Thank you everyone for the reviews! I'm glad to hear you've enjoyed the beginning of this story, and hope you endure and enjoy it till the end :) Take care!
Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.
Before the hoof beats of the Riders had even begun to fade, Alandria had begun to acquaint herself with her new steed. "You are Hasufel?" She asked softly, gazing kindly into the creature's large brown eyes. The gelding pricked his ears in reply, and yet again, the hint of a smile teased her mouth. "I am Alandria, and from your country. The Third Marshal tells me your previous Rider fell - I am sorry to hear that. But you are strong, and very beautiful. I ask that you bear our burden only for a short while." The sturdy chestnut bobbed it's head, perhaps in compliance or perhaps because a fly was bothering it. Either way, Alandria took the motion as a reply, and swung herself smoothly into the saddle. She sat impatiently and watched Legolas and Aragorn lift Gimli abroad Legolas' steed, the desire to gallop and feel the wind in her hair nearly driving her mad. It had been so long since she'd ridden, so long since she'd even touched a horse. Once the Dwarf was unstablely seated, the Elf leapt into the saddle with more grace and ease than Alandria had ever seen, and Gimli quickly grasped the blonde man's cloak. Only then did Alandria realize she and Aragorn had to share as well.
He stood beside her steed, mentally deciding how best to get on. Alandria decided to help, and slid her feet out of the stirrups, knowing she would need them less than him, and straddled the pommel closely, then held out her arm. The Ranger grasped her arm firmly in his left hand, and slid his left foot easily into the stirrup. He hopped once, twice, and then once more even harder, while Alandria simultaneously pulled his arm across her chest. The larger man settled behind her surprisingly smoothly, and slipped his other foot into the empty right stirrup, before gently resting his hands on her waist. Alandria shivered against the touch, at the closeness of his body to hers, but if he noticed, she never knew.
"Thank you, my lady."
"Is nothing. I only hope you do not mind that I'm doing the main riding."
"Nay, I would not dare deprive you of such a homecoming gift."
She heard the smile in his voice, but did not return it. "To the smoke?" She simply replied, already turned to the cloud of burned flesh rising over hills.
"Aye." And at his word, she smoothly nudged the horse into a fast canter, worrying a gallop with two riders - even if she was fairly smaller than the man - would be unfair to the beast.
Legolas and Gimli followed easily, and Alandria soon forgot the sorrows and pain of loss to the rush of grassy wind, and warm speed of her steed. She hadn't truly realized how much she missed her country until she returned. The luck of receiving two fine horses from Èomer and the Rohirrim awed her, and she did not take it for granted, reveling in every second that passed and she was abroad the magnificent creature. She could feel it's strong leg muscles rippling beneath her with each stride, and the pants of it's breaths, and the thunder of the hoof beats, like a song welcoming her back. Aragorn had not been wrong when he called her opportunity to ride a homecoming gift. There could be nothing grander than this.
Only when the stench of the burning corpses hit her nose did she realize her thoughts were wrong. Soon the travelers were only meters from the slaughter, and Alandria slowed her horse, surveying the scene with severely dampened spirits. She was wrong. The hobbits here, safe and waiting for them, - that would be grander than this. A soldier of Gondor behind her, rather than a Ranger, - that would be grander than.. - no. She stopped her thoughts, returning to the task at hand as Aragorn dropped from the horse. She soon followed, and saw Legolas help Gimli dismount, before turning back to the brutal scene.
The Uruk-hai and Orc corpses were heaped hap-hazardly into large piles, black and burning, the stench fouler than anything she had smelled before. Everything was black. And dead. There was no possible way Merry and Pippin were alive, and it would take hours to find them among the stench and slaughter. She knew the others thought similar to her, and she stood numbly, waiting to see what would be done. Legolas stood, eyeing each body he saw lying around, before sighing and bowing his head, murmuring a soft prayer; Gimli nudged with his axe through the smoldering pile of bodies, searching uselessly; Aragorn clenched his jaw and surveyed the scene with hard features, furious that their relentless chase had been futile and their friends were gone. Alandria didn't know what do - she had no tears left still, and the pain of loss was familiar enough to her now that she did not notice when it grew stronger.
"It's one of the Elven belts." She heard Gimli murmur, and looked over to see him holding a blackened belt, empty sheath attached. One of the sheaths for the daggers the two Halflings had received in Lòrien.
Suddenly, a roaring cry burst from the previously silently Ranger. It caused the other three to start in surprise, the spontaneous, harsh yell of pain from the normally controlled man. It raised goose bumps on Alandria's skin, such fury and defeat was in the cry. After his outburst, Aragorn furiously kicked an Uruk-hai helm, sending it recklessly away as he fell to his knees in despair. Alandria heard the shallow, shaking breaths he took, laced with distraught emotion.
"We failed them." Gimli whispered, his words speaking their shared thoughts and pain. Alandria merely nodded, agreeing to the letter, but reluctant to speak.
"Aragorn, perhaps we should leave for Edoras." Legolas offered, watching his friend closely.
But the Ranger shook his head, his eyes focused intently on the ground. "A hobbit lay here." He murmured, touching a slight indentation in the grass before him. "And the other." Alandria didn't find his observations interesting, all four of them already knew Merry and Pippin had been there. But the soft-spoken man was intent on whatever he saw in the grass, following signs invisible to her with his hands, following an unseen path. "They crawled…their hands were bound....their bonds were cut!" He exclaimed, and picked up tattered thick ropes, which had been clearly cut apart. Now Alandria, Legolas, and Gimli followed and watched the Ranger curiously, each daring to hope. "They ran over here...they were followed.." Now Aragorn was jogging across the mess of trampled ground and slaughter, his tracking eyes still seeing things blind to the others, but his voice told them everything. "The tracks lead away from the battle!" The trio behind followed quickly, until the man pulled up short, staring ahead with wide eyes. "Into Fangorn Forest."
"Fangorn." Gimli echoed in awe. "What madness drew them in there?"
"I do not know, but they are alive." Aragorn replied simply, relief flooding his voice.
"But how could we know that for sure?" The Dwarf argued. "Just because we Dwarves dwell underground doesn't mean we haven't heard the stories of Fangorn! A dark place, it is! What chance could two little hobbits have?"
"The Forest is not evil, Gimli." Legolas replied softly, blue eyes peering deep into the dark wood. "And you do not want to get on it's bad side so soon."
"It has a bad side, does it? Nothing but trees, Legolas! And whatever witchcraft Saruman has put in it!"
"Think what you wish." The Elf's reply was bored, and distracted, and he continued to watch the forest.
"We enter nonetheless." Aragorn finally declared. "Without proof, we do not claim our friends dead. We will find them. And it shall be in Fangorn Forest."
Before any other could argue again, the tall man strode purposefully into the mass of trees. Alandria followed after only a second's hesitation, having too heard tales of what the Rohirrim called the Entwood but unbothered by the rumors. She did not hear Legolas enter, but Gimli thudded behind her clearly. They walked carefully, the lurching and groaning of the dark places alerting all their nerves, but especially Gimli's, who jumped whenever so much as a leaf moved. Aragorn continued to try and track, but shortly lost the hobbit's trail.
"They're....gone." He murmured in disbelief, kneeling on the ground and scanning the dark floor with hardened, confused, features.
"Gone?" Legolas asked.
"What, dead?" Gimli inquired, still watching the forest.
"No. Gone. As of here," He pointed to a slightly disturbed patch of ground. "there are both the hobbits' tracks, followed by an Orc with a limp. But here," He pointed a matter of inches ahead, where Alandria saw nothing of any importance. "They've disappeared."
"And the Orc?" Legolas questioned, only to receive his reply in the form of Gimli spitting and muttering, 'orc blood.'
"Here." Alandria answered better, nudging a disgustingly flattened black corpse.
"Looks like a large troll stepped on it!" Gimli proclaimed, but Aragorn shook his head, having ignored their find of the orc body and running ahead, again scanning the ground.
"No." He murmured, more to himself than for their ears, as the three jumped over boulders and fallen wood, following the Ranger's hurried tracking. He knelt down carefully then, lifting a finger-full of dark dirt and leaves to his nose, then lowering his hand. "These are strange tracks. Not troll. Not orc. Not anything I've seen before.."
"This forest is old," Legolas spoke softly. "Very old. Full of memory...and anger." Alandria glanced at him in question, catching the look of deep thought on his fair features. Just then a loud groan echoed around them, followed by the creaking such as old wood. Gimli huffed, quickly raising his axe in caution, as the Elf's eyes widened. "The trees are speaking to each other!"
"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed, motioning at the disgruntled Dwarf. "Lower your axe!" Hesitantly, the stout man obeyed.
"They have feelings, my friend." Legolas explained, a faint, wistful smile on his beautiful face. "The Elves began it, the waking up the trees, teaching them to speak.."
"Talking trees, hm?" Gimli snorted, still eyeing the forest. "What do trees have to talk about, hmpf? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings.." Alandria raised an eyebrow in mild amusement, before observing the dark trees around them disbelievingly. She had to agree with the muttering Dwarf - talking trees seemed far too much like a story.
Her attention was soon taken by the blonde Elf again, as he strode lightly across the dark earth, and pointed an urgent flow of Elvish at Aragorn, the only one in their group who could understand it. Aragorn followed quickly, leaning close to whisper another foreign phrase Alandria did not comprehend - although the Elf's returning words were clear, and in Common Tongue: "The White Wizard approaches."
She felt her blood chill at the mention of the Wizard, nervousness and faint fear tingeing her mind. Aragorn nodded at the Elf's words, and his hand immediately reached to the blade at his side; the others followed suit, each readying their own weapon.
"Do not let him speak," The man whispered. "he will put a spell on us." The anticipation was thick in the air, tension and fear lacing everyone's bodies as they held their weapons close. "We must be quick."
They felt the Wizard's presence behind them simultaneously, and turned just the same. Gimli let loose a short roar, only to have the axe he flung at the sheen of white light and robes shatter. Legolas' loosed arrow splintered. Alandria's blade seared her hand, turning red-white with burning, and she could not ignore the pain, flinging the weapon away. Aragorn was forced to do the same. Their defeat had been just as quick as the Wizard's appearance, and Alandria shielded her eyes from the radiant white light and much darker person in it.
"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits." The voice was eerily similar to Saruman's, but also seemed oddly altered underneath. Part of the trickery, for sure.
"Where are they?!" Aragorn demanded, his own gaze hidden from the light.
"They passed this way, the day before yesterday. They met someone..they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"
Alandria wanted to reply no, for the voice was not comforting in the least bit, even more so as it seemed to shift, taking on a more familiar sound. But Aragorn spoke first, in a demanding whisper. "Who are you?" The Wizard did not reply, and the Ranger cried, "Show yourself!" The White form complied, moving slightly and hiding the brilliant light which had blinded them so, bringing into focus the face they seeked. But not the face they expected.
Long, snow-white hair, with a matching beard; bright white robes, and a smooth, perfect white staff with a sculpted head; a kindly aged face, with familiar bright blue eyes and deeper knowledge than any could fathom. It was impossible, and for a long moment, no one spoke. Until Aragorn, forever the leader, found his voice first. "It cannot be." Disbelief that flowed through all their veins echoed in his whispered words, as he lowered his shielding hand.
"Forgive me." Legolas spoke next, lowering himself to a kneel, bowing his head. "I mistook you for Saruman." Gimli followed the Elf's bow, and Alandria did the same in awe.
"I am Saruman." The voice of their old friend was clear now, familiar and no longer laced with the tainted sound of Saruman the Trickster. "Or rather Saruman as he should have been."
"You fell.." Aragorn whispered again, soft, blue-green eyes confused.
"Through fire." Gandalf confirmed. "And water. On the lowest dungeon of the highest peak, I fought him - the Balrog of Morgoth. Until, at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought, and time. The 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. I have been sent back, until my task is done."
"Gandalf." Aragorn sighed, stepping forward with a faint smile.
The Wizard looked confused, staring past the Ranger with wandering thoughts in his eyes. "Gandalf...yes, that is what they used to call me." Aragorn nodded and Alandria felt new tears prick her eyes, not ones of pain, but different ones, of overwhelming joy as the Wizard's confusion turned into a soft smile of recognition. "Gandalf the Grey, that was my name."
"Gandalf!" Gimli echoed, his deep voice choked with his own tears of happiness.
"I am Gandalf the White." The Wizard replied, wise features turning serious once more. "And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide."
Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas were overwhelmed with joy at having their old friend back, and immediately embraced him warmly, each murmuring their welcomes. Alandria, however, held back, uneasy and untrusting. Eventually the others noticed.
"Now lass," Gimli commented. "standin' off to the side is no way to welcome back your friend."
Alandria didn't answer, but her eyes revealed her caution. Gandalf smiled softly, his blue gaze warm and his voice deep and reassuring. "She is worried I am a trick of Saruman's."
"A trick? Pah!" Gimli huffed, but Gandalf ignored him.
"A wise precaution, Master Dwarf," The Wizard's intense gaze fell on the short man for an instant, before turning back to Alandria. "But I assure you my lady, unnecessary. I am surprised you hold such caution, actually, for that was not your way before. Before, you would have welcomed me back with a warm embrace and a smile." The Wizard's weathered face still held a soft grin, but his wise eyes searched hers. I am sorry for your loss.
"Don't!" She shouted, covering her ears and closing her eyes, stumbling a step away. Her companions looked on in surprise and confusion, not understanding the outburst from the Lady of Rohan to the White Wizard. Alandria opened her eyes after a short moment, and slowly lowered her hands, her breaths shaking. He cannot be saved. "Not like that." She whispered, the memory of a voice in her head burning at the hole in her chest.
Gandalf nodded slowly, knowing gaze studying her intently, as the rest of the group continued to stare on in confusion, but knowing better than to ask. "You have endured a mighty hardship, Lady-Rider of the Rohirrim. I am sorry." She didn't reply other than to turn away, her body trembling with each thick breath. "You all have endured much." The Wizard added, glancing around at the curious faces around him. "But it is not nearly the end. Come, we must leave the forest." At his gesture, the four companions followed him, as he began to stride easily through the dark wood. "One stage of your journey is over, another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed." Alandria could not deny the relief and joy that flooded her veins at the Wizard's words.
"Edoras?" Gimli repeated. "That is no short distance."
"We hear of trouble in Rohan." Aragorn murmured, soft voice barely heard where Alandria stood. "It goes ill with the king."
"Yes, and he will not be easily cured." Gandalf replied.
"Then we have run all this way for nothing." Gimli grumbled. "How dare we leave those poor hobbits here, in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested..." He stopped his grumbling and ranting then as the trees began to groan, grumbling in reply. The Dwarf jumped, holding tight to his axe and watching the forest with wide eyes. "I mean..charming, quite charming, forest!"
Gandalf turned 'round on the Dwarf then, words quick and tone firm. "It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."
Alandria merely raised an eyebrow in faint amusement, convinced the Wizard before them was indeed their Gandalf, for she hardly understood a word that he had just said. Aragorn himself smiled softly, speaking her thoughts quietly to the Wizard, "In one thing you have not changed, dear friend: you still speak in riddles." The Wizard and Man grinned, chuckling softly, before Gandalf gazed back into the forest, seriousness and wonder creeping into his voice.
"A thing is about to happen, that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong."
"Strong?" The cautious Dwarf echoed. "Oh that's good."
"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf!" The Wizard chided, turning to return back to his quick striding through the forest. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!" Alandria didn't hear if the disgruntled Dwarf replied, for she followed quickly behind the Wizard and Ranger, eager to be on their way to her city.
No more words were exchanged as the Wizard hurried them out of the forest, much to Alandria's relief. Although she had not been worried to go into the mysterious forest, once there, the dense trees and lack of sunlight reminded her too much of the Lothlòrien Woods, and she felt suffocated within minutes. They broke into the clear light of the open Rohan plains and she sighed in relief, before drinking in the warmth and light of the sun, on the golden grasses she had missed so much. Their horses stood tethered to the edges of the trees nearby, and Alandria and Legolas both quickly freed their mounts. Alandria stroked her steed's neck and nose, murmuring to him for a moment before gazing back out at the beauty before her.
She was still enjoying the openness of the tree-less field, when a sharp, musical whistle split the silence. Alandria looked immediately to the White Wizard, and her assumption was correct - it was he, doing the whistling. The sound was high and clear, sounding more like a mystic song than a simple whistle. He finished his beautiful tune, and short, silent seconds later, a loud whinny replied. Alandria turned her head at the glint of white from a hill to her right, and had to blink for a few seconds before her eyes would focus on the image loping smoothly towards them. A tall, strong, brilliantly white stallion approached them with ease, his silver-white coat and mane glistening blindingly. He was beautiful, and in no way real.
"That is one of the Mearas." Legolas observed in awe, his voice echoing Alandria's feelings and thoughts. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."
Alandria continued to stare in disbelief as the beautiful horse cantered ever closer, before slowing as it approached the equally-white Wizard. "Shadowfax." Gandalf greeted, with a kind smile at the beautiful beast. The powerful steed came to a stop before the Wizard, snorting and nodding it's head, dark eyes glimmering with intelligence. "He is the lord of all horses. And has been my friend through many dangers."
"He wears no gear." The fair Elf commented, studying the white horse in admiration.
"He will tolerate none, for he needs none. Shadowfax sets the pace, and he knows the direction, whatever it may be."
"It is not possible." Alandria breathed, continuing to stare with fascinated eyes. "I was led to believe such a horse did not exist."
Gandalf continued to smile, whether because he found her disbelief amusing or was just happy she was speaking, none knew. "You are a lady of Rohan, Home of the Horse-lords, and did not believe Shadowfax of the Mearas existed?" He chuckled. "Where else would your country have gotten their fine steeds from?"
Alandria did not heed the teasing tone in her friend's voice, too entranced by the horse before her. "It is like a dream."
"I assure you, my dear lady, this is no dream. And because it is so, we must continue, with all haste. Mount, and we ride for Edoras!" The aged Wizard had surprising energy and strength, leaping upon his powerful horse with ease, even without saddle and bridle.
Alandria and Aragorn mounted as before, as did Legolas and Gimli. Alandria patted Hasufel's thick neck, talking quietly to him, encouraging all speed out of the steed. Gandalf met their gazes, nodded, and with a whistle, his brilliant stallion sprung forward as if loosed from a bow. Alandria quickly nudged her steed on, but the willing gelding needed little encouragement, as he was eager to follow the Lord of Horses, wherever he may go. Once the pounding of hooves against earth hit Alandria's ears, and the brush of rushing wind grazed her face, she finally realized: she was coming home.
They ran for the rest of the day, and until nearly noon the next day. They stopped far less than Alandria would have expected, but the horses bearing two riders didn't seem to be troubled. When they rested at night, it was for several longer hours than the chasing-trio had been used to, and was greatly appreciated. Alandria still did not sleep well, although better than she had. Being within the borders of her own land, and knowing Merry and Pippin were safe, comforted some of the turmoil in her heart. Yet still, now there was the burden of her King Thèoden being ill, her Prince Thèodred dying, and the finest fighters of all Edoras banished. She ached to continue, with no rest until they got to the Golden Hall, and set all to right. Who knew what troubles were burdened on her Lady Èowyn's shoulders? The Lady had never been weak, no, she was much like her hardened brother. But still, Alandria fretted and worried and it did not help her already weak attempt at sleep.
Somehow, she did drift off, although it was light and uneasy and full of images of battle. So light was it, that the near-silent murmurs of Aragorn and Gandalf woke her, just as the palest dawn crept over the hills. She could not hear them, for all she tried, and eventually she realized she did not care. Whatever they were speaking of was obviously their own concern, and she didn't need more troubles than she already had. So Alandria lay still on the hard ground, silent, and praying for the two leader's to finish their damned conversation so they could be off again, to Edoras. Again, her earlier fears and worries tormented her, and she glanced around silently at the dark campsite, noticing nothing but - not for the first time - the one who was not there. She trembled involuntarily, closing her eyes against the fresh wave of pain as his handsome face filled her mind once more.
Shoulder-length, red-brown hair - like autumn-leaves, she'd always thought; the short, red-gold beard; the broadest smile she'd ever seen, and it warmed her heart, eased her pains - whatever they were, every time; blue-grey eyes with their scattered flecks of pale green, like a faintly cloudy sky, changing from warm to cold, harsh to soft, troubled and concerned to comforting, and everything in-between. The thing that seemed to plague her the most though, whether in her dreams or in waking, was her soldier's voice. It was always there, in the back of her mind, and it drove her mad with agony. The rich, gentle voice, so deep and warm - it echoed in her head and gnawed at the bloodied edges of the hole in her chest. Yet as much as she hated the sound, the voice, she loved it beyond explanation. Never again would she hear his voice, such as never again she would touch him. Paintings or sculptures could easily be done in his memory, but his voice would never come back. He was never coming back. And all because, out of senseless paranoia, she had left him alone. Now she was the one alone. And so she deserved to dwell.
"My lady?" Alandria jumped at the soft voice, so close, and looked up from where she lay, into the pale eyes of Isildur's Heir. "We must mount, and be on our way." She nodded quickly, and scrambled to her feet in haste, quickly flushing out her previous wanderings from her mind.
She picked up the soft, dark, red-brown cloak that she had used as a sort of pillow, and dusted it off tenderly. She still did not like having taken the cloak from the fallen Gondorian Captain-General, but Aragorn had insisted. She reluctantly wore it, but only because she had no other choice - they had abandoned anything that would need carried when they began their chase. So she had draped it carefully over her shoulders, and then covered it with the grey-green cloak of Lòrien, knowing the enchanted Elven cloth would serve her better for disguise than the dark, Gondorian one. She did the same now, having used the Lothlòrien cloak as a blanket during the chill of the night. Her body groaned when she rose and took her first steps, as it had each morning since their chase began. Painful in different places it was today, thanks to their horses. Unhelping, the uneven, rock-littered ground made no sort of comfortable bed at night, especially without a bedroll. But they'd endured so far, and would continue to.
Alandria immediately made her way to Hasufel, stroking his short fur gently and finding peace in his relaxed presence. After a short moment, she grabbed his saddle from off the ground and, after settling the saddle-blanket comfortably upon him, hefted the saddle up. She adjusted it quickly and efficiently, a secret thrill running through her blood with the long-missed, familiar actions. His bridle had stayed on in the night, and she merely slipped the bit in-between his jaws, before pulling herself abroad him with ease. Only then did she pause to look at her other companions, and saw none of them were astride their mounts yet. Gimli huffed around the camp, munching on some lembas noisily, as Legolas prepared Arod and Aragorn and Gandalf spoke quietly still.
The White Wizard looked up at the sound of her steed moving, and smiled slightly. "Eager to be off, Lady Alandria?"
She nodded, patting Hasufel's warm neck. "We want to go home."
The Wizard nodded in return and, apparently finished with his conversation with Aragorn, moved towards his own mount. "And to your home, we go."
"My lady," The Ranger's gentle voice came from beside her again, and Alandria looked down. He held in his hand a small chunk of lembas, laid upon a large green leaf. "You should eat."
"I'm not hungry, my lord, but thank you."
He studied her carefully, his soft eyes probing further than she felt comfortable with. "You have hardly eaten since we began the chase. Then, I perhaps understand, as we had little time. But now we ride to your country, and Merry and Pippin are safe..will you not eat?"
"Please Lord Aragorn, I have told you I am not hungry. I will eat later."
"Just this, my lady. It is not much."
"My lord-"
"Eat it, my lady." His usually soft, quiet voice grew firm, and Alandria saw the command in his gentle eyes. Hesitantly, she nodded, and took it from him. He would not, however, join her in the saddle until she'd eaten it all. Even though the chunk of Elven bread was indeed not much, it felt like too much all the same and her stomach churned uncomfortably shortly after it'd passed her throat. But Aragorn was satisfied, and settled behind her - much to her discomfort, yet again - smoothly. They were all seated then, and with a nod, Gandalf led them on, to Edoras.