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Arguments and Worries

By midday of the next day, the group was nearing the walls of Isengard.

"Only, you've never done a hard day's work," a familiar voice said ahead, followed by a joyous laugh. Drifter looked around Aragorn, her eyes wide with shock.

"Welcome, my lords," Merry welcomed them, "…and my lady…to Isengard!"

"You're drunk!" Drifter exclaimed at the same time Gimli cried,

"You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on and now we find you feasting and…and smoking!"

"We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well-earned comforts," Pippin corrected drunkenly. "The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork…" the dwarf wondered, his anger clearly smoothed over by the mention of food; however, Drifter was not the least impressed by the halflings' humor as she got off of the horse and stood in front of where the hobbits were.

"Hobbits…" Gandalf grumbled.

Ignoring the woman's glare, Merry went on,

"We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard." Then, the hobbit finally noticed Drifter. "What?"

"I've been through who knows what to find you, and all you have to say is what?" the girl growled, but giving hint to a smile.

"I see you've gained a bit of humor since we last saw you, if it's not a bit dry." Suddenly, the hobbits jumped off the crumbling wall, partially tackling Drifter, though not enough to knock her down. "We're sure glad you made it out alright after…what happened." The smile faded from the woman's face as she lifted Pippin onto Aragorn's horse and, again pointedly, Merry with Éomer. She then let Gandalf help her onto Shadowfax behind him. As they approached the tower of Orthanc, Drifter noticed the flotsam and jetsam floating in the two feet of muddy water. Treebeard, standing in front of the building, hadn't changed since the woman's brief meeting with him years before.

"Hoooom, young master Gandalf," the ent addressed the new White Wizard, "I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here locked in his tower."

"Be careful," Gandalf warned his companions. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."

"Well then, let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli suggested, an idea that Drifter completely agreed with, though she did not say anything.

"No, we need him alive. We need him to talk."

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King and made peace afterwards," a deep voice spoke from the tower's top, followed by the appearance of Saruman himself. "Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

"We shall have peace," the king replied, "…We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg…are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of you own crows…we shall have peace!"

"Gibbets and crows! Dotard! What do you want, Gandalf Grahame? Let me guess…the key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad Dûr itself? Along with the crowns of the seven Kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," Gandalf responded, unruffled. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel."

"So you have come here for information. I have some for you." At that, the traitor lifted a black stone up for all to see: the Palantir. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the great Eye has seen it! Even now, he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You are all going to die! But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows will never be crowned King." Saruman's eye then caught sight of Drifter. "Ah, so the Dawn of Men has indeed slipped from the clutches of darkness. Does Gandalf think that having you will even his odds…two rangers instead of one, is that how it is? Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those who are closest to him…those he professes to love! Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

"I've heard enough!" Gimli growled from behind Legolas. "Shoot him! Stick an arrow in his gob!"

"No!" Gandalf once again argued. "Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared!"

"Save you pity and your mercy. I have no use for it!" Drifter cringed as Saruman directed a bolt of fire at her and her companion; however, Gandalf luckily protected both himself and her from the destructive heat.

"Saruman," Gandalf stated calmly, "…your staff is broken!" The woman breathed a sigh of relief as Saruman's staff burst into splinters, but her chest once again tightened upon seeing Wormtongue appear next to their enemy.

"Gríma!" Théoden called. "You need not follow him! You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan. Come down."

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman chided. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory of Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-Master. You are a lesser son of greater sires!"

"Gríma…Come down! Be free of him!"

"Free? He will never be free! Get down cur!" he finished, slapping Wormtongue to the ground.

"Saruman!" Gandalf continued. "You were deep in the Enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"

"You withdraw your guard and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!" Just as the words left the wizard's mouth, Gríma began stabbing him from behind. As Saruman fell, Legolas took advantage of the situation and shot Gríma. After Saruman's body had impaled itself on a spiked wheel nearby, Gandalf simply told Théoden,

"Send word to all our allies and to every corner of Middle-Earth that still stands free. The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."

"The filth of Saruman is washing away," Treebeard contentedly said. "Trees will come back to live here, young trees, wild trees."

"Pippin!" Gandalf suddenly cried in alarm as the young hobbit jumped from his perch and picked up Palantir from the water. Pippin was staring into the stone when the wizard approached him and insisted, "Peregrin Took, I'll take that my lad. Quickly now!" After Gandalf had retrieved the Palantir, Drifter lowered herself into the water to help Pippin mount Aragorn's horse once again.

"Ah, little mistress far traveler!" Treebeard exclaimed. "You have not changed since our brief encounter but a short time ago."

"Perhaps not outwardly," the woman replied climbing back onto Shadowfax. "It was good to see you, Treebeard."

"What about the promise you gave to me? Have you found the Entwives, yet?"

"I am afraid not…but I promise you that, if I am still alive when this is over, I will scour all of Middle-Earth to find them."

"You have my thanks."

As soon as they had emerged from Fangorn, the companions urged their horses to a gallop for several hours before Edoras finally came into view.

--

Once inside the city, Drifter went directly to the chambers offered to her…anything to avoid Éomer, who had taken up the habit of watching her when it seemed that she would not notice. The woman instantly went for a bath, coming out a half an hour later back into her room, brushing her hair. The moment she set the comb down on her bedside table, she heard a knock at the door. After checking to make sure that the tie on her light blue robe was secure, Drifter opened the door to reveal Éowyn.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the other woman said, "but I have few questions."

Drifter tried not to wince as Éowyn's apology reminded her of what Clorissa had said at Combe, what seemed, so long ago…before the future events Drifter had seen in Galadriel's Mirror had come true.

"No…apology necessary, Éowyn," she stated, admitting the woman of Rohan. After sitting down on the bed, the fair-haired maiden continued.

"Who is the woman Aragorn received the necklace he wears from? He said that she was sailing to the Undying Lands; however, my elvish knowledge is limited."

"He spoke of the Lady Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Lord Elrond. They fell in love years ago, but neither Aragorn nor Elrond wish for her to give up her mortality, for slightly different reasons, of course. Knowing Arwen and her stubbornness, she probably won't leave Middle-Earth...I hope."

"You know her well?"

"Though Aragorn may not know me, I know both of them extremely well."

"What are the odds that…Arwen…will leave? I mean…with the wishes of her father to leave…"

"Fine, Éowyn, I admit that I don't know and that there is a very good chance she will eventually listen to Elrond."

"Then…is he…I mean…could…" Éowyn stumbled over her words until Drifter interrupted.

"Can you leap for the opportunity? Win his heart? Go ahead! But you will not have my support." Her last words were like ice, causing the other woman to back away towards the door. Clearing her throat, Éowyn whispered,

"One last thing…there is a celebration for the victory in an hour. Théoden invites you."

Immediately after the thick wooden door clicked shut, Drifter flew to the bed, stuffed her face into a pillow, and screamed as loud as she could, enjoying the fact that the sound was muffled. A moment later, she stood, smoothed her hair, and went to the closet. When she had first laid eyes on Éowyn, she never imagined that the girl could be so persistent and frustrating, even to a ninety-seven year old mixed breed.

Fifteen minutes later, Drifter emerged from her quarters, wearing a forest green, ankle-length dress, much like the one she had worn in Rivendell, except that the fabric was not quite so soft or rich in color, and the sleeves were tighter. Although she went in the direction of the Hall for the celebration, the girl carried her elvish cloak on her arm, for she did not intend to stand around all night in a crowd. Meandering through the many corridors of the palace, Drifter finally stepped across the threshold of the Hall. One of the few serving girls handed a wine-filled mug to her as Théoden lifted his goblet in a toast, along with the other people filling the spacious room.

"Tonight," the king stated, "we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead."

"Hail!" the people replied in unison. Hesitantly at first, Drifter chugged her wine before directing her feet towards the exit. Her eyes first caught sight of Gimli and Legolas taking part in a drinking contest. Normally, the sight would have made Drifter laugh uncontrollably, but she felt no joy in watching the two friends as she caught Éomer once again staring at her. Shaking her head furiously in disbelief, the woman began walking forward, but she then caught sight of Éowyn offering a goblet to Aragorn, who accepted the gesture. At that, Drifter raced out the front door, putting her cloak on as she went.

(Aragorn)

As he walked towards Gandalf, the Man noticed Drifter running towards the exit, donning her cloak on the way.

"No news of Frodo?" Aragorn quietly asked the wizard.

"No word. Nothing," was the worried reply.

"We have time. Every day, Frodo moves closer to Mordor."

"Do we know that?"

"What does your heart tell you?"

"That Frodo is alive. Yes…yes, he's alive." Suddenly, Gandalf looked particularly concerned as the door at the far end of the Hall shut behind Drifter. "Falathiel worries me."

"How so, old friend?"

"How would you feel…if you were ninety-seven years old and have lost nearly everything you ever loved? When she chooses to reveal her identity to the world, you will understand her better, Aragorn. Since this latest battle, something has changed about Falathiel for the worse. She may be three quarters human, but the elf part of her is beginning to fade."

"What makes you think that?"

"Look into her eyes, Aragorn, and tell me that nothing is different. Have you noticed how she shuns Éomer? Falathiel has loved three men in her life. One forgot her, and the others died right before her eyes. Now, she believes that she has no heart left to give, when, in reality, she is simply letting herself fade. Falathiel has convinced herself that she can simply let herself go after she has seen you on the throne, that there is no other reason to live…at least that is my guess. She may not even realize it."

"You seem to know her rather well." Gandalf chuckled.

"Indeed."

(Drifter)

The woman breathed in the fresh, cool air, calming her strained nerves. Legolas and Gimli were settling into the new lifestyle, Éomer was eyeballing her like a lovesick calf, Aragorn was getting himself wrapped around the finger of Théoden's niece, and Gandalf had hardly said a word to her since his return.

Drifter walked to the right side of the terrace, knelt down, and put her head in her hands, crying for first time Moria. Life would never be the same.

Thanks for reading! Please review! Don't forget to vote!

I really didn't mean to make Éomer seem like a stalker of any kind, but that's just sort of how it ended up. Drifter's view of him will get better...eventually. :)