Happy Monday! I actually made it on time today, thanks to a changing of the schedule that I've implemented. With any luck, that should help keep Monday updates more regular. Thank you to my lovely reviewer for the last chapter! I really hope that you enjoy this chapter, as ever please forgive my typos.
Chapter Fifty-Six: The White Wizard
The trail drowned in a cold stream.
For hours, they had tracked Merry and Pippin's footsteps through Fangorn, and the hope that had swelled in Gimli on its borders was bleeding slowly out again. The ground was soft and springy, and even the hooves of the horses left little mark, and were it not for the skill of Aragorn they would be lost. As it were, it was only rarely that Gimli's own eyes picked up signs of his hobbits – a crushed weed here, a footprint caught in soft mud there.
But he could read Aragorn, and he saw the man's jaw grow tight. It was with a calm voice that Aragorn pointed at disturbances in the ground, and suggested that a hobbit had fallen there, but Gimli caught the sidelong glance the man sent his way when he admitted that only one set of footprints went on from that point.
"They are heavier, a little more defined. It looks like one carried the other – Merry bearing Pippin, if I'm not wrong. These prints are a little bigger than the others."
That was when the hope had begun to seep away. One of his hobbits was in a bad way, and the other could not walk alone forever. He remembered Mirkwood, and the way that Paladin had almost killed himself carrying Fíli to safety. He remembered feeling like his stomach had been ripped apart by wolves when they thought they were dead. If Merry and Pippin were in a similar state…
And then they reached the stream, and a final, solitary print in the soft mud of the bank. Leading into the water.
And Gimli knew that they were gone.
Merry and Pippin had done what Aragorn and Gimli had done in Mirkwood, and used the stream to hide all trace of their tracks. He did not know if they had travelled downstream or up, or how far they had walked before leaving the stream. He did not know when or if or how they got out, if they had trusted to the trees or to the forest floor. What he did know was that they were hobbits, frightened hobbits, and they did not want to be found.
Which meant that they were gone.
Gone, in a forest which Lord Celeborn had advised them against entering, a forest which was dark, and wild, and reminded him of the Old Forest in the Shire. Many a night, Merry had shared ghost stories and old wives' tales about the Old Forest around the campfire.
Stories about whispers chasing travellers through the woods, about trees that moved and spoke of their own accord. Trees who could think, and talk, and hate.
Here, there were whispers in the wind, and great moans, and Gimli felt very much like he was being watched. The trees were larger than any he had ever seen, and darker, stronger, with boughs that gnarled their way up towards the heavy ceiling of leaves. There was a tension in the air, a palpable pressure that pushed Gimli to run as far as he could. Ever were the hairs on the back of his neck raised, and his hand on his axe did nothing to ease his perception of danger.
But he could not – he would not – run.
Not while his cousins were still here.
Gimli sighed heavily and pinched his eyes shut, trying to think. They would probably be more likely to downstream than up – or would they be more likely to make a move for Rohan? They knew that the people there were allies of Erebor, at least in word. Often, they had travelled through those lands on the way to the Shire, and Merry might have led Pippin back.
"So?" said Boromir, his voice creaking under the weight of his fear and desperation. "What do we do now? How can we track them through water, where do we go?"
"We cannot," said Aragorn quietly. "They are gone."
"Gone?" cried Boromir, and he looked as though Aragorn had struck him across the face. "They cannot – they cannot be gone."
"Depends on your definition of the word," said Gimli gruffly. "If you mean 'gone' to mean dead, then no. We have no proof of that, and we must hold onto hope." However slippery hope may be, he added silently. "But if you mean to say that they are hiding where even we cannot find them, I agree with Aragorn. All hobbits have the ability to vanish into the world around them, when that world is trees and hills and grasses, and these are trained hobbits, who are afraid, and on the run."
Boromir looked from Aragorn to Gimli to Legolas, and then both up and downstream in a matter of moments. There was a franticness to his pale face, and he looked more dishevelled than Gimli had ever seen him. "But there must be something we can do? They are alone, they will have no supplies, no food – we cannot simply abandon them."
"No one said anything about abandoning them," said Aragorn firmly. "Calm yourself, Boromir."
Boromir looked away, his jaw clenching, but the same fears were plaguing Gimli.
"I do not think that starvation is as pressing as you fear," said Legolas. "It is not like my homeland – no evil chokes these roots or poisons these streams. The water is good to drink, clean and cool."
"It is not yet January, if I have not lost all ability to count the days," protested Gimli, unwilling to be comforted just yet
. "What is there they could forage in so dark a forest as this in the middle of winter?"
The elf gave a light shrug. "There may be trees that yet have fruit or nuts so late in the year, or roots and mushrooms that are good to eat. A hobbit would likely know how these things, do you not think?"
"I do not think," admitted Gimli glumly. "They'd likely know what they could eat if they saw it, but that's if they knew where to look. They forage a little on long journeys, but they always have a supply of food with them, and rely more on hunted game than foraged vegetables. In both the Shire and Erebor, their foods are sourced mainly from markets. I do not know that they will be able to sustain themselves long without weapons, or a damned lot of luck."
"But they are hardy folk," said Aragorn. "They need not find enough to last all winter – just until they themselves are found. They are capable of that, Gimli."
Indignation pulled a scow onto Gimli's face. "I know what they are capable of, how wrong it is to underestimate hobbits. But I am afraid so dark a forest will yield little food at all, if it yields any. It feels an evil place."
"The stories are dark indeed," agreed Boromir, glaring into the gloom of the woods. "Tales of trees that strike men dead with mighty blows from their branches, and troll-like creatures who lurk in the shadows and tear folk limb from limb. They are told as old wives' tales, and I never had much stock in them, but Gondor tells no merry stories of this land. None who entered to see the truth were ever seen again."
"Then how were the tales told?" asked Legolas, looking to Aragorn. "Lord Celeborn warned against coming here. What do you know of this place?"
Aragorn raised his eyebrows and rubbed his chin. "Little – I was going to ask you the same question. What would I know that a wood elf does not?"
"Aye, well, Lego-elf here hasn't been out of his neck of the woods before, has he?" grumbled Gimli, though mocking the elf did make him feel a little better. Using the name that Pippin had assigned to the elf as a toddler made him feel a little closer to his missing kin. "That said, I expect you feel right at home with the stuffiness and darkness and the evil lurking around the corner…"
"I am glad you speak so highly of my home," said Legolas lightly. "You speak truth in that I have rarely ventured far from Mirkwood, but I do not think that this is an evil place. It does not feel evil, and if indeed there is evil here, I deem it far away."
"If that is so, why does it feel as though an axe is held above our heads?" said Boromir, checking his horse and peering over his shoulder. "I feel as though I hold my breath, and the forest holds it with me."
Legolas urged his own horse on a little, and pressed his palm up against a nearby tree. He paused for a moment, and gazed up at the branches. "It is not evil. Only very, very old – so old that it makes me feel like a child. It is full of memory. And it is angry. Very angry."
"Angry?" said Boromir, looking stunned at the very idea of angry trees.
"It has no cause to be angry at me," protested Gimli. "I've done it no harm."
"But it has been harmed," said Legolas. Gimli could not see his face, but there was a sorrowful tone to the elf's voice. "I fear harm is still befalling it, though that may be many miles from here. There is great pain in this place."
Gimli sighed. They were getting off topic. "Well, I have no intention of adding to that pain. All I want to do is get my hobbits and leave."
"But how will we get the hobbits?" pressed Boromir. "How can we find them in this cursed place?"
A great moan ran above them, like the sound of an ancient tree pushed by a great breeze, and Gimli grabbed his axe. There was another noise, louder, angrier, and Legolas put his hand behind him.
"Peace, Boromir, Gimli," he said. "Lower your axe. They have feelings, my friend."
"I suggest we rest," said Aragorn, before either Boromir or Gimli could say any more. "Night is falling, the forest grows darker, and it has been many days since we got any decent rest. Let us camp here, and decide what to do come morning."
Gimli did not want to camp and rest, but without any direction there was little else he could do, so he made no protest and dismounted with the others. They built no fire, which did little to improve his mood, and instead sat by the stream and settled themselves in the roots of the great trees. The horses seemed rather relaxed when they were tethered, so he supposed that was something.
Legolas was the first to go down to the stream itself and wash his face, and then he drank, and refilled his water bottle. The others followed, and Gimli was relieved to find that the water was cool and tasted rather good. At least Merry and Pippin would be able to drink, and drink clean water. Fíli and Paladin had not had that luxury. After a dinner of lembas and dried berries, they set up a watch, and went about trying to sleep. Gimli could have sworn that he would never be able to close his eyes, but he found that he soon slipped into slumber, and he did not wake until the sun filtered through the leaves above to fall on his face.
With little talk, the four hunters prepared for the day, though not one of them knew where they were preparing to go. There was an unspoken understanding that, sooner or later, they would have to go to Edoras to return the horses, and Gimli's hope that they would find the hobbits before then was weaker than an elderly butterfly.
But as they prepared the horses, Legolas stood apart from the others, gazing intently into the trees. Gimli paused, and watched him, and as such he saw the very moment that Legolas' eyes grew hard.
"There is someone out there," the elf said softly. "An old man approaches, hooded and cloaked."
"What?" hissed Gimli, hurrying over to Legolas' side.
Sure enough, he saw a figure drawing near, sheltering now and again behind the trees. It was a stooped figure, clothed in grey rags, and leaning heavily on a stick that looked an awful lot like a wizard's staff. Suspicion rolled through Gimli's gut, suspicion that was confirmed when the grey rags fluttered aside, and he caught a flash of pure white beneath them.
"Saruman!" he growled, slowly taking hold of his axe. "Bend your bow Legolas, he will put a spell on!"
Hand on his sword, Boromir hastened to Gimli's side, and Aragorn flanked Legolas as the man drew nearer. The elf slowly put an arrow to his bow, but he hesitated, and Gimli glared at him.
"What are you waiting for?" he hissed, but Aragorn shook his head a little.
"We cannot shoot an old man with no cause," he murmured. "We do not know he is not a traveller."
Gimli and Boromir scoffed, but there was no more time for hidden words. The man began to walk directly towards them, with a purpose that could not be mistaken.
Aragorn stepped forward, and Gimli raised his axe, ready to strike.
"Halt!" called Aragorn, his voice betraying no fear or weakness. "Who goes there? Show yourself."
The old man paused, and stood a little straighter. His hood was deep, and hung low over his face, shielding it from view. Gimli gritted his teeth.
"Well met, friends. I wonder what brings you to these woods, so armed." The man's voice was low and deep, and rang with an authority that chilled Gimli's bones. There was something familiar about it, something that Gimli could not place.
"Our business is our own," said Boromir coldly. "Who are you?"
"You know who I am," said the man. "Though if we are to cut pretences, I will say this; I do not wonder – I know what it is that brings you here. You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits."
"Saruman," snarled Gimli, every cell of his body quivering with rage. "What did you do with them?"
"They passed this way, the day before yesterday." The man's voice was infuriatingly calm, and Gimli bared his teeth, ready to rip out the villain's throat. "They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"
"You tell me where they are and what you have done to them, or I will strike you down where you stand!" Gimli's voice rose to a roar and he lurched forward. "Where are they?"
A great force stopped Gimli in his tracks, and though he had no thought to move, his axe fell harmlessly to the ground beside him. The old man stood up tall, towering even over Boromir, and his grey cloaks fell away. Blinding white robes shone beneath them, and his face was clear and bright, and Gimli's heart did a strange combination of a cartwheel and a backflip.
"Mithrandir!" cried Legolas, casting his bow to the ground and falling to his knees. "Mithrandir!"
The wizard laughed, a laugh that Gimli knew, and spoke in a voice that was somehow less grand, the voice that Gimli had known he would never hear again. "Well met I say again, Legolas."
Fear and joy and wonder and shame and shock coursed through Gimli so strongly that he fell to his own knees, and he could not draw in air.
"Gandalf?" breathed Aragorn. "It cannot be…"
"Forgive me," said Legolas, bowing his head. "I mistook you for Saruman."
"I am Saruman," said Gandalf. "Or rather, Saruman as he should have been."
Boromir's hand came down on Gimli's shoulder and clutched it tightly, and Gimli could feel the man shaking.
"But you fell," Aragorn said, his voice scarce more than a whisper.
"Yes," said Gandalf, his face darkening. "Through fire, and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought him – the Balrog of Morgoth – until at last I smote my enemy, and cast his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me, for a time, but I felt life in me again, and I have learnt many things. I have been sent back to you now, at the turning of the tides."
"Gandalf," repeated Aragorn, a tremor in his voice and tears in his eyes.
"Yes, it is I," said Gandalf patiently. "Come, Gimli, rise. Feel no shame for how you welcomed me – ever have I counselled caution in these times, and I would have been more upset had you not fought to know the whereabouts of Merry and Pippin."
"Do you know where they are?" whispered Gimli, hardly daring to hope.
Gandalf smiled warmly, and nodded. "Yes, I know where they are. I have seen them, and they are well. Pippin is a little worn down, perhaps, but it is nothing that some food and rest will not heal, and now he has an opportunity for both. They are in the care of Treebeard, the ent."
Relief swept through Gimli in a wave so strong that he would have fallen to his knees once more, had he risen when Gandalf bade him to. He did not care a jot for what the stranger words of Gandalf might mean. Merry and Pippin were alive, and they were safe, and they were well. That was all that mattered.
"The ent?" asked Boromir, incredulity colouring his hoarse voice. "Such creatures exist? I thought them only children's tales of the Rohirrim."
Legolas looked as though Boromir had spat on his grandmother's grave. "Children's tales? No – every elf that has ever dwelt in Middle-earth has heard of the Onodrim, and of their long sorrow. If I were to meet an ent I would feel young indeed. But is Treebeard not only the rendering of Fangorn in the Common Tongue? Who is he?"
"That would take a great time to tell, and much more time than we have here," said Gandalf, his eyes twinkling. "I will say that he is the oldest of beings still walking the earth today, and that he is the guardian of this forest. Indeed, it is named for him. Come, let us sit. I have said we do not have a great deal of time, but we do have a little, and I wish to know all that has transpired since I left you. I do not doubt I know much of it already, but I would hear it from you."
A sudden though struck Gimli like a knife to the face, and he felt guilty that he had forgotten it, even for a moment. His relief for Merry and Pippin and joy at the sight of Gandalf had blown it from his mind, but perhaps there was hope here, too.
"Wait! Do you know anything of Nelly and Bróin?" he asked eagerly, but at once his hope dashed against Gandalf's frown, and shake of his head.
"You were separated?" the wizard asked, but then he shook his head again. "No, do not tell me. But tell me of your journey know, and leave nothing out."
It was Aragorn who started the tale, recounting their escape into Lothlórien, the welcome and respite they received, and Frodo's account of his vision. He told Gandalf of their journey down the river, of the friction of which way to go, and of Frodo putting his foot down. But when he reached Rauros, Boromir gave a heavy sigh and took over the tale, his eyes downcast and his cheeks red with shame.
"There were thoughts, dark thoughts, seeping into my mind at night, and I thought them my own, until hindsight suggested otherwise. It seemed great folly to destroy our hope, as I saw it, and the Ring called to me – I thought I was stronger. I thought I was fighting, that sense was all that steered me when I admitted that I thought we should use it. I thought that my anger was just, that Frodo did not trust me, and the fellowship thought me weak, and treacherous. I – I thought to clear my thoughts alone, and when Frodo said he wished to join me, I was surprised, but glad. I tried to change his mind, to steer him from the Emyn Muil, and we began to argue. He spoke of trusting me, but not all the men of Gondor, and I did not believe him. It was as though there was a great presence within me, bending my thought and emotions as a puppet-master works his toys."
Boromir's bitter voice broke off, and he covered his eyes with his hands. More strongly than ever, Gimli was convinced that his diagnosis of gold sickness was accurate, and he cursed the ring.
"So have others spoken who have felt the pull of the One," said Gandalf gravely. "Continue with your account, son of Denethor."
Boromir took a deep breath, and kept his eyes closed. "It brings me great shame to say it, but the argument grew into fight, and I – I attacked Frodo, but he broke my nose and got away. He vanished. I cursed him, and I cursed… I cursed all the halflings… and then I fell, and I realised what I had said. What I had done. And Frodo reappeared. I told him to leave – to go, but he lingered. After all I had done he spoke to me, as a friend. I did not deserve it. I knew that I could not go with him – I was a threat to his safety. And to the quest. I had to return to Minas Tirith. He – he did not want to tell the others why. I needed space, I needed to think, to process what I had done, so we walked our separate ways. I did not realise how much time had passed until I heard the yells of the orcs, the cries of Merry and Pippin…"
For a moment, Gandalf was silent. His eyes, bright and piercing as ice, fixed on Boromir. "And then what happened?"
"I tried to protect them, I fought beside them. I knew not where anyone else was, nor what had happened to the others. I blew on my horn, but no help came, for the others were fighting elsewhere. I – I was overcome. Arrows struck me, I know not how many, but they did not pierce the mail the lady gave me, though I still bear their bruises. I was wounded, and overcome, and I could not stop the uruk-hai from carrying the hobbits away. I was pinned to the ground, and left for dead."
"The Lady Galadriel told me you were in peril," said Gandalf quietly, "I am glad that you escaped it, in the end. It was a sore trial, Boromir, but you have passed as well as any."
Boromir's head rose so quickly that Gimli's neck burnt in sympathy. The man had such a look of incredulity on his face that Gimli nearly laughed.
"Yes, Boromir," added Gandalf, a wry smile coming onto his face as his eyes sparkled. "I do say escaped, and passed. You fell, indeed, but you did not fail. Not only did you reject the ring in the last, but you more than redeemed yourself in the service of Merry and Pippin. You were willing to lay down your life for them, and very nearly did so. I know of no greater redemption than that."
Gimli would have laughed at the look on Boromir's face, but they were nearing the end of the story, and his worry was growing stronger once more. So far, Gandalf had been rather unreadable, but Gimli was sure the wizard had been perturbed at the news of Nelly and Bróin's disappearance, and he wanted Gandalf's opinion as soon as maybe. He looked at Aragorn, who nodded once, and continued the tale.
"When we found Boromir, and heard what he had said, we knew that Merry and Pippin would be alone would only be if the hobbits had scattered in an attempt to protect the quest. It was a tactic they spoke openly of employing. We returned to the boats and found one gone, and that Frodo and Sam had taken their packs and fled. But there was no sign of Nelly or Bróin anywhere, and we did not know whether to seek them, follow Frodo, or pursue the orcs that took Merry and Pippin. In the end we supposed that Merry and Pippin were in the most desperate and definite need of our help, and that is how we set down this road. We left Nelly and Bróin a sign – a rune telling them to return to the Shire, and we set off on foot. Yesterday we met the Rohirrim, and learnt that things go ill in Rohan, and that the uruk-hai had been slaughtered. We were leant horses and found the pyre of the uruks, and the tracks of Merry and Pippin. Those we followed to where you find us."
Silence followed Aragorn's words, and Gimli kept his eyes on Gandalf. The wizard's face had grown darker and darker, and he now had the look of a stormy sea, clouded and wild and dangerous. His eyes, intent and brooding, were trained on the ground, and his fingers pressed up against this chin. For what felt like a lifetime he did not move, not even to blink, until Gimli could not stand it any longer.
"Gandalf?"
The wizard's eyes snapped up and fixed Gimli in their stare. There was worry in them, and sorrow, and Gimli's heart sank.
"I fear your tale may hold the answer to a riddle I faced, the day before yesterday," said Gandalf heavily. "I have been looking into the mind of Saruman, as well as I can, but he is a powerful wizard, and well-practised at veiling his thought. His feelings are easier to read – doubt and impatience, joy and cruel cunning. Two days ago, there was an overwhelming surge of satisfaction, though it was tainted with doubt, and frustration. It was a victory that I could not place. By then, I knew that his orcs were dead, and that their prisoners had escaped, and I also knew that Frodo had parted from the fellowship. I had little fear he had been caught so soon, and I was sure that if Saruman had got his hands on the ring, we would know of it. I could not fathom what he celebrated, but then I did not realise that Nelly and Bróin, too, had been parted from you. It is possible that the uruk-hai split up when the hobbits did, and that half of their number managed to get their quarry home."
It did not take Gimli long to unravel the riddle of those words, and he felt the blood leave his face as he was engulfed in cold horror. "You think that they are in Isengard? Gandalf-"
"I do not know," said Gandalf gravely.
"Well can't you find out?" demanded Gimli, ignoring the looks of Aragorn and Legolas. "Use that mind connecting madness that the Lady Galadriel used to speak with Glorfindel?"
Gandalf looked sadly at Gimli. "Unfortunately, it does not work in such a way. There are limits to the-"
"Fine, fine!" Gimli waved Gandalf off. "I do not care about the ins and the outs of it – we must go, now."
"But we do not know," said Gandalf, and his voice was sombre, and troubled. "There is nothing to say that they are not on their way back to the Shire now – or indeed on the trail of Frodo, or on the way to Erebor, given who we speak of. We have no real proof they are in Isengard at all. Also, we cannot form a successful strategy for getting them out. Saruman believes he holds all the cards, negotiation will be fruitless, and dangerous. Furthermore, he is brewing a great war, and as such there is no way that we might enter Isengard through stealth or force without running the risk of enslaving ourselves. That would be a mighty blow indeed to the war."
Gimli felt as though the doors of Moria had come down upon him, and he lowered his head into his hands. "Gandalf, they are children."
"They are not children." Gandalf's voice was very gentle. "Nor are they adults, it is true, but they are no longer children, Gimli. If they were, neither you nor I would have let them get this far. No, I do not think a direct rescue can be risked, not yet. After all, there is still a chance that they were never caught."
"They are good fighters, my friend," said Legolas softly, putting a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "There is a reason we deemed them more capable of caring for themselves than Merry and Pippin. They might yet be safe."
"I suppose," muttered Gimli, because by saying it out loud, he could almost trick himself into believing that the pair of tricksters were alright. He took a deep breath and raised his head, pulling his composure back. "Though if they weren't caught, I'll bet they're beating Frodo to Mordor. Very well, Gandalf. If we are not going to search for Nelly and Bróin, what exactly are we going to be doing? It better be important."
Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "It is indeed important, my dear Gimli. Rohan is on the brink of open war, and it is poised to fall to the armies that Isengard will unleash upon it. There is, however, still time to turn this battle on its head, and there is still hope for Rohan. We are going to do what we may, and I do not think that will be little. We ride, Gimli, to war – to open war with Saruman."
A cold grin spread across Gimli's cheeks, and he stroked the hilt of his axe. "I suppose I could live with that."
Nodding, Gandalf stood, and put on his grey cloaks once more. He whistled once, a low, clear sound, and the hunters stood up before him. Gandalf turned to face them, and he smiled the same cold, determined smile that graced Gimli's cheeks.
"We ride to Edoras."
And they're off! This was quite a fun chapter to write, so I hope you enjoyed it. I'm excited to know any thoughts or theories you might have as to where things are going, and I will do my best to make sure that my next update is also on time.
In the meantime, thank you for reading!