Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR characters, whose births are credited to J.R.R. Tolkien.

This is the scene that started it all, that inspired me to write this. I hope I can do it justice.


The flight to Rohan is filled with rocky plain. I travel with stronger determination than I had when I flew to Lothlórien. The distance is greater, as is the reward that awaits me. I raise my altitude in proportion to the rising earth. I fly even higher when I hear orc-grunts and smell orc-stench.

My strength begins to falter as I am flying over Fangorn Forest. I undo Galadriel's crescent wineskin from around my waist and dip between my lips. A rush of cool liquid glides across my tongue and down my throat, soothing my muscles and aches that I hadn't realized I had. My determination is renewed with the first gulp, and while I had intended on drinking the water sparingly, I can't help but take a second gulp of the life-restoring water.

The sun has begun its descent when I reach Edoras with flagging flaps. I lower myself over a gradual distance as I near the mountain-city. Without bothering to set down at the gates of the city, I fly straight for the palace. Cries of dismay and surprise sound from the ground as the people see me so close to their rooftops.

A few of the guards shoot arrows that just barely skim my feathers, dodging by a hairsbreadth.

"It's heading for the king!"

"To the king! The king!"

The guards grab their spears and clamor up the hill, but it's too late. I crash through the doors of Théoden's great hall and tumble onto the stone floor, panting heavily with exhaustion as my muscles are allowed to stop flexing. I am wracked in tremors and I groan in pain as I feel the poison seeping into me. This place has recently played host to an evil entity, one not as dark or powerful as Sauron, but impressionable nonetheless. Enough for half a decade's worth of feathers to fall immediately to the floor.

The clanging of metal fills the hall and pointed spears encircle me. Warning shouts sound when my trembling hands reach for the wineskin, and a few of the spears poke my hand. I ignore their attempts to dissuade my movement, and I succeed in wrapping my hand around the cap before I hear a familiar voice.

"Stop! I know this woman, she is Lady Lyraniel! You must stop! Let me through!" Aragorn's voice rises above the noise and he pushes his way through the crowd.

No one retreats until an older, more dignified voice commands "Put your weapons down, let him through!"

"Mother, how can I help?"

I am still gasping for breath, unable to reply. I struggle to remove the wineskin from around my body.

"Get her water!" he turns and commands. A youthful guard makes his way through the crowd with a large pitcher of water.

"Here, drink." Aragorn dips the pitcher towards my mouth and I sip gingerly, drinking a little less than half of the water before choking and refusing any more. My tremors stop shaking violently, transitioning into occasional muscle spasms. Aragorn sets the pitcher down and helps me sit up. The guards on the outer edge of the surrounding circle mumble and shake their heads, returning to their guardposts outside the hall.

I take off the wineskin and wrench the cap off. My arms aren't strong enough to fully lift over my head, so I give it to Aragorn and gesture to my back. He understands, and the last of the pure water is poured slowly and carefully on the back of my neck, following the curve of my spine down to my waist. I can hear a faint sizzle as it seeps through cloth and into my skin. I grip my knees tightly and muffle a shriek into a whimper.

When at last nothing comes out of the skin, I relax and shut my eyes tightly. Humming a low arpeggio, I concentrate on absorbing the water and pushing out poison from my back. It's just enough to send tiny rivulets of black down to my hands. Then, it is down and I am finally able to relax.

Aragorn smiles at me while supporting me with his arms. "Yet another meeting you have interrupted, Mother."

I laugh weakly. When I rise to my knees, the great hall has cleared out and I can see more familiar faces. Legolas bends on one knee, head dipped forward. Gimli bows, a little unsteady on his feet. I take a step and sweep the two into a large hug. I make a comfortable sound in the back of my throat and squeeze them tightly.

"It is good to see you, Lady Lyraniel," says Legolas.

"You smell nice," burps Gimli.

Stepping back, I look over their shoulders and see a wizened dignified face clutching a great white staff. He meets me as I walk to him for a hug.

"Yes, it is wonderful to see you again, my dear." A deep inhale of the old man brings to me the smell of horses, hot food, and a windy plain. Underneath those odors is the familiar smell of Gandalf, but changed. A dash of mountain forest is added to Gandalf's usual smoky scent. Saruman's smell was also of mountain forest.

I start signing, and Aragorn translates. "She would like to know what are you calling yourself now."

"You may still call me Gandalf. I am no longer Gandalf the Grey, but Gandalf the White," he says with twinkling eyes.

I sign again. "She is pleased to see you again, back from the dead."

Gandalf's mouth sets in a grim line. "My mission was not yet done, and I am the closest to finishing," he whispers to me.

My eyes turn towards the golden-haired old man. I bow to him, and I remain so until he calls me to raise my gaze to him.

"You crash through my gates, interrupt an important meeting, and greet your friends before me. I should be offended, but in light of these dark and strange times, I supposed I should know you first before condemning you," says the Théoden.

Aragorn translates my flurry of hand-signs. "She apologizes for her behavior, but she could not risk stopping at the gates of Edoras. She has traveled many leagues to come here, avoiding ransacking hillmen and pillaging orcs, without rest. By the time she arrived, she was soaked in Middle Earth poison if she stopped, she would not able to move. She would not have had the strength to look for us either, so she had no choice but to impose herself on the heart of the city."

Théoden listens quietly, unblinking and expressionless. "Tell me this, why can't she speak? And why does she have wings?"

I look at Aragorn and before I can do anything, Gandalf interrupts. "My lord, I can explain that to you later. Might I suggest letting her rest before asking her any more questions? She must not have eaten anything her entire journey here."

Théoden nods. "Yes, of course, pardon me milady. I'm still a little suspicious of strangers."

I sign to Aragorn. "She knows about Wormtongue. She says she also understands what it feels like to be another's thrall, and…" Aragorn's voice dies away as he stares at me.

Tell him, I sign.

"Can you handle more poison?" Aragorn asks me. "I know what happens to you when you use your power."

I can do it, I must make up for being such a terrible bother and this may help, I sign.

"What is it?" Gandalf asks.

"Lady Lyraniel has offered to heal the king's wounds," Aragorn says.

"Wounds? I have no wounds," Théoden says to me, confused.

I sign. "She says not physical wounds, but the wounds of the mind. She says she can hear from your body that your mind is holding you back. The fragility of your bones, the aching of your joints, all are tricks in your mind left behind by Saruman's sorcery. She can rid you of those troubles."

Théoden asks, "So you mean to give me back my youth?"

Aragorn translates, "She means to give you glory."

Théoden thinks for a moment. "I would like that very much. And what would you like in return?"

Aragorn translates, "At the moment, she'd like a large bowl of water."

Théoden looks at his steward, who bows and walks to fulfill the request. "When will you heal me?"

I approach hesitantly, asking him with my eyes if I can touch him. He stands tall and stiff, allowing me to stand in front of him. I take his hands and close my eyes. I am weak, but I should have enough energy. I rock my weight from left to right, motioning for the king to join me. I envision a cycling circle of energy changing with each shift, and I hum a low tune, one worthy for royal halls.

I cannot enter the king's mind, because he was not built to withstand my presence. The best I can do is brush his mind by sounding the unyielding strength of mountain and the aged wisdom of the forest. I sing the warmth of sun over rocky moor and the thrum of hoofbeats on ancient paths known only to the Rohirrim. With these images running through his head as well as everyone else's, the king relaxes and I can feel the damage wrought on Théoden's psyche.

I clear away the fog settling over his memories, I chase the nightmares from his subconscious, and I mend the raw gashes marring his self-confidence and self-worth. While there is still darkness lingering within him, I am confident he will overcome it. I start to quickly go over lubricating his joints, stiffened with age and weighed down by false troubles. I tweak the constitution of his bones just enough so he will feel strength, but not enough to give him back the time he lost to Wormtongue's treachery.

When my song comes to a close, I fall to my knees, gasping as I feel more poison enter my body. A cold sweat breaks out over my body and I shiver, in spite of the heat. Théoden looks around him with wide, wondering eyes. He watches his hands open and close, squeezing them shut and springing them open, marveling at the newfound strength in his limbs.

"This is incredible, I feel young again! Thank you for this gift," he says, a wide grin on his face. Then he notices my face and bends down. "What's wrong? Are you alright? Healer! Send for a healer!"

"No healer can help her, Théoden." says Gandalf, stopping the runner. "The sickness that ails her ails only her, no healer on Middle Earth can cure her."

"Is there some way to alleviate her suffering?" asks Théoden.

"The only ones who could were the Elves," says Legolas.

"Yes, the purity of the Elven realms and the Elves were the only thing that could stop the rot," says Gandalf.

Aragorn sees my hand-signs and says, "Wait." He watches my signs, and says to them, "The Lady Galadriel has told her of another way, outside of the Elf realms."

"Lady Galadriel? She and Lyraniel were never on good terms," says Gandalf.

The steward returns with a large pewter bowl filled with water. I reach for Legolas and draw him beside me. I sign to Aragorn.

Take the bowl and put it in a place that captures the stars, I sign. I was informed this is the way to capture purity. It will stop the rot just as well as an Elf realm.

Aragorn asks me in Elvish, "Why Legolas?"

His sharp eyes will be able to find the clearest spot.

Aragorn relays my instructions to Legolas. Legolas gingerly takes hold of the bowl and sets off to find the perfect spot.

Aragorn helps me to my feet and walks me to his seat. I sit directly across from two children, a boy and a girl, obviously siblings. The boy is ravenous, while the girl picks at her bread. A regally dressed woman is watching the children, most likely the Lady Éowyn. She watches me too, studying Aragorn's hand on my arm.

I recognize that look, the look of love. She is beautiful, and if Aragorn's heart did not belong to another, I would approve of the match. She looks away when she sees me watching her.

Aragorn offers me food from his plate. I take a mouthfuls of the warm soup while Théoden goes back to discussing whatever it was they were talking about when I crashed through the doors.

"Interesting how Lady Galadriel did not mention this discovery in all these years," Aragorn says to me in Elvish. He most likely did not want rumors of him disparaging the Lady of the Golden Wood reaching unwelcome ears.

Most likely because I was not willing to spend my time there until just a while ago, I sign. We were finally able to make peace, and she saw fit to help me.

"The lady never acts upon a whim, what was it that convinced her?" Aragorn presses me.

The thing that convinced us all; the Ring. She, like the rest of the Elves, recognize the end of an Age and are setting things for the last journey. It is a time of forgiveness and progression towards the future.

"But her pride was damaged when you chose Rivendell over Lórien."

And in order to pass into the Undying Lands she had to let go of that pride.

"How did this change come upon her? She cannot have done it by herself."

Apparently it happened during your stay in her realm.

Aragorn is silent, thinking about their visit.

Perhaps an encounter with the young Ringbearer? Knowing you, you would not have let him out of your sight. But like all good things, you must sleep. And therein lies the weakness that plagues all good things, for even in sleep the powerful are defenseless.

"Perhaps. But I will not make a mistake like that again," he says.

I am sorry for interrupting your meeting. Might I inquire what it is about? I sign to Aragorn, changing the subject matter to the important things at hand.

Instead of speaking aloud to me, he chooses to respond in sign. Speaking to me in Elvish has already drawn others' attention to us, and he wishes to keep his temper in check. The king intends to flee to Helm's Deep, instead of beginning to hunt down the orcs infesting his lands.

I think carefully about my response. So he wishes to gather all the people of the land to protect them from orc raiding parties?

He cannot protect his people when he does not have the men. Thousands of his spears are riding north, and he does nothing to call them back. He is giving up hope. He is giving up courage, he signs emphatically.

He is doing what he thinks best for his people. You would have him leave his people scattered and open to more attacks? The Enemy is amassing his forces and while the Great Eye targets the White City, his successor plots to crush the remaining strong Men, the Horse Lords. He has already destroyed the king's self-confidence with the attacks on the settlements. The king feels he has no choice but to retreat. Yes, this is dangerous, but no more dangerous than letting his people stay open to attack. Indeed, gathering his people at Helm's Deep is the greatest choice he can make to protect his people, even for a while.

Those people will still die. It will be like releasing a pack of wolves onto a herd of penned sheep, Aragorn signs angrily.

Yes, that is true,I agree with him. Which is why you must convince the king to make a stand. You are correct, he thinks he will not be attacked in that ancient stronghold of his people. He is wrong. Like anyone who has tasted power and sees absolute victory, the Enemy will not hesitate to wipe out the race of Men when they are gathered in such a small space.

How will I convince him? He will not listen to me, and he will not listen to the new White Wizard. And he certainly won't listen to an elf or a dwarf.

If he will not listen, he cannot be helped. Escort them to Helm's Deep, and approach him again with your idea. When his worry for the people has eased, he should be more receptive. But you must be quick. Remember, of all the races, orcs multiply and mature the fastest

I see, Aragorn signs. But we -

Aragorn's signing is cut-off when Théoden's voice rings through the hall. "It has been decided! We leave for Helm's Deep at dawn!"

Gandalf grumbles and storms away. Legolas and Gimli follow him. Aragorn stands up and helps me walk slowly after them, following them to the sleeping quarters.

"Lady Lyraniel, we have prepared a place for you in the women's quarters," says the steward. I think his name was Gamling.

I sign and Aragorn translates, "She says that she means no offense, but she would prefer to stay with us. With the women, she has no means of communication."

"I understand. I will tell the king," the steward bows. As he is walking away, I make Aragorn call him back.

"My lady wishes to pass a message to the king, if you would be so kind as to relay it for her," Aragorn says.

The steward nods, "Of course."

"She says if the king feels any discomfort regarding the work she did tonight, he can feel to call upon her in the night. However, I must accompany her," Aragorn says.

"Will that be all?" the steward asks.

"Yes, thank you."

The steward bows and we walk in separate directions. I slump heavily against Aragorn, who takes my weight easily. We walk into the room where men lay all around in sleeping pallets. Gandalf is settling into his blankets, his staff within reach of his hands. Gimli is snoring loudly, comfortably wrapped in wool. His axes lean against the wall near his head.

"Lyraniel, my dear, I did not expect to see you here. I'm afraid we must delay our talk. I must leave early tomorrow, and I don't think you will be able to wake in the morning," Gandalf says to my with a twinkle in his eye.

I laugh and smile in understanding. A boy arrives with another sleeping pallet. I direct him to lay it near Aragorn's pallet. I lower myself down gingerly on the mat. Legolas creeps in quietly, stepping over sleeping men to reach us in our corner. His hands hold the bowl of starlight.

"Is this enough time to fully capture the stars?" he sits down next to me.

Truthfully, I'm not sure, I sign.

While Aragorn relays the message, I lift the bowl to my lips and take a small sip. It is not as cool and soothing as the batch I received from Galadriel, but it still works.

It is just enough. Thank you, I sign. I hope you won't mind doing this for me again when we reach Helm's Deep?

While I pour the water into my wineskin, Aragorn translates.

"Yes, I am glad to help," says Legolas. He lays down and hugs his quiver and bow to him as he turns and drifts to sleep. "Good night, my friends. We have a long day tomorrow."

I turn to Aragorn and sign one last thing before I rest. As our Old Friend says, I most likely will not be able to get up easily tomorrow. This journey has tired me, for it is the second long flight I have taken in a week. The poison will affect me heavily tomorrow. Do not worry if I do not wake. I am simply recovering my strength.

Mother, I wish you strength and help, Aragorn signs to me.

I wish you love and life, my little Hope, I sign back. And sweet dreams for us all.


Well, this was a fast jump from the Fellowship of the Ring to the Two Towers. Hope I didn't suck too.