A correction from my last note – the journey was four hours back and forth to London, •without• any music or a phone xD Heh, I was going to the US embassy and they don't allow any electronic devices. I'm not sure how I survived.

But yes, sorry for the delay with this! I'm studying in the US at the mo and have been so busy adjusting to the ridiculous amount of reading you are set that I forgot about this fic for a moment :D So here is an extra long chapter to make up for the wait!

XXX

Across the plains, the three Hunters (and one senile wizard) were galloping towards Edoras, the capital city of Rohan. A huge hill soon rose before them, clustered with houses and surrounded by a fortified wall. At its summit stood the Golden Hall, whose thatched roof shone in the early morning sun. It was an impressive sight.

The group checked their horses and came to a stand still. Gandalf patted his horse – Shadowfax - upon the neck.

"Edoras," he said, gesturing towards the city, "and the Golden Hall of Meduseld."

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I know, Gandalf. I've been here before, remember? I rode with the bloody Rohirrim under King Thengel."

The wizard just decided to ignore him: "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

Gimli gave a despairing sigh.

"Yes, we know. We were just discussing this on the way here."

Legolas threw Gandalf a suspicious look.

"How do you even know all this anyways? I thought you had died."

The wizard just shrugged.

XXX

Atop the hill, the Golden Hall was eerily silent. Éowyn, wearing a virginal white dress, knelt before King Théoden, stroking his palm with a shaking hand. The guy was badly in need of a manicure.

"My lord?" she murmured. "Your son, h-he is dead…" Her eyes were filled with tears. "My lord? Uncle?"

Théoden just sat there, staring mutely at nothing. Slowly, he lifted his clouded eyes to gaze at Éowyn.

"Dave's not here, man."

XXX

"So yes," Gandalf was saying, "as you can see, Théoden's son has just died, so we ought to be careful what we say. Do not look for welcome here."

The others gave him a bemused look.

"As we can see from what?" asked Aragorn. "We've just been sitting here in silence for the last thirty seconds."

Gandalf cleared his throat.

"Anyways, we better be off." He took up the reins again. "Talk about Fourth Wall reference overkill…"

XXX

Back in the Golden Hall, all was still. Éowyn knelt once more in the darkened bedchamber, weeping over the body of her dead cousin, who was sprawled, pale and lifeless, upon the bed before her.

Quietly, she kissed his hand. Behind her, a shadow lingered in the doorway; it was Wormtongue.

"Oh," he murmured, "he… he must have died sometime in the night." Slowly he walked into the room and came to stand beside her. Then, with a certain lack of subtlety, he gave a huge yawn and deposited his arm upon Éowyn's shoulder. "I understand his passing is hard to accept," he continued, in a sultry voice, "especially now that your brother has deserted you…"

With a weary sigh, Éowyn just took hold of Wormtongue's arm and disentangled herself from his embrace. She stood up from the bed.

"Dude, seriously, I'm not in the mood." She gestured with her hand. "Dead cousin and all. Just leave me alone."

Wormtongue drew closer, eventually circling around her as she stood there, frozen.

"Oh, but you are alone," he sneered. "Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness. In bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in about you-"

"Okay, stop right there," she said, thrusting out a hand. "You're making me dizzy."

Gríma put a hand to Éowyn's cheek.

"So fair, so cold," he sighed, "like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill..."

There was a moment, then, as they both stared deep into each other's eyes. Wormtongue flicked his eyes towards the bed – still containing a rather dead Théodred – and then back again, his non-existent eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner.

Éowyn's expression hardened.

"Dude, fuck you."

And she left Wormtongue standing there, blinking stupidly, and stormed out of the Golden Hall and down its winding corridors, bursting out of the front doors and knocking one of the guards off his perch in the process. He stumbled and fell from the precipice with a muted yelp.

Éowyn did not notice this man plunging to his death, however, as she was far too busy crying her eyes out in despair. Her hair borne up by the wind, she staggered towards the foot of the steps and put on her best angsty face.

One of the remaining guards couldn't help but roll his eyes; he nudged his friend in the ribs.

"She's crying again."

The other, hugging his spear against his side, attempted to count with his fingers.

"How many times is that now?"

As if to symbolize Éowyn's emo-tastic suicidal mindset, one of the standards flying before the Golden Hall ripped from its holdings and flew away, carried away down the hill by the breeze. Far below, Éowyn noticed three riders galloping across the plains toward Edoras.

"Ooh…" She lifted a hand and shielded her eyes against the sun's glare. "Is it just me or is that guy sparkling in the sunlight? Squeee!"

XXX

Far below, the Three Hunters (and one increasingly unstable wizard) passed through the gates of Edoras and climbed up the hill on their horses. Aragorn was the last to pass through the gates, and as he did so a flag suddenly whipped into his face, causing him to topple off his horse.

The others stood around, bristling with impatience, as Aragorn removed the flag from his face and studied it with a grin.

"Ooh, yay!" he said. "Blatant symbolism rocks." He let go of the flag, and let it drift away on the breeze.

Gimli frowned.

"But what is the symbolism in that?" He pointed at the flag, which was currently flailing about upon the grass nearby.

"Errr." Aragorn scratched his head. "… flags are evil?"

"Geez," said Legolas, who took up the reigns and rode on by, "I'm sure glad you're not our future king or anything…"

Aragorn returned to his horse and followed the others, oblivious to the corpse of a guard lying in the grass nearby.

Edoras was as merry as Samwise Gamgee when he has been informed that the buffet is closed – namely, it was not merry at all. Most people were dressed in black or varying shades of black, sweeping dirt away from on top of their dirt. Legolas spurred his horse to go on more quickly, fearing that his immaculate nails would be ruined if one of these peasants were to reach out and touch him. Aragorn behind him looked up at the Golden Hall above them, and noticed a woman dressed in white standing on the steps before it. She gave a little wave.

One of the peasants gestured towards Aragorn as he rode past.

"Who's he?" she said.

Her husband shrugged: "He must be a King."

"How can you tell?"

"Cause," said the husband, who went back to his sweeping, "he hasn't got shit all over him."

"I didn't know we had a King," said another, who stopped and leant upon his broom. "I thought we were an autonomous collective?"

XXX

The doors of the Golden Hall burst open as they approached, and they found their path blocked by a group of guards. The head guard, called Háma, had removed his helmet to reveal hippy girly locks. He gave them all an exasperated look.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," he said, gruffly. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue…"

Gimli scowled: "And what about the rest of us?"

Gandalf just sighed and gestured to the others to give up their weapons. Legolas removed his knives with a pretentious twirl, whilst Gimli grudgingly handed over his axe. Aragorn, however, hugged his sword to his chest and pouted.

"Mine," he moaned.

Háma massaged his temples.

"Look, would you just hand over the bloody sword please? This film trilogy is already long enough – we don't need another redundant argument holding up the plot."

The purists in the audience gave a hiss.

Aragorn stuck out his tongue: "Well, at least say 'please' then..."

Eventually, Háma persuaded the ranger to give up his weapons, but stood there bemused as Aragorn proceeded to pull out every conceivable weapon in existence from beneath his cloak. When he was done, there was a small mound of firearms, blades, arrows and grenades sitting on the Hall's threshold.

Everyone gave Aragorn a rather wary look, whilst Legolas simply reached out and handed Háma something with a sigh.

The guard studied it with raised eyebrows.

"Er, this is a tube of mascara…"

"That's right." Legolas blinked a few times. "Why do you ask?"

Háma shook his head.

"But this isn't a weapon."

The elf laughed.

"Obviously, you've never poked yourself in the eye when applying your makeup."

Háma passed the mascara over his shoulder with a disturbed look upon his face. The group then tried to proceed, but the guards still stopped them.

"Your staff," said Háma, with a little nod of his head.

Gandalf frowned.

"Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?" He gave Háma his best puppy dog expression.

Legolas spoke up: "Yes, but doesn't that stick also have magical pow-?"

Aragorn smacked Legolas upside the head.

Háma gave them all a dubious look – especially Legolas, who was rubbing the back of his head with a pout – and then gave a sigh and gestured for them to proceed inside. A triumphant Gandalf turned to Aragorn, and his eyelid was just in the process of closing when-

"No!" snapped Aragorn, putting up a hand. "Do not complete that wink!"

Gandalf frowned.

"Awww, why not?"

"Because…" Aragorn turned and pushed open the doors to the Golden Hall, avoiding the wizard's gaze. "You've done it so many times now it's crossed the line from jolly to pervy…"

"Oh, I don't know," said Gandalf, following Aragorn through, "at least it provides hilarious fodder for drinking games…"

The group entered the Hall in formation, with Gandalf leaning upon Legolas' arm and Gimli and Aragorn bringing up the rear. Théoden was sat upon his throne across the room, and he was staring blankly at something else entirely as they approached. Standing beside him, Wormtongue leant down and whispered in his ear: "My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming. He is a herald of woe."

Gandalf continued forwards.

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

"Yeah," said Legolas, "and you're all really bitchy today too."

Behind them, Gimli had noticed a group of rather hostile-looking men following them. He tugged upon the ranger's sleeve.

"Aragorn, there are people following us..."

The ranger stopped with a frown, and turned to gaze at said people, who had stopped and frowned at Aragorn in turn. He then took a step back, a step forward, two steps left and then two steps right. It was like looking at a mirror image of himself.

Ahead of them, Wormtongue whispered in Théoden's ear again.

"He's not welcome."

Théoden seemed to have finally noticed their arrival, for he struggled to speak at this: "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf… Stormcrow?"

Wormtongue gave a smirk, and rose to meet Gandalf as he stopped before the throne.

"A just question, my liege," he said. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. 'Lathspell' I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" barked Gandalf. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, bitch. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" He raised his staff with a flourish.

Wormtongue shrieked like a little girl.

"His staff!" he cried, backing away from the wizard. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

The guards just looked about shiftily, many of them whistling a distracting tune. Meanwhile, the hostile men who had filled the room suddenly sprang into action; Aragorn punched one of them as he approached, and gave a huge grin.

"Damn, I am sexy!"

Legolas and Gimli were caught up in their own tussles elsewhere, whilst Gandalf continued on towards the throne. One of the guards, Gamling, went to remove his sword and fight the intruders, but Háma held him back.

"Dude," he said, "just hold on. I'm trying to get fired."

"Théoden, son of Thengel," intoned Gandalf, "too long have you sat in the shadows…"

Wormtongue began to crawl away, unnoticed, amidst all of this. That is, until Gimli stopped him with a foot upon his chest, and gave him an oh-no-bitch-you-do-not-want-to-mess-with-me kind of look.

"I would stay still, if I were you," he growled.

"Okay," squeaked Wormtongue.

All was now still in the Hall, as everyone gathered around the wizard where he stood before the throne.

"I release you from this spell," he said to Théoden, as he closed his eyes and raised a hand. But nothing happened.

Théoden began to laugh, hoarsely, in a voice quite unlike his own. Gandalf opened his eyes again.

"You have no power here," he scoffed, "Gandalf the Grey!"

The wizard just lowered his hand with a smirk. Suddenly, the room was blinded by the dazzling white of his robes as he flung off his tattered cloak.

"Haha!" he cried. "You did not expect me to switch detergents, did you? Behold!" He lifted his staff, and forced Théoden back against his throne. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound."

And Gandalf dashed forwards then, and took Théoden's face in his hands to suck out the poison. Needless to say, Éowyn rushed forwards, pulled the wizard off her uncle and sucker punched him in the nose, feeling thoroughly repulsed.

Aragorn took her arm and pulled her back, as she rubbed her knuckles in dismay. He then reached down and whispered in her ear: "I am so into you right now."

Meanwhile, Théoden/Saruman leant forwards in his throne with some difficulty. His face was twisted in hatred.

"If I go," he snarled, "Théoden dies."

The wizard shrugged.

"I never liked him that much anyways." He jerked his staff and slammed Théoden/Saruman back into his throne. "Go on, kill the bugger – see if I care."

"Um, Gandalf?"

"Not now Aragorn!" snapped the wizard. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" He thrust out his staff again. "Go on punk, make my day."

Théoden/Saruman gave a low growl.

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone!" yelled Gandalf.

And the wizard thrust his staff out one final time. Suddenly, Théoden's body went limp as the wizard's presence left him and he slumped forwards in his throne.

Miles away, in the chamber of Orthanc, Saruman fell heavily to the floor. His forehead was bleeding.

"Ah, monkey balls."

Back in Rohan, Éowyn escaped from Aragorn's grip with a gasp and ran to catch her uncle as he fell. How on earth she would manage to support the heavy pile of furs and atrophied muscle all by herself was anyone's guess, but then nobody made any particular effort to help her. With a roll of her eyes, Éowyn struggled to heave Théoden back onto his throne.

Gradually, before her astonished eyes, his visage began to change: at first an old, grizzled man with clouded eyes, the lines and grey hair faded to reveal instead a young man with clear eyes, brown hair and a rather sexy ruggedness about him. Not that she would voice this opinion out loud, of course.

"Oh god," Théoden moaned, massaging his temples with a groan, "I'm coming down!" He turned then, and blinked a few times at the woman beside him. "I know your face…" He racked his brains for a moment. "…mother?"

Éowyn's tear-stained face just fell. Théoden looked down at the congregation before him.

"Gandalf?"

The wizard stepped back.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend."

Suddenly, the hall was filled with light from the westering sun. Théoden stood up shakily and looked about the Hall, shaking off the last cobwebs from his mind. Everyone was gazing at him in awe.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," he mused. He then looked down at his trembling hands before holding them up to the light. "Dude, my hands are huge!"

Gandalf smiled.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword."

Háma had appeared from nowhere, and brought with him the king's sword. Éomer gave a scowl from the shadows as, slowly, Théoden slid the sword out of its scabbard. He attempted to lift it up, but it fell out of his weakened hand and clattered upon the floor, impaling Háma through the foot in the process.

Everyone exchanged a shrug at the significance of this as Háma hopped about the Hall, yelping in pain and clutching his bleeding foot. With a whimper, Wormtongue tried to escape from Gimli's hold but was pulled back by the scruff of his cloak. The next moment, he was seized by the guards and thrown down the steps outside the Hall.

"Ah, crap," he hissed, massaging his back as he rolled onto his side. "I would have just gotten up and walked out, you know! Somebody is getting their ass sued!"

Everyone had followed the commotion outside. Théoden toted his sword with a menacing look in his eyes.

"Mushrooms, my eye!" Théoden growled, taking up his sword again. "Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

Wormtongue groveled at Théoden's feet.

"Send me not from your side."

Théoden was not about to show mercy, however (despite his propensity towards being a good guy) and promptly raised his sword to strike. Aragorn sprang forwards and held him back before he dealt the killing blow.

"No, my lord!" the ranger cried. "Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."

Théoden gave a frown.

"Yes, but won't letting him go result in hundreds more deaths when he tells Saruman about the culvert in the Deeping Wall?"

Aragorn lowered his voice: "Ix-nay on the ulvert-cay, okay?"

Théoden's face went blank.

"Huh?"

Wormtongue just shuffled uncomfortably in the background.

"Um, can I go now? All this talk of killing me is making me uncomfortable."

Aragorn waved a hand.

"Yeah, sure."

And so Wormtongue up and left, dashing away down the hill and stealing a horse on his way. No one seemed to care about this latter incident. In fact, they all just turned around and knelt down before Théoden instead.

"Hail, Théoden king!" cried Háma.

Théoden just ignored all of this mindless praise, however, and instead turned to go back into the Hall. He stopped in his tracks when he realised that someone was missing from the group.

"Where is Théodred?" he murmured. "Where is my son?"

They all exchanged an uncomfortable look. Eventually, Háma stepped forwards.

"Let's put it this way," he said, fidgeting a little where he stood. "Everybody whose son isn't dead, please raise your hand."

Throughout the crowd, hands were raised timidly into the air. Aragorn looked around at this sea of hands, and then scowled and swatted down Legolas' hand as he noticed it thrust above his head.

"You don't even have a girlfriend," he hissed at the elf.

Still oblivious, Théoden raised his own hand with a grin. Háma just shook his head sadly.