A/N: Here we are, an update after so long! Enjoy :)

Previously...

"Penelope, I … you to someone," Théodred said as he guided her up to the head of the table, still chuckling at his story.

"Penelope, … Gandalf the Grey. He is … Istari. Gandalf, … Penelope Clearwater. … one … Istari."

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat and instinctively clutched Théodred's arm in a firmer grasp. Would this Wizard sell her out to Voldemort and the Death Eaters? She was too weak to deal with wizards at the moment. Panic settled in her chest and all thoughts of eating completely vanished.

With a strong force of will, Hermione forced herself to meet this wizard's eyes. She locked her chocolate brown eyes in the curious gaze of his blue-grey eyes.

Chapter 7:

"abcd" = English
"abcd" = Westron
abcd = Thoughts

When Hermione met those blue-grey eyes, all she could think was,

His eyes freaking twinkle. Like Dumbledore's!

Gandalf's eyes carried a depth to them that spoke of vast wisdom and knowledge, the type that could only be gained through the ages. The twinkle instilled the sense of kindness and compassion, but underneath Hermione could see suspicion. After what felt like an eternity, she was able to drag her gaze away from his and take in the rest of the wizard's appearance. Gandalf had long, messy grey hair with a beard to match. He wore a long grey robe and carried a wooden staff with a gnarled top. The most striking thing about him was his presence, he radiated power that felt vast and ancient to Hermione.

Hermione was terrified by him. She clutched at Théodred's arm her whole body tensing under the wizard's gaze as he simultaneously observed her. Hermione fought to keep her outward appearance as neutral as possible as she didn't want to show fear to a potential enemy. She raised her chin and waited for Gandalf the Grey to finish his appraisal of her.

"It is a pleasure to make your … Lady Penelope Clearwater," Gandalf greeted after what seemed like a lifetime to Hermione.

His polite greeting did nothing to allay any of her fears.

"And you Gandalf the Grey," Hermione replied with a forced smile.

After a small curtsey, she fled to her seat next to Éowyn who was a couple of seats down from where Gandalf was sitting. Hermione ignored the searching looks she was receiving from the royal family and busily started piling her plate with food that she had no intention of eating.

Hermione spent the night pushing food around on her plate not even pretending to eat. The little amount of mead that she had sipped had done little to settle her nerves and she was too wary of Gandalf to consume any more. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts and fears about Gandalf. Was it just a coincidence that he had arrived here or was he here for her? Was he working for Voldemort or for the Ministry? Éowyn had even given up attempting to converse with her and settled for sharing worried looks with her brother.

As discreetly as she could, Hermione kept casting glances towards Gandalf assessing his every action. If Gandalf was aware of this he did not show it, in fact it was as though he was completely uninterested in her. Gandalf just sat in conversation with the King and his advisors, not even glancing her way that she could see. However, Gandalf's actions did little to alleviate Hermione's anxiety. Throughout the course of the dinner, her anxiety continued to climb until the room felt too hot and stuffy and it became harder for her to breathe.

Pushing her untouched for away from her, Hermione stood up without uttering a word and almost ran from the dining room unaware of the many eyes that followed her. Her heart raced as she escaped to the balcony of Meduseld, her limbs feeling weak and shaky.

Hermione leant against the stone wall, conscious of how she must look to the guards on duty. She rested her flushed face against the cool stone for a moment before setting off again down the front steps of Meduseld. The cool evening air felt refreshing and succeeded to calm some of her nerves. She had no destination in mind and let her feet take their own route. After short while she ended up standing before the doors of the royal stables.

Seeking refuge with the horses, don't let Éowyn see you, Hermione thought as she entered through the doors of the stables.

The horses all turned to her as she walked by, eagerly hoping that she might feed them. Hermione ignored them all until she came to the stall that Dandelion resided in. The mare snorted in greeting and approached the gate looking for food.

"I'm sorry Dandy, I don't have any food for you," Hermione whispered in apology as she stroked the great mare's mane.

"I'm afraid Dandy. I'm so afraid," she continued speaking in English to the mare.

Dandelion snorted, pushing her head against Hermione's arm.

"You see Dandy, my friends are most likely dead. I'm the only one left to finish the mission and I have no idea what to do or how I'm even here," A few tears fell over her cheeks as she talked to Dandelion.

"And now there's another wizard here. I don't know if he's in league with Voldemort or not. I don't know if I can trust him. But I need help. Do you see my predicament Dandy?" Hermione asked tearfully.

Dandelion just snorted again looking for food.

Hermione took a deep breath, stroking Dandy's mane was therapeutic.

"It's too cold a night to be outside without a cloak Lady Penelope," came a voice from the entrance of the stables.

Hermione gasped, that voice has spoken in English.

With her hand clenched in Dandelion's mane, Hermione slowly turned her head to the speaker. There he stood silhouetted in the stable door against the dying daylight leaning on his staff. She had no idea how long he had been standing there for.

"Gandalf," Hermione breathed, "You understand my language?"

Gandalf didn't answer for a time. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe, and began smoking it. The silence only broken by the occasional snort from the horses. Hermione was beginning to wonder if the old wizard was ever going to reply.

"You do not speak the common tongue, nor any other common languages of Middle Earth, yet you speak fluently a language far older than the Elves. One that has not been spoken in Arda since its beginnings. A language that only the fellow Istari here know," Gandalf replied after a few puffs of his pipe.

Hermione was speechless, unable to believe her luck that she had found a fellow English speaker. A small voice in the back of her mind warned that she shouldn't trust him even though she yearned to have a companion who spoke the same language as her. As much as he reminded her of Dumbledore she couldn't trust him, he could have somehow followed her from Hogwarts and be working for Voldemort.

"Yet you are no Istar, not in the way that I am. You are different, an enigma. One which even I do not understand," he continued.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that but was cut off.

"You spoke of a mission but I do not believe we have the same," Gandalf's twinkling eyes bore into hers, keeping Hermione rooted in place.

"I don't trust you enough to tell you," Hermione replied without thought.

"A lack of trust we share it seems," Gandalf responded, releasing her gaze and blowing rings of smoke into the air.

In a way Gandalf's reply relieved Hermione. He seemed honest. He wasn't pushing her for answers. Her hand released its tight hold on Dandelion's mane.

"But enough for now. Let us go back to the Hall. You're shivering and your friends are worried about you," Gandalf suggested gesturing to Meduseld through the doors.

Hermione timidly nodded. She gave Dandy one last pat before following behind Gandalf back to the Hall, keeping watch of his every move.

Gandalf had snuffed his pipe out back in the stables and had taken to humming as he and Hermione walked back to Meduseld. Perhaps his humming was designed to try and put her at ease. While still distrustful, Hermione's anxiousness and fear of Gandalf turned to curiosity and wonder. Here, strolling in front of her, was a man who might be able to answer some of her questions.

Or he could be a Wormtail, a wolf in a sheep's clothing.

Hermione frowned. Wolf in a sheep's clothing or not, she needed answers. The few sentences he had spoken in the stables had ignited her curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Not only for her mission but for a pure academic interest of this world that only a Ravenclaw could understand.

"What do you mean when you said that this language has not been spoken in Arda since its beginnings?" Hermione asked, unable to contain her interest.

Gandalf's humming was interrupted by his chuckle, what he was laughing at Hermione couldn't grasp. He hadn't responded to her question as the two reached the steps to the Hall. Hermione climbed the steps beside him, her bright brown eyes looking expectantly up at his face.

By the time the two had returned to the dining hall, Gandalf still hadn't replied. Hermione exhaled in annoyance. If he took this long to answer her questions she'd be here all night.

During her absence the dining hall had mostly emptied. The only occupants that remained were the members of the royal family, who were presumably waiting for Gandalf and Hermione to return.

No one spoke as the two wizards entered the room but all eyes were on them. Éomer and Éowyn looked strangely relieved at the sight of Hermione returning. Théoden and Théodred just looked on curiously at the pair. Hermione followed Gandalf's unspoken instruction to sit back at the table. She took her place next to Éowyn, her plate of food from before still sitting there.

Éowyn gave her a brief smile as she sat down again but did not speak. Éomer looked at her with concern, searching her face for any sign of distress. Théodred took a swig of his mead and winked at Hermione to which she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Gandalf merely relit his pipe and started smoking again.

Hermione couldn't take it.

"You still haven't answered my question," she demanded of Gandalf.

Gandalf raised a single bushy eyebrow in response and blew a puff of smoke.

"You have not eaten anything, any Hobbit out there would be appalled," he replied, causing a variety of shocked expression amongst the royal family.

"So if I eat you'll answer my questions?" Hermione asked, not understanding the Hobbit reference.

"If I am able to."

In response Hermione shoved some potato in her mouth and chewed. The food had gone cold but was no less delicious.

Gandalf nodded and began, "The tongue you speak is one only spoken by my kin. We do not primarily reside here in Middle Earth. My kin were numerous here back when this world was first being shaped and left shortly after. Even now, there are only five of us here as Istari and we do not often speak in this tongue."

Hermione washed the food down with some mead, a thousand question already zooming around her mind from that statement.

"The fact that you, a young woman, has knowledge of this language is extraordinary," Gandalf continued.

Hermione shook her head.

"Where I'm from, this is the main language we speak. Millions of people speak it fluently every day in my country. Billions speak it around the world. You speak of it as though it's a sacred language or something but to me it's incredibly common," Hermione explained.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe, his eyes full of interest.

"Incredible," he replied, looking at Hermione in amazement.

There was silence as Gandalf digested what Hermione had said. Hermione glanced around at the others and saw their unveiled interest and curiosity at what was being said.

"I have so many other questions," Hermione said, breaking the silence.

"As do I, but they must wait. I leave on the morrow to Minas Tirith on urgent business. You may join me or you may stay here, the choice is yours," Gandalf replied while snuffing out his pipe.

Hermione stared at her plate and didn't answer.

Gandalf rose from his seat and said a few words to the King which Hermione didn't even try to listen to.

"You do not have to decide this moment. If you are coming, we leave just after sunrise. Just know, the answers you seek will not be found here in Edoras," Gandalf said as he walked past her to retire for the night.

Leave with Gandalf, or stay here?

Hermione closed her eyes in thought. Edoras had become her safe haven, she was reluctant to give up the first place of safety she had in years. But Gandalf was right, even though she didn't trust him, she was not going to find any answers here in Edoras.

"Penelope?" her thoughts were interrupted by Éowyn.

Hermione turned to look at her friend's questioning face.

"I go with Gandalf, or I stay Edoras," Hermione replied to the unvoiced question.

Éowyn nodded sadly, expecting Hermione to say that she would be leaving.

"You can't leave!" Éomer exclaimed, "It is not safe."

Hermione looked to him, she could clearly see the concern in his face and smiled a grim smile.

"Never is," she replied quietly.

Éomer's jaw tightened but he did not respond.

"… Éomer. Not your … to make," King Théoden voiced to Éomer, no longer content with watching the proceedings.

Frowning, Éomer took a swig of his mead while his cousin watched on with a secretive smile.

Hermione rose from her seat.

"I need to think," she said to King Théoden as a way of taking her leave.

Before waiting for a response, Hermione turned and walked back out to the balcony of Meduseld. She nodded to the guards on duty and stood near the edge watching the town below. The night was still young so windows were aglow with firelight. Watching the medieval town go about its nightly routine usually relaxed Hermione, but not tonight.

In her head she made a pro and con list of reasons why she should go with Gandalf. To her dismay, the pro list was far longer than the con list, with most points on the con list consisting of personal feelings like 'having to leave Éowyn and Éomer behind' than anything related to her mission. Her distrust of Gandalf was not enough to dissuade her from going with him, she had no other choice.

Hermione sighed as she looked up at the now-familiar constellations in the sky. She knew before she left the dining hall which choice she was going to make and there was no point in putting it off any longer.

Without any delay, Hermione walked back inside and headed towards her room. The hallways were quiet and empty and Hermione took this time to imprint the sight in her memory not knowing when she would be back. If she would be back.

As she got to her room she noticed that the door was ajar and there was movement within. Cautiously Hermione peeked into the room to find Éowyn rummaging about in one of the cupboards.

"Éowyn?" Hermione asked.

Éowyn jumped as she had not heard Hermione enter the room.

Hermione didn't understand Éowyn's reply, but Éowyn had gestured to Hermione's bed where she had laid out some items and bags. She chuckled in understanding, Éowyn was packing for her, seemingly knowing what Hermione's decision was before she knew herself. Hermione set out to help her but Éowyn just pushed Hermione to sit on the edge of the bed and told her to stay. Hermione just raised her hands in defeat and watched as Éowyn worked around her with a smile on her face.

As she did in the hallways, Hermione gazed around her room committing everything to memory from the tapestries on the wall to the carpet on the floor. Her eyes glanced to the faint scorch marks on the floor and she shivered in remembrance, they weren't something she wanted to remember.

Eventually Éowyn announced that she was finished with the packing and sat down beside Hermione on the bed.

"I'll miss you, friend," Éowyn stated earnestly.

Hermione smiled, tears gathering in her eyes.

"I will miss you. Thank you," Hermione replied, her limited use of the common tongue not able to express how she really felt.

Éowyn smiled and hugged her. Hermione felt as though she would never see her friend again. Just like she would never see Harry and Ron again.

Saying goodnight, Éowyn rose and left Hermione alone with her thoughts.

Hermione barely slept that night, too anxious, sad, and excited about the morning to relax enough to sleep. She watched through the shutters on her window as the stars and moon moved across the sky. Tears fell at moments as her fear of the unknown consumed her but she did not change her mind.

Just before the sun was due to peek above the horizon, Hermione got up and got ready for the day. She dressed in a brown riding dress than Éowyn had chosen for her to wear the night before. Her unruly curls were braided into a single braid that fell down to the middle of her back. Despite having had little sleep Hermione's nerves had her feeling energised and ready for what was to come.

She made her way to get an early breakfast, not hungry but knowing that she needed her strength for the journey.

Despite how early it was, Meduseld was already buzzing with activity. Maids were rushing around fulfilling their early morning tasks and the cooks were busy in kitchen preparing meals for the day. The dining hall was empty when Hermione entered but simple breakfast foods had already been placed along the table.

Hermione sat down and helped herself to some freshly cooked bread. It was still hot from the oven and full of flavour. She savoured each bite, not knowing what food she would become accustomed to whilst travelling with Gandalf.

No one entered the dining hall while Hermione ate aside from a few maids passing through. When she had been sufficiently fed, Hermione headed back towards her room to collect her packs. As she reached her room she found Éomer waiting for her. He was leaning against the wall opposite her door and he looked tense. An object wrapped in cloth was clutched in his hands.

"Penelope." He addressed her as he saw her coming down the hall.

"Éomer," Hermione greeted with a slight curtsey.

Éomer pushed off the wall and came to stand before her. He was a good head taller than her so Hermione had to look upward as he came closer. His eyebrows were furrowed from worry as his blue eyes looked into hers.

"Don't leave. It's not safe," Éomer pleaded.

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. Apart from Ron and Harry, no one had put her safety first in such a long time. His concern was touching. Her chocolate brown eyes softened as she stared at him.

"I have to," Hermione responded sadly.

Éomer didn't understand that she had a mission. A mission wreathed in danger and destruction. He didn't understand that she'd walk through fire to see its success and if its success called for her to give everything she had, Hermione would gladly pay the price. For Harry. For Ron. For the wizarding world. She was in too deep to quit now.

Seeing that Hermione was resolute, Éomer sighed and presented Hermione with the bundle he was holding. She accepted the bundle curiously and pulled back the cloth. Sitting in the palm of her hand was a dagger, crafted by goblins and imbued with magic from Rowen herself. Its sapphires gleamed in the flicked torchlight as though to say hello.

"Raven's Claw," Hermione breathed in reverence.

After the incident in the library that day she didn't expect to get the beloved dagger back. A dagger that had helped her through many battles back home, an old friend.

Hermione looked back to Éomer who was watching her reaction.

"Thank you Éomer," she said earnestly, not able to truly express her gratitude.

Éomer nodded and opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself with a slight shake of his head.

"Be safe Penelope," he said as he gave her a bow.

Before Hermione could reply, Éomer turned and strode down the hallway without looking back, leaving her somewhat puzzled.

Hermione didn't have time to waste, the sky outside was getting lighter by the minute as sunrise approached. She entered her room and found Raven's Claw's sheath amongst her things and attached the dagger to her belt. She donned her black Hogwarts robe and smiled. Even now it gave her a sense of security and feeling of home. The red lining and Gryffindor crest imbued her with feelings of bravery.

Gathering up her packs and giving one last look around her room, Hermione set off towards the entrance of Meduseld in search of Gandalf and on to whatever fate had in store for her.

"abcd" = English

The suns morning rays shone through the open shutters into the forbidding room of hardened black stone. The room offered very little in homely furnishings containing only a simple bed with bedside table, a tiny wooden wardrobe, and a dull, earthy rug to cover the cold floor. There were no tapestries hung on the wall or any objects strewn about to give any personality to the room. This did not bother the room's owner, he had no need for trivial objects.

A loud snore erupted from the bed, the occupant shifting in his sleep. Tufts of red hair poked out from under the covers in contrast to his pale, freckled face. An angry fresh scar on his forehead almost blended in with his scarlet tresses, a daily reminder of how he was weak enough to be captured by orcs.

A loud banging sounded on his door and the snoring man jolted awake, his pale blue eyes snapping open.

"What are you still doing abed boy? Get up," came a harsh shout, slightly muffled through the heavy door.

Ron listened as the man's footsteps faded away before throwing the covers back. With a groan he sat up and ran a hand through his hair then lightly brushing a finger over his scar. He crept over to the window as he did every morning and looked out to the forest that stretched out before him. His blue eyes searching for any sign that Hermione and Harry were out there.

The cold stone beneath his feet drew his body heat away causing goose-bumps to erupt over his skin. Dejectedly, Ron turned from the window and dressed. Each passing day decreased the likelihood that Hermione and Harry were still alive.

He took the familiar route through the tower to where he knew breakfast was to be served. Ron's host was already seated at the table, browsing through an old scroll of some kind. With his straight white hair and crisp white robes, 'The White Wizard' was a very apt name.

Saruman the White, Ron's saviour, the man who Ron owed his life, had rescued him from the orcs and nursed him back to health. Ron considered himself very lucky that the wizard happened to be walking through the forest that day or he'd probably be dead.

"Ah! There you are, about time. The sun has well and truly risen my boy," Saruman greeted while gesturing Ron to sit.

"I'm not used to rising with the sun," Ron grumbled as he sat and started piling his plate with food.

Saruman just raised an eyebrow, his black eyes watching Ron eat with veiled disgust.

As Ron ate, Saruman reached into his robes and drew out a black potion bottle. He poured the potion in to a goblet and handed it to Ron. Like every morning Ron accepted the goblet and swiftly drank its contents, grimacing at its foul taste.

"Do I still have to drink this even though I'm healed?" Ron asked as he washed the taste down with some juice.

Putting the bottle back within the folds of his robe Saruman replied, "You are not yet fully healed. You must take the full course of the potion."

Ron didn't respond and just continued to eat, who was he to question his saviour?

"No sign of your companions has been found in the forest. They've either left or they're dead," Saruman stated bluntly.

Ron's fork paused on its way to his mouth, food hanging precariously from the blades.

"They wouldn't have left me," Ron refuted, "At least, Hermione wouldn't have left me."

Saruman levelled his gaze at Ron.

"Were you not just telling me yesterday morning how they both left you as you were hunting for these horcruxes you speak of?" Saruman countered.

Ron frowned. Was it the day before he had told Saruman of their quest? He couldn't remember.

He shook his head in denial.

"That was different. I left them first and when I came back they had gone," Ron defended.

Saruman ran his fingers through his long beard.

"Wasn't it Harry who was leaving to search for the horcruxes by himself, leaving you behind? Who's to say that he was not just waiting for a chance to do it again?"

"No! Harry wouldn't. We've been through thick and thin. He wouldn't just leave me behind," Ron protested in denial, a headache brewing behind his eyes.

"Well, from all you've told me it seems to that this Harry Potter has been more trouble than he's worth. That you'd be better without him," Saruman advised.

Ron rose from the chair he was in and grabbed his head.

"That's not true," he objected, not quite able to concentrate through the headache.

Saruman remained seated, still stroking his beard.

"Sometimes in life we do not want to face the ugly truth. Perhaps you need some time to think?" Saruman proposed as he sipped some wine.

Ron took this as a cue to leave and made his way back to his room, welcoming a chance to lie down. He walked the circular hallways of Orthanc mumbling to himself as his headache built up pressure behind his eyes.

It was with great relief that Ron entered his room. He slammed the shutters at the window closed leaving the room in near darkness and collapsed on to his bed in pain.

He lay on his back staring at the black stone roof above him, thinking over his time at Hogwarts with Harry trying to think of examples to prove Saruman wrong. These examples were elusive, just out of reach in his mind and all he could think of were times when Harry had let him down.

"Maybe Saruman is right," Ron wondered aloud.

But Ron couldn't forsake his friend just yet, his loyalty to Harry running deeper than a few choice words and potions.

As his headache reached an agonising crescendo Ron slipped into vivid nightmares in which Harry Potter was the chief villain.

A/N: So what did you guys think? I promise it won't take me as long to post another update :P