A/N: And we're off to Isengard! I realize I took forever with this chapter, like always. It's a little bit shorter than normal but I felt bad for making you wait so long and I figured you'd rather take a shorter chapter than wait any longer for me to scrape out another thousand words.
Boromir searched the crowd for Daphnaie as the king's escort left Helm's Deep, but she was nowhere in sight. That was strange. He'd expected her to see him off, but perhaps she was still upset with him. He sighed and maneuvered his horse over to Aragorn's, coming up on his left. Gimli sat with Legolas on Aragorn's right side. Boromir found their riding arrangement…amusing, but thought better than to comment on it. A small wagon with provisions and a few sensitive item's the Lady Eowyn did not trust with the main host travelling to Edoras rolled along smoothly pulled by another member of their party just behind Boromir.
Only about twenty men rode with Theoden on the road to Isengard. Boromir wasn't worried. He doubted they would have any trouble on the road. Saruman had sent nearly his entire host to Helm's deep, and any Uruk-Hai that had survived the battle likely died in the forest of Fangorn. A few hours after darkness had fallen, Boromir looked over at Aragorn
"How far have we ridden this night?" Aragorn was silent for a moment, looking ahead thoughtfully as though he could see all the way to Orthanc.
"Not very. The men are still weary from battle and move slowly." He turned his head toward Boromir. "I understand Theoden's desire to reach Isenguard quickly, but it would have been wiser to wait the night."
"The difficulty lies not in reaching Isengard, but in capturing that devil who holds it." Gimli's gravelly voice was unmistakable in the darkness. "I don't doubt he'll give us a merry chase." Aragorn did not seem as pleased by the prospect.
"If Saruman is yet in Isengard, he will be holed up in his tower. Easy enough to find but getting to Orthanc will be no simple task. It will be well defended. We should have brought more men."
"Do you think so, Lord Aragorn?" Gandalf called from up ahead. He didn't turn around in his saddle, but Boromir could tell he was smiling. "I would say our current party is unnecessarily large." The corners of Aragorn's mouth pulled up in a half smile.
"What do you mean?"
"I have a feeling it will not be so difficult to reach Orthanc as you think."
"And why do you say that?" To this, Gandalf did not reply.
"Very well. Keep your secrets, wizard." Aragorn sounded amused. "I expect we will find out soon enough."
"It is a cruel man who knows something his friends do not and keeps it to himself." Gimli said gruffly.
"You must consider a great many men cruel then, Gimli." Legolas said seriously, and Boromor shook his head. Who ever heard of an elf that teased? "Please forgive me. But for a desire to reach Isengard sometime this age, I would happily stop here and tell you everything I know that you are ignorant of." The two fell into the sort of happy argument Boromir was beginning to expect from the strange pair. A few of the men riding near enough to hear the conversation laughed. Boromir turned his head sharply to look behind him. He thought he heard one laugh that was decidedly too feminine, but he saw nothing unusual as he looked around. He must have imagined it.
"We will make camp here for the night," Theoden called from the front. They had been riding through a forested area for hours but had come to a large clearing. As they made camp, sentries were posted and would be rotated out in shifts. Boromir shared a small tent with Aragorn near the King's tent. After eating a small dinner with the men, a very questionable stew and some bread, Boromir collapsed exhausted in the tent. He fell asleep almost immediately, still fully dressed in his riding pants and leathers.
He dreamt of white—glistening white towers and turrets, houses and walkways. He dreamt of his city, Minas Tirith, as it should have been. It was a clear summer day, the sky a perfect blue, more perfect than he'd ever seen it with his waking eyes. The eastern sky was unmarred by the black reek of Mordor. Boromir stood in the small courtyard just outside his chambers. There were books and papers stacked by one of the stone benches, not his though—Faramir's. It was a shared courtyard; Faramir's chambers were on the opposite end. Boromir almost never spent time there, but Faramir was always there, preferring to study outside in the fresh air.
Boromir walked over to stand by the bench and picked up the papers on the top of the stack. They were reports from Faramir's rangers. He began reading:
Large force massing at Dol Guldir. Mirkwood and Lothlorien mounting defense. Success unlikely. Expect enemy forces on North by Northwest front.
Frowning, Boromir moved on to one of the other pages.
Easterlings headed north out of Mordor. Estimate size of host to be 200,000. Likely destinations—
A strong wind ripped the page from Boromir's hand. He reached for it, but the wind carried it away and over the wall. The sky began to darken, not to the East but to the North. Black clouds rolled in, and the light of Minas Tirith was driven out. The wind blew harder, knocking over Faramir's books and sending papers flying. It felt to Boromir as if the wind had turned to icy hands shaking him back and forth.
"Boromir," a voice called.
Boromir jerked awake and found Aragorn's hand on his shoulder.
"It is your turn for the watch," he said simply, unaware of Boromir's distress. Boromir only nodded. He stood and left the tent lost in thought.
It was only a dream. He tried to comfort himself. But another dream haunted him. He had once dreamt of a voice saying "Isildur's Bane is found," and had that not proven true? How can I ignore this dream with the memory of that other still fresh in my mind?
He walked to the edge of camp and took his watch position, ready for a long, cold night.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o. o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o. o.o.o.o.
Daphnaie squeezed out of the barrel she'd spent too many hours cramped inside. As quietly as possible, she slid out of the wagon full of stuff Eowyn had insisted Theoden's riders take with them. Most of it wasn't really important—a few trinkets, some books, and one very reluctant former Dryad. Daphnaie breathed in the fresh air and looked around, sending a silent 'thank you' to the Valar that they were camped in the forest and not on the plains. Crouching nervously next to the wagon, she could see tents lined up and a fire with a few silhouettes still huddled around it. She had heard them talking earlier, so she knew there would be sentries posted around the camp, but how many and where they would be she was less certain of. She began her way out of the camp, stepping lightly and soundlessly. Stealth, at least, was something she was used to. She needed to stretch her legs and it had been a while since she'd been in a forest. She wanted to look around. As she crept further from the light of the fire, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Just outside the camp, where the trees met the edge of the clearing, she spotted the shape of a sentry peering out at the dark forest. No Problem. One man? She'd gone undiscovered by countless men. This was hardly a challenge. She walked forward.
The sentry's head snapped towards her.
What? That's not possible! The man took a few lithe steps in her direction, and Daphnaie noticed some things about him. He was thin, much thinner than the average Rohirric soldier, and he walked too lightly to be wearing the heavy leathers they favored. She saw the outline of a bow in his hand—a long bow. The Rohirrim didn't carry long bows as they couldn't be fired from horseback. Daphnaie's stomach dropped. It must be the elf! She thought panicking. One of the Rohirrim she could get passed easily but the elf?
Okay, deep breath. You have to sneak past him. It's either that or crawl back into the barrel for the rest of the night. Her back ached at the thought, and she made her decision. She dug her bare toes into the soft earth thankful that Eowyn had suggested she pack her boots and some spare clothes in a separate container in order to fit more easily in the barrel. Reaching down, she grabbed a handful of dirt and began rubbing it on herself in order to dull the look of her exposed skin. Then she stood still and waited a moment. The wind blew her long hair to her left side. She would need to move with the wind, so it wouldn't carry her scent toward the elf. Next came the scary part: actually moving.
The elf was standing in the same place he had been, glancing around the forest. She walked left, away from him, finding the open spaces of the forest floor. The elf didn't react. Feeling braver, she picked up the pace. For another quarter mile, she took swift, long strides until the elf became a small dark spot in the distance.
A loud rustling made her freeze mid-stride. The brush beside her shook, and birds flew up from the forest floor, past the tree tops and out into the night.
Oh no, oh no, oh no. Heart pounding in her ears like drums, she forced herself to turn and look back behind her.
The elf was gone.
Run! Every instinct screamed at her, but she stayed where she was. Do something! Move! She stood for just a moment longer, then 3,000 years of conditioning took over.
-No. Can't Run. Too Loud.
-Then what?
-Hide!
-Where? She looked around but there were only small bushes around her.
-Small bushes and trees you fool!
-Oh. Right. She looked to the nearest tree. The lowest branch was a good distance off the ground. Deep breath. Go! She bent her knees and leapt forward.
Right. Left. Together. Up. She stretched and caught the branch in her right hand. Using her forward momentum, she swung around and landed on top of the branch in a crouch. She didn't pause there, but immediately sprang up to the next branch and the next into denser foliage. When she felt she was in a good spot outside the light cast by the moon, Daphnaie stilled. Keeping as much of herself hidden by the leaves as possible, she tried to slow her breathing.
Calm down. He won't find you, but you must calm down. Any sound, any movement could get herself caught. Daphnaie shuddered involuntarily. Eowyn hadn't warned her what might happen if she was discovered. Would they call her a spy again? Would they hurt her? Oh what did I even leave the camp for?
She was invisible by the time the elf appeared below her moments later. She didn't hear his approach, he was as silent as she, but his blonde hair shone in the moonlight. Eyes wide, she watched him survey the area. She feared if she even blinked, he would find her. He walked around slowly, crouching here and there to examine the forest floor. She willed herself not to shake when he approached her tree.
I am the tree. I am the tree. She thought to herself.He gazed upwards. She didn't so much as flinch. After circling the tree twice more—Valar, he was persistent!—he left, walking back towards the camp.
She waited up in the tree maybe half an hour before deciding it was safe to climb down. Back on the ground she had to stifle a yawn. She was coming down from her adrenaline high, and she suddenly felt so tired. She looked back towards the direction of the camp, made a 90 degree turn, and set out again.
Soon enough she came to a place where the earth felt smoother under her feet. She realized it must have been a dried up river bed. Gently, she sat down and dug her toes into the sand. Her whole body relaxed., and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Finally feeling at ease, she took a moment to examine the trees. They were so…strange, so different from the ones she was used to. They watched her just as she watched them. They were amazing—gnarled and twisted and ancient. This is why I left the camp: To see this. She wondered how old they were. Older than her? Probably. They could be many thousands of years old. They could live a thousand more years. If they weren't cut down or lit on fire, if they didn't die of sickness, and they got enough water, they could just keep living on and on and on. They were just as immortal as the elves, just as immortal as she had once been. What would they say, if she could talk to them as she had her old forest? What could they tell her? Her eyes scanned the warped branches and took in the oppressiveness of the canopy up above. These were crooked, bitter trees. They would speak of nothing pleasant or wholesome, but….still she would listen if she could.
"They are so strange, are they not? I have never seen trees like these in all my years." Daphnaie scrambled up from the ground and turned to the voice.
Fool! You should not have sat out in the open.
"But I suppose you are older than me, hmm? Have you ever seen trees like these?" The elf smiled handsomely and took a silent step towards her.
A/N: Annnnnd Cliff! Oops;)