossy earth.

"The air is so close in here." The Dwarf went on, still scanning the perimeter.

"This forest is old." The Elven archer mused. "Very old." A pause and then. "Full of memory…and anger." Slowly, from about them came a long, low groan. Gimli immediately grasped his axe defensively in front of him. "The trees are speaking to each other." Legolas said, though it wasn't surprise tinting his voice.

"Gimli." The Ranger whispered hurriedly. "Lower your axe." The dwarf did so with a slight hint of reluctance and shortly after heard a rushed sentence from the elf directed at Aragorn. He tried to make it out but lost hope after concluding that the tongue used was that of Elvish. Swiftly the two moved on, leaving him somewhat behind.

"The white wizard approaches." He made out from the blond whilst drawing nearer to both his companions.

"Do not let him speak." Aragorn whispered once more. "He will put a spell on us." With that, he unsheathed his sword, leaving it as a sign for the others to ready themselves also. "We must be quick." He continued after a few tense moments. They turned at once to where the figure was assumed to be. Axe was thrown, arrow fired. Both rebounded off a shield of light that surrounded the wizard. The sword in the human's hand was useless, its blade turned orange as if it had been heated in a flaming furnace. They stood back, blinded by the light that rained uncaring upon them.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits." The voice came, deep and clear.

"Where are they!" Aragorn shouted back.

"They passed this way, the day before yesterday." The voice replied, matter of factually. "They met someone they did not expect." It went on. "Does that comfort you?"

"Who are you?" Questioned the Ranger, stepping forward ever so slightly. "Show yourself!" He shouted once more, getting tired of this fools game. The figure promptly stepped out from behind the beaming light. The three stared awed, unbelieving. Was it some trick? Some ghost or phantom of the mind? Or was it really Gandalf that stood there, as real as air they were breathing. "It cannot be." Said Aragorn, unwilling to believe what his own eyes were telling him. The elf came to his knees, Gimli following a moment later. "You fell." He went on, stepping nearer to the wizard.

"Through fire." He confirmed. "And water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought him, the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." A pause and then "Darkness took me. I strayed out of thought and time. The stars wheeled ahead, and every day was as long as a life age of the earth. But it was not yet; I felt life in me again. I'd been sent back, until my task is done."

"Gandalf." The Ranger exclaimed drawing close. He now believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was indeed his old friend. And yet the wizard looked at him with somewhat uncertainty with regards for the name.

"Yes." He paused. "That was what they used to call me." He nodded, Aragorn confirming this fact with a short nod of his own. "Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." He seemed to be remembering some far off time when it was last used.

"Gandalf." Gimli broke in, overcome by joy.

"I am Gandalf the White." He corrected them, his eyes saddening. "And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."

They left the spot where the affair had taken place not long after. Gandalf led them on and for a moment it was as if he had never left.

"One stage of your journey is over." He spoke to all three. "Another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed."

They neared the border of the forest, though it was not the place where they had previously left the horses and the Dwarf loathed the thought of having to run around after the four-legged beasts. Yet, when they stepped out into the open air, there stood Hasufel and Arod with one addition beside them. It was from what he could make out a mare, though he had never had any real fondness for horses and knew little. Its coat was light silver grey and it seemed rather large, even when compared with the two standing next to it. What surprised him even more was the figure that stood, smoothing down Hasufel's mane as she whispered soft, comforting words in a strange tongue to the beast. She stood still; not acknowledging their presence as Gandalf called to Shadowfax. The same mousy grey cloak adorned her shoulders, the same silvery white head of hair was now held back from her face by a clasp at the back of her head, all strands bound in tiny braids, neat and functional.

As the white stallion, Shadowfax, bounded over the hills, impressively back-lit by the early sun, its master turned to the woman, whom had approached him holding an old grey cloak, which she brought it about his shoulders and fastened it in a friendly gesture. He nodded in thanks and turned to his waiting steed. The Half-Elf then looked to the waiting three, leading the horses to their respective owners. She glanced at them questioningly.

"Where is Boromir? Is he not with you?" Genuine concern flashed through her eyes. A hush fell over them.

"He…he fell." Gimli started, "In Amon Hen. He died bravely, protecting the Hobbits 'til his last breath." The concern turned to a brief glimpse of grief, before the she-elf's eyes turned back to their usual stony indifference.

"Oh …" Was all she said, lowering her head and closing her eyes for a fleeting moment. "Namaarie, rwalaer, aa'lle Nierninwa ten'oio tela e'Viresse…" The three that actually understood the language also lowered their heads in respect.

She recalled a short conversation between her and Gimli as they readied their horses. It was brief, yet as the others overheard, it answered a lot of unasked questions.

"Yunalesca, I…forgive me if I seem rude, but…why are you here?" The dwarf sounded strangely wary of his words. Yuna smiled slightly.

"You mean: why do I always seem to appear whenever it is that I am needed the least? Well, for a great many reasons, actually. First of all, I was in the area when Gandalf just happened along, so I suppose you could call that circumstances. Secondly—" There was a pause as she hauled up a heavy cloth and slung it over Túlka's back. "Secondly, because I have nothing better to do. And thirdly, because…" She paused again, in thought. "Because…I know this may seem strange to you, but…I've lived here for most of my life. I speak with many of the Ents, and they tell me of what the trees say. I can…feel what they feel sometimes. When the Orcs came, hundreds of them to the south, and started cutting down the trees without a second thought, I…could hear their pain. I could hear them crying out. It's almost like seeing your family, friends, everything you've ever known destroyed before your eyes, and knowing that there's nothing you can do to stop it." She realised she was ranting slightly and looked up. "I'm sorry. But if the Ents won't fight, then I shall take it upon myself to do anything I can in their place. At least if I die fighting, I'll die knowing I tried to do the right thing."

She was mounted now, and Gimli was reluctantly being lifted to sit behind Legolas, eyes fixed on Yunalesca. He nodded slightly as a light curse escaped his lips, and they rode off into the light breeze.

There was a great distance between Entwood and the riders now. The horizon was turning from blue to a vermilion and fuchsia hue as the sun continued its descent from the now evening sky. Relentlessly, the horses went on, every comprehensively toned muscle working to further their progress. Miles and miles of endless green stretched out in front of the party, broken only in places by a hill or boulder. This was the Riddermark, home to the Rohirrim and birthplace to undoubtedly the finest horses in all of Middle-Earth.

"Gandalf." Shouted Aragorn above the wind. "When will we break for night? The horses are tired for we have ridden full velocity for the past few hours. They cannot keep up this pace much longer." The White Rider looked back for a moment. It was true he and not considered this fact and had indeed the held intention of ridding clear through the night. The main contributing factor to this was that he was ridding Shadowfax and the mighty beast could have run for three days straight without more than a couple minutes rest.

"There is an area of bluffs just in front of us where we might find some shelter." He replied following a moment's thought. "I would not care to camp out in the open for these lands hold safety no longer."

An hour or so later and the party of few had settled in a space surrounded by three large bluffs. They decided to risk a small fire, this was fortunate, as there wasn't much kindling in any case. Legolas stood staring into the blaze as it popped and snapped, flames licking upon the now black sky. He had been wondering if they would happen upon the she-elf after seeing the forest. Fangorn had been as she'd said no animals, no birds, just overgrown trees. And yet, it still held a mystery for him. It had seen so much of the world gone by, had so many things to tell if you just took the time to listen. In truth he had been reluctant to leave but they had other more pressing matters to attend to. He just hoped he would get another chance to visit it and spend time in its company.

The, once again, only woman in the group sat next to the fire with the others. Nobody spoke, all too busied in his or her own separate thoughts. The only sound was the faint rustling of material as Yunalesca brought an old cloth over the gleaming metal of a sheathe. It seemed on first glance to be no more than a plain silvery-coloured metal scabbard, but upon closer inspection, one could make out the swirling patterns lightly engraved, like veins of colour through the sheen of the metal.

The silence was eating away at the Elf's mind. Since none of the company seemed inclined to speak, he took the liberty himself.

"An Elvish blade?" He asked, walking a little closer and taking a seat on the plush grass beside her. She shrugged.

"Most likely. I cannot be sure, it has been in my possession for as long as I can remember." She replied, paying attention to the hilt now. It was a strange silvery purple with a hint of sapphire, edged by the same silver material of the scabbard. A single white opal was fixed in the dead centre of the two arcs of the hilt just before the blade. After a few moments of an uncomfortable silence, Aragorn spoke.

"Does it have a name?" She remembered his own sword, Andúril, the shards of Narsil re-forged. A name…she had never really thought about it before. Now that she did, only one seemed appropriate.

"Luccrecía." After a few brows were furrowed in confusion, she spoke again. "After my mother." No more was said on the subject.

They retired soon after, though few found the peace they desired and so with restless hearts they whiled away the night.

It was just before dawn that they broke camp and continued the journey towards Edoras. The country grew flatter as the day wore on, making it easier for the horses to pick up speed. However it would still be at least another two days before they reached their destination. They broke for camp that night, making idle conversation to ease their minds as the moon shimmered above.

On the morn of the following day, there was something that had Yuna rather disturbed. To her knowledge, she had never been this particular route to the Halls of King Theoden, and yet…it seemed strangely familiar. It was little things, the positioning of the mountains in the distance, the landscape. It all brought up memories and a sense of nostalgia of things long since forgotten. It was almost as if once, an age ago, she has called this place…home? Was that the foreign feeling that welled up inside as she glanced about her?

Before she knew it, she found herself reigning Túlka off from the path Gandalf was setting and riding east. The half-elf was overcome by a feeling so strange, so unfamiliar. She felt like she was going to some place where someone did truly love her, at one time or another…

She had only been ridding for a couple of minutes when slight suggestions of an ancient civilisation started to crop up from the countryside. Nothing much, a rock here or there, but Yuna's mind did the rest of the job. She remembered vague images…village people…their house.

Her house.

She could remember it, and more importantly, where it was. She drew her mare to a stop and dismounted with an agility that made her instantly recognisable as elf kind. Searching around, her eyes finally rested upon the spot.

She could almost see it standing there as it had once, every stone in place. Now, all that was left was earth and a slight mound in the otherwise flat region. Slowly, deliberately, she paced up to it. 'No, it couldn't be.' She thought, disbelief cluttering her mind. 'By the Valar, no, don't do this to me, not now…' Reaching for the sword that was lodged in its sheath strapped to her back, she drew it and in one swift motion thrust it down into the cold earth. She grimaced at the clang that sounded through the air as it struck stone, knowing full well what it meant. She knelt down and touched the mossy soil. Something was there, hidden beneath it. Digging her fingers in, she tore away at it, only having to go one or two inches before a slab of dull grey rock was uncovered. She stared dumbfounded for a few moments, the skin on her fingers made raw by the hard surface of the stone. Her eyes were fixed on the worn letters, scanning them over and over in disbelief. It was all she could do.

The she-elf's disappearance was unexpected. One minute she was riding right alongside Aragorn and the rest of the group and the next she was far into the distance, getting further and further away from them. They came to a halt, looking searchingly at one another.

"What…" The Ranger started but Gandalf intervened.

"I am sure she has her reasons for doing something of this sort." He said, hinting that he knew more about her than previously. "Come along, let us see where she has got to." He reigned in Shadowfax and they started after her. It was a few minutes before they once again caught sight of her steed. Yuna was a little way away from the mare, walking towards what seemed to be some sort of small mound. She didn't acknowledge their presence; in fact Aragorn doubted she even knew they were there. Which only made it all the more clear just how serious her reason for leaving had been. They dismounted close to the spot she had done as Yuna went to stand beside the protrusion in the earth. A metallic grate resounded through the air. There are times when things merely have to sound expensive, that definitely was one of them. Her sword now lay a few inches deep in the earth and she was on her knees digging up clumps of soil and withered roots.

The Ranger was getting slightly irritated. They had little if anytime to spare in getting to the Golden Hall and yet she was wasting it on digging up piles of dirt. He started pacing towards her, determined to find out what exactly it was that would constitute delaying them. There was something now in front of her apart from the mud, it looked like a slab of plain rock…with something engraved, yet worn away by age.

Something was definitely carved into it, faint, but still present. Letters. An 'L', a 'w'…or could that have been two 'c's? An 'r', another 'c,' and an 'a.' They were the only things he could make out from his vantage point. He stopped in his tracks. It couldn't be. After all this time she would happen to find it now. Legolas came up slowly behind him.

"Luccrecía." The elf whispered. The Ranger nodded, wishing he hadn't been so harsh, even if it was only in his own mind. He knew what it was like to loose a mother and made it a point to always visit her grave when in or passing Rivendell. Yuna had her head low now, hundreds of little braids covering her face. She looked up, a single tear running down her tanned cheek. It was a strange sight, to him at least. In truth he didn't know the half of it, for it was only one of very few times in the half-elf's life that she had let any semblance of a tear escape. But the pain was too much and even though she hated them seeing her weaker side she just couldn't keep it in.

Gandalf strode past them, coming to stand beside her kneeling form. He put his hands on her shoulders to reassure her that it would be fine if they stayed a while longer but she picked herself and the sword up nonetheless and made past them to the horses, gritting her teeth and wiping her face clear of any indication of her grief. Aragorn searched his mind for something, anything to say. He had been in somewhat the same situation sometime ago and felt it his obligation to her after the way he'd left things in Lorien. A part of him hated to admit it, but their old feud was a stupid thing to keep alive and besides, she had proven herself to him well enough. Still, nothing came to him and in the end he just settled for mounting Hasufel as the others did similar.

They were on there way again, no one having said a word to Yuna, either out of respect or just the sheer inability to do so.