A/N: And with that, we continue! What did you guys think of Íverin's little nightmare scene? Hopefully you could figure out what she was seeing, and possibly even who she was hearing. I think it turned out rather well! ^^ Enjoy this next chapter!

Disclaimer: I swear upon the grace of the Valar that I own nothing except Íverin. Happy, copyright? -_-'

For a little while we rode, following the haunting trail of smoke that floated on the breeze. Legolas and Gimli rode on Arod, the white horse, together, while Aragorn and I took Hasufel, the brown one. With every passing minute, my fear grew. If Éomer was right, if Merry and Pippin really were dead...I couldn't even think about it. After an hour or so, we finally came in sight of the burning of the Uruk-Hai. As soon as I saw it, I jumped off the horse and ran towards it, ignoring Aragorn's cries for me to stay back.

I coughed as I got closer. The mass of burning, rotting black bodies emitted a horrible stench that would have made me vomit, had I not had a good purpose for visiting the death site. It was marked as a victory for the horsemen by the head of a single Uruk on a spear, with an expression so disgusting, I had to look away. Smoke blew everywhere, and I ran in slow circles around the pile, searching for any sign of the hobbits.

Gimli also joined me, and began picking through the corpses with his axe. Not two minutes later, after flinging aside the arm of an enemy, his face fell. He reached in and pulled out one of their woven belts, given to them by Galadriel herself, out of the wreckage. "The belt..." he said hoarsely.

Legolas put a hand over his heart, quietly whispering a prayer. Aragorn screamed in fury and kicked a helmet across the grass.

For a moment, I was absolutely still. They were dead. Merry and Pippin were no more. Our search had been in vain. We...we had failed them. I sank to my knees, crying openly. And all because they were mistaken by those idiot riders! For a couple of dirty Uruks, no less! How could the men of Rohan be so blind? How could they be so ruthless as to kill two innocent Halflings?

Someone touched my shoulder. "Get off me," I hissed. I stood up and turned around to see Legolas standing there.

"I am sorry," Legolas said quietly. He looked down. "I thought you-"

"Thought I what? Thought I was upset? Thought I was angry? Well, look how smart you are," I seethed. "I don't need your stupid hugs. We could have run faster, Legolas. We could have saved them! Do you not understand? We failed! WE! FAILED! And you're not helping!" Angrily, I stormed away, walking over to my cousin as I wiped my eyes. It was over. All for nothing. The evil voice from my nightmare rang in my head again. "All you love will perish."

Ignoring it, I looked down at Aragorn. "Now what?"

Instead of answering, he felt the ground, where there was a large dent in the dirt. "A hobbit lay here," he said sadly, "and here, his companion." He pointed to another dent off to the left.

"Aragorn," I said, "we cannot stay here. They...they are gone."

But again he ignored me, his eyes now searching the ground. "...they crawled." He rose and followed the scuffed up earth. "Their hands were bound." Now all four of us followed the trail. Aragorn bent down and ripped a piece of dirty rope from the ground, examining its severed edges. "Their bonds were cut!" A new hope rose within me. Could they be alive?

Now he ran back and forth, following their tracks. "They ran over here...then here..."

I noticed another set of tracks, heavier, not that of a hobbit or horseman. I tapped Aragorn's arm and pointed them out. "They were followed," he said. I grew angry again. Those foul creatures! If they so much as gave the boys a bruise of scratch, I would kill them personally.

"The tracks lead away from the battle!" We ran away from the pile of corpses, and suddenly stopped short.

"...and into Fangorn Forest," I breathed.

"Fangorn..." Gimli whispered. "What madness draw from in there?"

The forest looked old and twisted. The Wood-Elf in me longed to explore it, discover the secrets it held. "Danger or no," I said, "we must go in. We did not come all this way for nothing." Checking that my knife and sword were still by my side, I ducked under a particularly low hanging branch and headed in.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

For many miles we walked in silence, save for the occasional groan or creak of the trees. It did not frighten me, but I was certainly wary of what I said or did in the forest's presence. As we walked, I kept my eye on Legolas, who at this point was walking ahead of me with Aragorn. I felt guilty now about the harsh words I had spoken to him, but the anger in my heart still glowed like hot coals. It was not the time to apologize. Not yet.

Gimli reached out and wiped a black substance off a nearby leaf, tasting it. He instantly spat it out. "Orc blood!"

I raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know what the horrid stuff that flows through their veins tastes like?" He laughed.

"This forest is old," Legolas said. "Very, very old. Full of memory...and anger."

I watched the trees as we passed them by, remembering the tales that Elrond had told me growing up. He had spoken of the Ents, the shepherds of the forest. Trees that walked and talked to each other, and knew everything that was worth knowing. A peaceful race, but a fading one, and when provoked, very dangerous.

There was another groan, and another, and another. We stopped walking. Gimli gasped and raised his axe.

"The trees are speaking to each other!" Legolas said. He seemed in awe of what was happening.

"Gimli!" Aragorn whispered. The spooked dwarf looked at him. "Lower your axe!" He did so.

I closed my eyes, listening to the trees. Bitter memories of war, and Orcs especially, filled my mind. They were angry with the Orcs, no doubt, but there was something else they were telling me. A warning. I opened my eyes. "We are not alone. Someone draws near."

Legolas nodded. "The White Wizard approaches." My body tensed.

"Saruman," Aragorn whispered. "Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us."

I nodded and grabbed my sword.

"We must be quick," he said, and we all turned around. I withdrew my sword from its sheath. And old man stood there, but a blinding white light obscured his face.

Gimli threw his axe, but Saruman managed to block it. Legolas shot at him, but with lightning speed, the wizard blocked the arrow as well. With a cry, I leapt forward, planning to run him through with my sword, but he thrust out his hand, and an unseen force threw me backward, knocking the blade from my hand. I stumbled and fell, and Legolas caught me in his arms. Aragorn's blade burst into flames, and he dropped it. Standing up, I squinted from the light, afraid now that I knew we were unable to hinder him.

The wizard spoke, his voice deep. "You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits."

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded.

"They passed this way. The day before yesterday." Something about him seemed familiar. "They met someone they...did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Who are you?" Aragorn said. The old man did not answer. "Show yourself!"

The white light finally faded, and what I saw absolutely astounded me. There in front of us stood Gandalf, clothed fully in robes of white. His hair was also white, sleek and straight, not gray and bushy as it had been before. His staff was carved out of white wood also.

"It cannot be..." Aragorn whispered.

Gimli and Legolas got down on their knees, bowing to him. Aragorn stood stone still in shock. "You fell!" Aragorn said.

"Through fire...and water," Gandalf replied. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought with 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've been sent back until my task is done."

"Gandalf..." I said. I ran forward and tackled him in a hug. "Gandalf...I've missed you so much!"

"Gandalf?" He released me and looked around, as if recalling an old memory. "...that's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey...that was my name."

"Gandalf," Gimli smiled.

The old wizard smiled back. "I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you know...at the turn of the tide."

He led us out of Fangorn, moving quickly, explaining his plan along the way, but I was not paying attention. I slowed my pace until I was side by side with Legolas, and as we walked, I talked quietly in his ear.

"Legolas, I...I am so sorry for how I acted at the sight of the Uruk-Hai. I do not know what came over me. Grief, I suppose, but that is no excuse for how I acted. I did not mean anything I said. Can you ever forgive me?"

He looked up at me and grinned. "Oh, thank the Valar! I was starting to think you were really upset with me once you stopped talking to me. Yes, Íverin, I forgive you. How could I not?"

I smiled. "Thank you!" I reached over and gave him a quick hug.

We emerged from the depths of Fangorn and out into the bright sunlight, standing once more on a large grassy plain. Gandalf whistled, first high, then low in pitch. For a moment, it seemed like nothing had happened. And then, from far away over the rolling hills, the whinny of a horse could be heard. A great white stallion came galloping to us, moving faster than any horse I had seen before.

"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell," Legolas said.

"Shadowfax," Gandalf said with a smile. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers." He stroked the horse's neck.

Two other horses came up with Shadowfax. I smiled. "Hasufel!" I smiled as the familiar brown horse trotted up to me. We quickly mounted our horses as we had done before and set off, with Gandalf leading the way. As we rode along, I asked the old wizard, "Where are we going?"

"To Edoras!" Gandalf replied. "King Théoden is in dire need of healing."

I was confused by his last statement, but did not ask what he meant. Onward we rode, until at last we came in sight of the capital city of Rohan. The town sat atop a great hill that rose up out of the ground near the Ered Nimrais. The town seemed very quaint and peaceful, with several cottages for homes, but as we rode through, the people looked at us like we were evil spies come to harm them.

"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," muttered Gimli.

At last we dismounted our horses and came upon Mesufeld, the Golden Hall, were the King resided. It was a very impressive building, made completely out of wood, adorned with gold accents everywhere. We climbed the large steps, and were greeted by several guards in armor.

"Ah!" Gandalf smiled. He must have recognized them.

One man with long, red hair, spoke. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame, by order of...Gríma Wormtongue." He said the last name with a bitter disrespectful tone.

Gandalf nodded, and motioned for us to hand over our weapons. Reluctantly, I gave them my sword, knife, bow, quiver, and pack. Once we were stripped of our belongings, I made to go in, but one of the guards stopped me.

The red haired man motioned toward Gandalf. "Your staff."

"Oh..." Gandalf frowned. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick." He shifted his weight slightly to make it appear that he actually was leaning on it.

The guard looked at him for a moment, then sighed, stepping aside to let us pass. I looked up at Gandalf as we walked in, and he gave my a sly wink. I smiled.

Once we entered the Golden Hall, I was yet impressed. The building was massive, with ceilings arching high above our heads. Horse decorations were at the top of several pillars that held the roof up, and a large trio of kettles hung over a fire pit in the middle of the stone floor. At the far end of the hall, there was a throne, and in it sat an old man. His beard was greenish and ragged, his face pale and wrinkled, and his eyes looked...drained of all happiness. He seemed on the verge of death. Shadow surrounded his throne.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King!" Gandalf called.

The King stirred for a moment, and then answered weakly, "Why...should I welcome you...Gandalf Stormcrow?"

Suddenly, one of the shadows by his throne moved, and from it emerged a thin, pale man, with eyes large and greedy. His hair was jet black and greasy, and he was clothed in black as well. When he spoke, I wrinkled my nose, for his words had a foul air about them. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear!" He stepped down from the throne's platform and strode up to Gandalf. "Lathspell, I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" Gandalf commanded. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." He stuck his staff in the pale man's face, and there was a deep roll, like that of thunder.

The pale man's eyes widened. "His staff...I told you to take the wizard's staff!" he hurriedly backed away.

Guards charged at him from all sides. The first one I saw, I punched him in the face, knocking him down. The others followed suit, taking down each guard one by one as Gandalf strode forward. "Théoden, son of Thengel!" he cried. I kicked another guard in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. "Too long have you sat in shadow.'

Legolas snapped his fist up without looking back and hit a man square in the jaw. I tackled another.

With a roar, Gimli pinned the pale man down on the ground with his foot. "I would stay still if I were you," he hissed.

Gandalf reached the foot of the King's throne. "Harken to me!" The tortured man looked up, and more men gathered around us, but did not attack. Gandalf raised a hand, and an unseen wind blew through the hall. "I release you...from your spell."

The old king began to laugh, but not a cheerful laugh. And evil, bitter laugh. I frowned. It had not worked. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." He laughed again.

Within the blink of an eye, Gandalf straightened and cast aside his grey cloak that he had been wearing. His robes of white now shone brightly, and every eye in the room was drawn to him. Théoden sat upright in his seat with a gasp.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." Again he thrust his staff forward, and the King cried out as he was slammed back against his seat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman with fair skin and long, wavy, blonde hair dart towards the King with a frightened look in her eye. Aragorn grabbed her and held her back. "Wait!" he said.

The old man spoke again, but a chill went through me now. He did not speak with the voice of a wounded man, but the deep, evil voice of Saruman. "If I go...Théoden dies!" He writhed in the chair, trying to escape.

Gandalf slammed him back again. "You cannot kill me, and you will not kill him!"

Saruman glared at him and resisted again. "Rohan is mine!"

"Begone!" Gandalf demanded.

Saruman twisted in the King's seat, and for a moment was still. Then, with a terrible cry, he leapt forward, rising out of the King's throne, and straight for Gandalf. The White Rider, in turn, shouted back, thrusting his staff once more, as if to spear him. He threw Théoden back into his seat with a bang, and was still.

The King groaned, and slowly fell forward, out of his throne. The woman snapped free of Aragorn's grasp and ran to him, catching him just before he fell to the ground. She sat him upright, and he took deep, panicked breaths. As if by magic, the deathly look about him was lifted, and his hair grew shorter, deep gold in color, with wavy locks that fell to just above his shoulders. A scruffy, short blonde beard was on his face, and his eyes regained a bright blue color as well, looking wise and proud. The flicked frantically around, like a deer caught by its prey.

Finally, he looked at the girl holding him. "I know your face...Éowyn..." He smiled, then looked up at his healer. "Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled. "Breathe the free air again, my friend."

King Théoden rose, looking around. "Dark have been my dreams of late." He looked at his own hands doubtfully.

"Your fingers would remember their own strength better, if they grasped your sword," Gandalf advised.

One of the guards brought Théoden's sword forward. Slowly, he gripped the hilt, and unsheathed it, holding it proudly. After a moment, his gaze settled on the pale snake that was his servant, and a cold hatred burned in his eyes. He walked slowly but menacingly towards the man, herding him outside onto the steps of Mesufeld. On his command, two guards picked him up and threw him down the steps. There Théoden met him, anger consuming him as the traitor writhed on the ground, crying out in pain. "I've only...ever...served you, my lord!"

Théoden did not believe him for a second. "Your witchcraft...would've had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" He swung his sword up to strike him, but before he could bring it down, Aragorn jumped in, grabbing his arms.

"No my lord! No, my lord! Let him go!" Many shot him a confused look. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account." Théoden hesitated for a moment, and finally agreed.

"Get out of my way!" The man in black screamed as he fled, pushing people aside.

All the townsfolk gathered around their leader, joyous to see him well again. "Hail Théoden King!" someone shouted, and all bowed down to him, including myself.

And then Théoden looked up, as if a sudden realization hit him. "Where is Théodred?" he asked to no one in particular. "Where is my son?"

A muffled cry could be heard, and I turned around to see the woman from inside covering her mouth with her hand, eyes glistening with tears. What had happened?

"My lord..." one of his servants walked up to him. "Your son...he is dead."

The look on Théoden's face made me want to scream. "How? How did this happen?"

"He was slain, uncle," said the girl, "by a band of Orcs in battle." She wept.

Théoden was silent for a long moment. "...Take me to him." The guard led him outside of Edoras, to a group of hills dotted with white flowers just outside the gate. Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, the girl, and I followed, along with a few other servants. We stopped in front of one of the mounds, where a small wooden marker lay in the grass. It read: Here lies Théodred, son of Théoden, Prince of Edoras, and Captain of the Horse-lords.

We all stood, silently grieving for the fall of the young man for awhile. Then, one by one, people began to leave. I was one of the last to leave, following the girl up the hill, but not before catching some of Théoden's last words. "No parent should have to bury their child." Tears sprung to my eyes, and I walked faster up the hill, desperate to escape the despair.