A Fine Line Between Light and Darkness

by Tgaret990

With Celebrimbor trapped with Sauron, Eltariel gone, and Mordor thrown back into total darkness, Talion sits at the helm of Minas Morgul, at war with himself, determined to finish what he started. When he receives word of the One Ring he knows what he must do. That Halfling better be worth all this trouble, or so help him Isildur's heir and company will regret his aid. Fix-it fic.

14. Reunions (Part Two)

Chapter Fourteen: Reunions (Part Two)

A/N: TWO CHAPTERS IN A WEEK? Inspiration and motivation? What magic is this? :o On a more serious note, I'm so happy to write for this fic again. And I'm so, so happy that some of you are still sticking with this. Thank you so much. It means the world to me. More happy reunions here as the group from Amon Hen travel to Rohan. There's a battle on the horizon.

"Blasted Saruman, scaring off our horses in the middle of the night," Gimli grumbled under his breath the next morning.

The brief appearance of the white wizard Eomer had warned them of during their brief interaction with the riders of Rohan had been swiftly followed by the disappearance of the horses they had been traveling on. Today they were back to moving on foot, and had been picking their way through what seemed like an endless forest of trees. Something in Aragorn nudged him along this path, and it was with renewed courage and hope he led them to their first clear sign in many days. Aragorn couldn't contain his relieved sigh at the blood splattered vegetation his gaze fell upon, and as he continued in that direction a mallorn leaf, once a shining gold now browning in the underbrush.

"They were here," he told them. "A leaf from a mallorn tree in Lothlorien." He cast his gaze further. "Cut pieces of rope over there. Orc blood staining the greenery an inky black. Hoof prints… There was a battle here, between orcs and horsemen. Merry and Pippin were bound. In what way I could not tell you, but they managed to free themselves." He turned back to the other three. "Most likely in the heat of battle, they ran."

"There is a knife here," Eltariel pointed out, lifting up a jagged, dark blade. "An orc weapon. They must have cut themselves free with it."

"Why capture them instead of kill them?" Gimli asked. "They had no problem trying to get rid of the rest of us."

"The orc commanders will be aware that a hobbit bears the One Ring. They must have given orders to capture any they find. If not to take all hobbits to Sauron in case he is the one, then for information perhaps?" Legolas answered.

"A reasonable assumption, and one I agree with. Whatever the reason may be, however, I am thankful they are alive, and hopefully well." They watched Aragorn look off in the direction the newfound trail was leading them, determined. "If we continue in this direction, we head towards Fangorn."

"And we plan to go there?" Gimli asked nervously.

"The tales told of Fangorn are exactly that: tales. The forest will not harm you so long as you don't give it a reason to." Gimli rounded on her, unsure.

"And how are you so sure of that?"

"I have traveled the forest before, though only briefly each time. The Ents of old reside there, but they do little more than listen to those who find themselves there and converse with one another if they do not sleep. Keep your axe lowered, master dwarf, and you shall be fine."

There were indeed hobbit tracks along the river Entwash that led into Fangorn, and even stranger, larger tracks that followed. The creaking and groaning of trees had Gimli on high alert, barely able to resist grabbing his axe. Eltariel looked around them, fascinated, before looking back to Aragorn, who studied the new tracks with a thoughtful expression.

"This forest is old," Legolas spoke softly. "Very old. It's full of memory… And anger."

"Anger?" Gimli asked.

"They have feelings, my friend. The elves began it, waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

"And the Ents did not forget those teachings," Eltariel added. She took a few steps back before running at the nearest tree, leaping up and pulling herself to stand on a thick and sturdy branch. "Do you see anything else?" she called below.

Legolas smiled fondly up at her, but expression soon went from light hearted to furious as something caught his eye in the distance. He drew his bow and an arrow, holding it tensely as he stepped forward.

"Aragorn, ad no ennas!" Something's out there. Aragorn was immediately at his side, watching Legolas' eyes track their target.

"Man cenich?" he whispered. What do you see?

"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas answered.

He gestured minutely over his shoulder. Eltariel followed the movement, finding a stooped figure in grey, blending in almost seamlessly in the shadows of the forest, standing motionlessly on a large boulder. Aragorn gripped the handle of his sword, and Gimli that of his axe. Legolas nocked an arrow, holding his bow low. Eltariel readied herself to attack from above, swords halfway out of their sheaths. Almost in unison the trio on the ground turned, the wizard easily deflecting an arrow and Gimli's axe with a wave of his hand. Eltariel shielded her eyes as the wizard began glowing brightly against their attacks, almost blinding them. Aragorn's sword grew red hot in his hands, and he dropped it at his feet with a gasp.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," the wizard spoke, and the four of them lowered their guard slightly at the non-hostile tone.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded to know. "What do you know of them?"

"They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect… Does that comfort you?" came the answer.

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked, a strange shock of emotion filling him, though it was not of terror or suspicion. It was lighter, warmer, and his voice found calm once more. "Might you tell us your name and show us your face?"

A cloak of grey fell from the wizard, fluttering to the ground in the light breeze of fresh, crisp air that suddenly blew. The blinding light faded to reveal a familiar face that made the four Fellowship members gasp in overwhelming relief and joy. Gimli and Legolas bowed their heads in shame, Aragorn staring in disbelief, and Eltariel landed lightly on her feet behind them with a hopeful smile.

"It cannot be," Aragorn uttered.

"Mithrandir," Eltariel whispered. "You're alive."

"Forgive me. I mistook you for Saruman," Legolas apologized.

"I am Saruman. Or rather, Saruman as he should have been." Aragorn took a step forward.

"You fell."

"Through fire, and deep water, I did. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. At the bottom of Durin's Bridge in Moria, through dark tunnels filled with nameless things that even Sauron knows not, along the Endless Stair said to be lost and destroyed in legends, until we came to Durin's Tower. We fought and fought, until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." His voice echoed with an unknown power through the trees, and it was almost as if the four could see flashes of the places he spoke of. He stepped down into the brush as he continued.

"Darkness took me then, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth… But it was not the end. I felt life in me again, and so Gwaihir the Windlord of the Eagles bore me to Lothlorien, where I spent a time healing and found myself clothed in white. I've been sent back… Until my task is done."

"Gandalf…" Aragorn began. Gimli gave a relieved sniffle behind him.

"Gandalf?" For a moment the wizard looked confused, before recognition dawned in his eyes and a soft smile emerged on his face. "Yes. That is what they used to call me." Aragorn nodded in confirmation. "Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." The other four grinned. "I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now… At the turn of the tide."

XxX

Frodo, and Sam (reluctantly), seemed content to let Gollum lead the way as they found themselves surrounded by trees once more. Talion observed the hobbits with a frown, noticing the changes in them since last they were together. An agitated, hostile caution had fallen over Frodo, his once bright, youthful eyes now dimmed and haunted, as if he had lived many horrible lifetimes in the span of several weeks. Sam had surely been on the receiving end of the harsher part of those changes, a sadness now etched in his features whenever he looked at his companion. There was a defiant spark of hope there also, and a contempt whenever he turned his eyes on Gollum. Frodo seemed to regard Gollum with kindness, and pity (though not the cruel kind). Talion and Gollum had not gotten along during their time in Mordor, though Gollum revered Celebrimbor greatly, the "Bright Master" a constant name on his lips whenever the elf had made himself known to him. He scurried several paces ahead, darting in and out of trees, barely visible to the trio.

"Doesn't he know we won't wait for him if he decides to get himself lost?" Sam commented with a sigh. "That's alright, though. We have you, Talion. Do you know the way from here?"

"In my youth I travelled several times far west of Minas Tirith. I don't remember ever passing through these woods, but they do not look thick enough to become lost in."

Most of the trees were like giant twigs, thin, twisted, easy to break. Many were around Talion's height, some twice or three times as tall. Some were a little thicker, with small clusters of green leaves if they had any leaves at all. There were patches of small stumps, logs, and tree roots scattered at random. All around them were shades of brown and gray, with clouds the color of ash, and a sky that held less and less light during the days as time passed.

Talion entered the wraith world, and Frodo shivered, likely sensing it. He could see Gollum, puttering around behind a wider tree trunk and muttering to himself, a stray bird overhead flying in their direction, and the beginning of a path if they continued going the way that they were.

"Straight ahead is a path. It stays in the direction we want to go," he answered, vision returning to normal. "Gollum is not far." He looked to Frodo. "Has he… Been helpful to you?" Frodo nodded, smiling sadly.

"He has been true to his word. I asked him to lead us to Mordor, and he led us safely to the Black Gate. I asked him to show us another way there, and here he leads us to Cirith Ungol. He has not raised a hand towards me or threatened my life. And when the Ring's hold over him is weak… He is almost like he was before it came into his life." His smile morphed into a frown then. "He is scared, scared of darkness' hold on him, of Sauron and the Ringwraiths, of death. He wants to be free of the One Ring's hold… And I have to believe there's still hope for him."

That creature has a part to play in the fate of all Middle-earth. I can feel it. Celebrimbor's words from long ago echoed in Talion's mind, and he cast his gaze back to a now upbeat Gollum, who was gesturing and calling for them to catch up. The three of them moved quickly to close the distance, and Gollum led them on until the sun went down and night fell upon them. A small cave with a carved diamond shaped opening was large enough to provide all of them shelter, but only just. It was here that Sam, Frodo, and Talion settled, Gollum going off on his own as he had done before.

Sam quickly fell asleep, tucked in a corner, blending in with the stone and the shadow thanks to his elven cloak. Frodo found he couldn't quiet his mind enough to slumber, and he stared out at the land in deep thought for a while, the One Ring only fingertips away from his grasp at all times. Talion reached into one of the larger pouches attached to the belt at his waist. The pouches hadn't seen much use in quite some time. In the early days of fortress capturing he would write lists of warchiefs to target, messengers and bodyguards to keep a lookout for, supplies to restock. There were vials of poison for grog, herbs for healing and fighting the effects of illnesses. Those days were long gone. However…

Talion procured the leather bound journal Galadriel had gifted him before the Fellowship's departure from Lothlorien. He could feel traces of Celebrimbor's magic in its cover and its pages. He thumbed through the sections carefully. There were hand drawn maps of various places: Eregion, Mordor, Moria, areas in between lands, unmarked tunnels and secret pathways. There were illustrations of flowers and other plant life, of cloud banks and constellations. There were blueprints for various crafts: weapons, armor, accessories, small and simple objects, jewelry… There were notes as well. Personal notes. They weren't dated. Elegant flowing Quenya script filled pages in every part of the journal, at first talking about mundane and ordinary things, but soon turning darker, angrier, vengeful.

And painful.

There was much pain in Celebrimbor's words. He described his internal torment and suffering during his time as the bearer of the One Ring in great detail. The writing was heavier, hastier, impatient, as if he couldn't wait another second to put his thoughts to parchment. Talion could see in some places where the quill used to write had clearly broken, small splatters and smears of ink interrupting sentences every now and then. He had never meant for things to go as far as they did. He wished only to prevent a future he'd seen long ago, of Middle-earth falling to Sauron and his reign of terror, unopposed, the One Ring sat safely and snugly on his finger. A lust for power and whispers of an idealized future that could never come to pass gnawed at Celebrimbor, awake and in slumber. Every word of those days seemed to ooze pain right out of the pages and straight into Talion's heart.

But there was beauty and joy also. He spoke of his wife and daughter, of happier times when Eregion prospered, before Sauron, before the Rings of Power. He spoke of great battles, both on the battlefield and on his throne. He spoke of visits to Moria, to Gondor, to many lands and civilizations far and wide all over Middle-earth. He spoke of his love of crafting, his fascination with other cultures, with languages and history. He enjoyed hunting and admiring flowers. He disliked politics, but had a knack for them. His stubbornness sometimes got the best of him. He was goal oriented, could dedicate all of his focus and energy to one task without tiring. He could hold his drinks quite well, a fact that he was surprisingly embarrassed about. He found great peace when looking up at the stars. He felt undeserving of the declarations of "Kind and Benevolent One", or "Fair in Both Nature and Appearance" from his subjects.

So different was this elf to the wraith he had met the day he'd died atop the Black Gate. Talion experienced glimpses of him, when Rings and war weren't at the forefront of Celebrimbor's mind, small stolen moments when the world seemed to be just them, often under a starry sky. The kind and curious elf lord who cared most about his people and those dearest to him… And also the wraith consumed by loss, agony, anger, revenge, pride, who had understood the torment Talion suffered… That is who he fell for, though he didn't realize this until the New Ring's hold on Celebrimbor became unshakeable, and the wraith had become unrecognizable.

It was most unexpected, the way his feelings for him took hold. He'd thought with Lithariel he might have a chance at love again, but she was mortal, and he undying. She would wither and pass on eventually, and he would lose her like he had Ioreth. Celebrimbor could not die. It was with Celebrimbor he shared his mind, body, and fea. His thoughts, his memories, his emotions. Celebrimbor had seen and felt all of them, and Talion his, the few Celebrimbor had retained in undeath. As moonlight illuminated the last page of the journal, a blank page, ithilden bloomed across its surface, glowing a soft blue. There he saw an illustration of a small bunch of holly placed in the middle of a familiar looking circlet. The rest of the pages glowed in various places, and Talion found that they all created a mirror image of the holly and circlet when pressed down together, formed by bits and pieces of Quenya. It read:

Hope is bright and everlasting: hope for peace in Middle-earth; hope for an end to war and suffering; hope for a better world. I, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, the fifth son of Feanor, Lord of Eregion, crafter of good and evil, will never stop fighting for that hope.

After reading that, Talion's heart felt light, free of worries, burdens, doubts, and fears. For the first time in a very long time, he felt free from the darkness that plagued him. For a moment he felt like himself again. Gone were the dark pieces of armor that rejected all light. Gone were the markings of a Ringwraith. Gone were the whispers of the Witch King. Gone was the weariness, the longing, the apathy, the emptiness. Talion felt whole, and he saw a very alive looking Celebrimbor smiling at him from across the cave, features gentle and unravaged by the tragedies that had befallen him as he became a wraith. The image of Celebrimbor wordlessly held out a hand, palm up, and it was solid when Talion took it, warm and comforting, filled with vivid memories of everything written in the journal. It was those memories that filled his dreams as he slept.

Talion awoke with Celebrimbor's journal held firmly to his chest, weak beams of the sun shining in his eyes, his free hand laid at his side. Frodo stared at the One Ring, still as lost in thought as he was during the night, Sam fast asleep, Gollum nowhere to be found at the moment. Talion tore his eyes away from it and tried to ignore the burning of the New Ring and the eerie glow of Isildur's. It was hard to tell the time of day, so dark and grim looked the skies no matter when they saw it. From where they'd settled for the night, Talion could just make out the fiery glow of Mount Doom in the distance. They were so close to Mordor, so close to their destination. To freedom. To peace. To a new beginning.

I will return for you, Talion promised again, silently, journal returning to the large pouch on his belt as his free hand came up to grasp the New Ring, glowing with warmth and resolve. No matter the cost.

XxX

The now five Fellowship members travelled out of the Fangorn and steadily southward. It was Gandalf who called Shadowfax, lord of horses, and their two missing steeds at the outskirts of the forest, and Gandalf who gave them what few details he knew of Merry and Pippin's situation. Treebeard, the oldest and wisest of the Ents, had found them and was keeping them safe. With Treebeard none dared threaten the hobbits, lest they wish to face the wrath of Fangorn, of which it and Treebeard were one in the same: guardian of the forest. Where they were now remained unknown, but Gandalf was sure it wouldn't be too long before they all saw each other again.

Several days and nights they travelled, through plains of tall grass and riverlands, over hills and towards great mountains. Gandalf kept a quick and steady pace, leaving little time for any more rest than was necessary. Poor Gimli had fallen asleep and nearly tumbled from the back of his horse more than once in those days. It wasn't until one of their last nights on the road before reaching Rohan that Eltariel found herself wide awake, her heart troubled and mind in unrest. She sat cliffside, looking out over the land ahead of them, hood lowered and hair pulled back from her face, a curtain of gold that shined faintly in the moonlight. She looked up when Gandalf came over to join her, settling himself down at her side, staff laid next to him.

"What troubles you at this late hour, Eltariel?" She smiled grimly.

"When Talion and I made peace with each other, he thanked me for trusting him. In the early stages of our journey he would speak of how he took mortal things for granted. Things like the desire and need to sleep or eat, feeling the heat of the sun or the chill of the air, fears of death and fatal harm. He said to me that he never thought he would find someone who could look past his visage of one of The Nine and treat him as a person rather than a wraith, much less more than one."

Gandalf nodded, expression thoughtful and focused, gesturing for her to continue. Eltariel looked down at the Light of Galadriel, flaring enough of it to illuminate them both.

"When he perished at Amon Hen, Aragorn and I convinced Gimli and Legolas to let Boromir go. Boromir insisted that he take Talion back to Minas Tirith for a proper burial, and planned to head to Osgiliath to catch up to Frodo and Sam on his way there."

"And you concealed the truth of his inability to die and pass on from them." She nodded.

"They would have insisted on waiting for him to wake again, perhaps so we may all depart from there together. Whether that would have been on the path that we ended up taking to find you again or to Osgiliath I'm not sure. But I knew that if we let them go, Talion could get them safely to Osgiliath, in time to find Frodo and Sam so that he may continue to guide them to Mordor."

"And so that Boromir was guaranteed safe travel to his home," Gandalf finished.

"Yes," Eltariel agreed. "I just can't help but worry… About the effects of the One Ring and Isildur's Ring on Talion the closer they get to Mordor. And the effects the One Ring has had on Frodo. Away from the Eye and Barad-dur, the effects of the Rings of Power are not as strong or prominent, though their hold on their bearers may remain firm."

"You think they may fall to darkness before they reach Mount Doom, or fall close enough to it that their task becomes nigh impossible." The Light disappeared, Eltariel's hand falling to her side, sighing.

"I fear Talion fights a losing battle, and that it may affect Frodo as well. Sam went with Frodo, when the Fellowship broke at Amon Hen, and his spirit seems unshakable, even in the face of great peril. I just hope it is enough." Gandalf hummed softly at the mention of Sam, relieved, his gaze comforting as Eltariel met it.

"When Talion attempted to save me in Moria, I glanced upon his fea through his eyes. Much of it was dark and twisted, tainted by Isildur's Ring and his time spent dying and reviving. There was much pain and struggling, influences of evil looking to destroy any trace of his mortal self… But there was also a bright and blinding part of his fea that remained untouched by that evil and darkness. It called to me, giving me strength, and I heard the words, As long as I have breath in my body, my fate is my own. Those are the words he spoke when he first donned Isildur's Ring, and words that he takes to heart." Gandalf smiled slightly. "The will of the Rings is great, but so too are the wills of Talion and Frodo. I have no doubt Talion has the strength to retain his identity, and the strength to help Frodo let go of the One Ring when the time comes."

"Your words comfort me, yet my mind remains unsettled," she told him softly, worry etched in her features.

"As is natural, my dear. What ifs will plague even the most confident and assured of beings. The mind can be one's greatest asset or their own worst enemy. It is a never ending battle, but not always an overwhelming one." He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Tomorrow we shall reach Rohan. Trouble feels close at hand, but it has not yet reached us, or us it. Rest, and let your mind be at ease for a time."

"I will try." She bowed her head respectfully. "Thank you for your counsel."

"There is no need to be so formal with me," Gandalf insisted, getting to his feet and leaning on his staff slightly, a twinkle in his eyes. "I know you hide a playful and lighthearted spirit that may rival even young Peregrin Took's! Be at ease, Eltariel. Trouble and battle are not upon us yet, and no harm will come to us on this night." Eltariel smiled softly, nodding, settling next to a rather tall tree in the small, sheltered cluster they'd stopped at when it fell dark.

"Goodnight, Gandalf."

XxX

The sun was climbing high into the sky when mountains with snowy peaks and a silent city came into their sights. Gandalf stopped them briefly.

"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown." Legolas and Aragorn looked on cautiously, and Gimli in worry, while Eltariel cast her eyes in the direction of Isengard with a glare. "Saruman's hold over King Theoden is now very strong. Be careful what you say, and do not look for welcome here."

With that they set off again, making for the gate that gave entrance to the city. The guards there were none too excited at their arrival, informing them that Grima Wormtongue prohibited entrance to any stranger who approached. At that name Gandalf bristled, with a dark look in his eyes that passed as quickly as it came. He gave his name, and the message that he had urgent business with the king, sent to ensure the safety of the city and its people. After some hesitation the gates were opened, with the warning that more guards would meet with them before their audience with Theoden.

Up they rode towards the top of the city, garnering cautious and frightened looks from its citizens. The air was full of despair, and Eltariel sensed hints of dark magic as they continued on. She and Legolas shared similar gazes: he felt it also. Gimli huffed quietly beside her.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," he mumbled under his breath, though he too was a bit on edge from the atmosphere.

The five dismounted from their horses when they could go no further, climbing the stairs to Theoden's throne room on foot, stopped at the top by a decently sized group of armed men. The leader of the group, standing front and center and without a helmet, greeted them curtly.

"I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of… Grima Wormtongue." Gandalf nodded to them, and they handed over their weapons accordingly. Legolas gave up his bow, quiver, and swords, as did Aragorn along with a knife. Gimli reluctantly gave up his axe, and Eltariel gave her two swords and dagger. The man who had addressed them looked to Gandalf expectantly, and when Gandalf looked back to him in confusion, he clarified, "Your staff?"

"Oh. You would not part an old man from his walking stick, would you?" The other four held back smiles at that statement.

The guard sighed, turning around and bidding them to follow him inside. Long was the building they walked into, pillars on both sides decorated with carved patterns, walls adorned with banners bearing the mark of Rohan, floor of stone carved with runic symbols, shades of grey, blood red, seafoam green, and gold all around them. The doors shut firmly behind them, blocked by the guards, and at the very end of the hall they walked in was an old man ravaged by time and magic, long, white, unkempt hair falling in his face, irises milky and unseeing, slumped in his throne. Leaning over next to him and whispering in his ear quite smugly was Grima Wormtongue, looking as deceitful and weaselly as his name suggested.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden King," Gandalf called to him. Legolas held his free arm in support as Gandalf leaned the rest of his weight on his staff to maintain his ruse.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow, herald of woe?" Theoden's speech was stilted, rhythm slow and unnatural. Wormtongue nodded in approval.

"A just question, my liege." Wormtongue stood and began making his way slowly towards them, glaring. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest—

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth," Gandalf snapped, and all eyes fell on him in quiet. "I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." Gandalf raised his staff, which glowed faintly, and the tension in the room boiled over as Wormtongue scurried away.

"I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

Quickly did the guards move to assail Gandalf, and quickly did the Fellowship members halt them in their tracks, unarmed as they were. Gandalf moved forward, calling out to Theoden, preparing to break the spell cast upon him. Before any more men could rush forward Eltariel erected a great wall of burning light, effectively cutting the room in half and leaving them safe from attack. The air seemed more breathable then, less tainted than before. Gimli pinned Wormtongue under his boot as he tried to escape, a threatening scowl keeping him grounded and silent.

"Theoden, son of Thengel, will you harken to me?" Theoden looked to him, turning weakly in his throne. With a flourish, Gandalf cast away his elven cloak to reveal his white garb, its light banishing the clinging darkness from the hall. Open flew the nearest side door, and sunlight spilled in, along with a maiden in white who looked to Theoden with great worry. Aragorn stopped her from going forward as Gandalf thrust his staff forward, and in a booming voice said, "Too long have you sat in shadow, but not all is dark. From Saruman's spell I release you!"

Theoden became engulfed in a blinding white light, crying out in shock, and as it faded so too did the traces of Saruman's magic. Unkempt white hair transformed into wavy golden tresses that hung neatly to his shoulders and away from his face. His milky white eyes regained their steely blue hue, and his sight roamed until it settled on the maiden in white, who ran to him with an overjoyed grin. He embraced her in recognition and relief. Eltariel dispelled her wall of light, rejoining the others.

"Eowyn," he whispered happily as he held his niece close. As they separated, Theoden looked out at his guests, eyes going wide. "Gandalf?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf greeted him, and with Eowyn's help Theoden stood, his mind clearing and his strength returning.

"Dark have been my dreams of late. But I feel as one newly awakened."

Eltariel spared a glance at Wormtongue, who was struggling in Gimli's grasp as Theoden was presented his sword by the leader of the guards. Theoden stood to his full and true height then, with the aura of a mighty and rejuvenated king, and his eyes slowly landed on Wormtongue with murderous intent. Soon citizens had gathered near the top of the city as Wormtongue was sent crashing down the stairs, pleading to be spared and remain in Rohan. Theoden did not look merciful, advancing on him with his sword raised, and if not for Aragorn blood would have been spilled, his hand staying the king's with calm and rational words. Wormtongue disappeared from sight, the distant sound of hooves leaving with him several moments later.

"He is not worth it, King Theoden. Let him scurry back to his master with his tail between his legs," Eltariel told him, and he looked between her and Aragorn before finally standing down with a long sigh. A confident cry rang out in the gathered crowd, and almost all in sight kneeled before Theoden, Eltariel and Legolas bowing their heads to him respectfully. "There are more important things to be dealt with at the moment." Her tone was sorrowful now, and it was then that Theoden realized who was missing from his immediate surroundings.

"Where is Theodred?" Dread took over his features, and his voice shook as he asked again, "Where is my son?"

The burial that happened later that day whisked away the light and hope that Theoden's return to normal had brought. Gloom replaced it as the sun began to set, natural shadows falling over the city and its people. Many tears were shed, and as Eowyn's voice carried across the area singing a mourning song in the ancient language of the Rohirrim, that gloom settled, fear and doubt beginning to take root alongside it. Theodred was carried by six armed men, sword grasped firmly in his hands laid upon his chest, a small cluster of white flowers accompanying it. Into a stone tomb he was taken and laid to rest, and as it sealed behind him the crowd lingered shortly before slowly dispersing, heading back to the city.

Theoden remained, and Gandalf with him, a quiet conversation taking place between them. Gimli looked on at the tomb in respect before being the first of the four to head back. Aragorn followed not long after, and Legolas inclined his head towards Eltariel, who fell to his side and went back with him. They dined in Theoden's hall for a time, until he and Gandalf returned to join them, though neither touched their food when they were seated. A pair of young and frightened children followed them, and Eowyn attended to them immediately. Aragorn and Gimli sat at a table while Eltariel and Legolas stood near them.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight!" Gandalf implored him.

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king." At Aragorn's words Theoden stood from his throne and paced a few times across the hall in frustration. Aragorn took a breath from his pipe, watching.

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," Theoden told him. His expression was resigned, and an idea immediately sprang to mind, one that he would not be swayed from. "Eomer cannot help us." Gandalf got to his feet as well, but Theoden cut him off before he could argue. "I know what it is you want of me, Gandalf, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Open war comes to you," Eltariel spoke up, and Theoden rounded on her, "Whether you would like it to or not. It is not as simple as telling Saruman no and expecting his army to turn away. If you do not wish to risk lives by going out to face it, what will you do?" All eyes were fixed on Theoden, who gestured for one of the guards to come forward after a few moments.

"We empty the city. Tell everyone they are to take only what they need and nothing more, and to make haste for we leave soon." He took a deep breath that did nothing to assuage his fears. "We leave for Helm's Deep."