The Crebain may be filthynogoodevil birds, but that doesn't mean that they are stupid. They aren't pretty like the snobbybigtail peacocks, or nice like the squawkysilly chickens, but they are useful. They like being useful for their whitefurryangry human; they want to see him bare his teeth and stroke their feathers like how the humans with the nosyscaryloud dog do it. It's funny how humans bare their teeth so much when they are happy, but the Crebain don't question it. Their whitefurryangry human is never happy, though, and so the Crebain get loud angry noises and smacks instead of stroking from him.

And then everything changes when the notbirdstillflock human comes, because he becomes their new human! The Crebain caw in happiness at thinking about him; their notbirdstillflock human does not bare his teeth in happiness much either, but he gives them the best stroking ever. Sometimes he even picks lots of tastyjuicysweet berries and puts them in his skin – and it's so odd that humans can take off and put back on their colorful skin like that – and then he feeds them the tastyjuicysweet berries while giving them the best stroking. And so the Crebain like their notbirdstillflock human very much, and want to share their happiness with the otherflock Crebain too.

But then everything goes wrong. Their notbirdstillflock human fights with the whitefurryangry human, who doesn't want their notbirdstillflock human to give the otherflock Crebain any stroking – and the Crebain are angry at that, because the whitefurryangry human should learn how to share, and so they tell the otherflock Crebain to stop being useful to the whitefurryangry human and help their notbirdstillflock human instead. And something their notbirdstillflock human does makes it easier for the otherflock Crebain to disobey the whitefurryangry human, and they don't have to nest in the darksmokysmall tower anymore – they can choose where to make their own nests instead!

But that doesn't make things better, because their notbirdstillflock human is still in trouble, now that the colddarkfear monsters have taken him! Truly, the Crebain don't know how their notbirdstillflock human manages to survive without them, because he has so many enemies. Sure, he can fight well, and he taught the Crebain how to hunt better with their claws and beaks, and sure, he is very clever and cunning, more clever and cunning than the Crebain, but he is still not as good a fighter as the two horsyhunter humans, and cleverness and cunningness just aren't enough, as the Crebain know through harsh experience.

But in the end, it's all going to be ok, because their notbirdstillflock human doesn't just have cleverness and cunningness – he has the Crebain as well. And the Crebain will not let anyone, not even the colddarkfear monsters, hurt their notbirdstillflock human. And if it means being clever and cunning and protecting the two horsyhunter humans instead of fighting the colddarkfear monsters directly – because the Crebain know that they'll lose, and maybe die, and leave their notbirdstillflock human all alone and without Crebain to stroke – well then, the Crebain will just have to protect the horsyhunter humans and watch as the colddarkfear monsters carry their notbirdstillflock human away for now.

Because they will get their notbirdstillflock human back in the end. They will. And then their notbirdstillflock human will be happy, and feed them tastyjuicysweet berries, and maybe, maybe even bare his teeth at them! That must happen.

That must.

Warm darkness wrapped around Rercyn like a silken cocoon. Groaning softly, he tried to burrow deeper into the wonderful feeling. Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could stay here forever – away from the fear, away from the tiredness, away from the horrible memories of dark shadowy terrible monstrous beings...

With a gasp, Rercyn jerked into abrupt wakefulness. Scanning his surroundings wildly, he slumped in relief to see that Eorel was slumbering peacefully at his side...and tensed again at the realization that Raza was not. Increasingly panicked looks around the little campsite bore no fruit, as the scowling visage Rercyn so wanted to see was nowhere in sight. Swallowing hard, the weight of what had happened came crashing down on him.

Raza was gone. Because Rercyn...because Rercyn had failed.

Had failed to protect Raza. Had let his king be carried off. Had swooned like a weak maiden, like a callow Ranger facing his first Orc. Had been utterly useless...

"It's amazing how cheery Rercyn looks in the morning, doesn't he? If I squint hard enough, I wouldn't notice the gloom-doom cloud hanging around him at all! Why, he hasn't changed at all from the old days of his being a cute, angsty little child!"

A nervous-sounding giggle broke out. "H-he was like this when you trained him, too?"

"Indeed. Ah, it brings back so many old memories. Our Rercyn, always a ray of beauty and joy when he has that just-woken-up-please-kill-me-now expression pasted on. One wouldn't think that he's grown up since then at all! His wife is such a marvelous woman, to bear that look every morning. And every evening. Oh, and every moment between mornings and evenings..."

"I'll thank you to keep Acalith out of your grubby mind, Addroc," Rercyn tried to smile, as he turned towards his friend. Judging by Addroc's fading grin, though, he wasn't very successful.

"Well, that's fine gratitude from you there!" huffed the grizzly Ranger, looking worriedly at the two. "Show your old mentor some respect, especially in front of his new students! You're making me look bad, y'know!"

"I'm sure that you make yourself look bad very easily, old man. All my respect for you disappeared on that unforgettable day that you decided to take me and Eorel out to carouse the taverns; seeing you drunk and singing bawdy songs with Wudon was quite enough to traumatize my mind for good. Speaking of Wudon, where is he? It's been too long since I last talked to him." Rercyn rose to his feet as he spoke, relishing the keen ache in his limbs which told him that yes, he was still alive and ready to do battle. Looking more closely at his surroundings, he detected the two boys peering at him curiously while swinging on the tree above Addroc. Ah, to be young and fresh again, he thought, sparing a brief thought of wistfulness for his old days as a wide-eyed trainee Ranger under Addroc's and Wudon's care.

"...Ah. Wudon." Addroc's voice changed; broke upon that single word. Startled, Rercyn turned his eyes away from the boys – though not before noting the sudden sad look upon their youthful faces – and regarded his old mentor again. The grief in Addroc's eyes nearly took his breath away, and in a flash, he realized what the old Ranger was reluctant to say.

Wudon...was gone.

Staring at Addroc, he nearly voiced the question, both needing and dreading verbal confirmation. But Addroc's eyes...his eyes were all the confirmation Rercyn needed. Tipping up his head to the sky, Rercyn let the sharp sorrow slice through his heart.

Wudon...was dead.

Sweet memories appeared in his mind's eye, unraveling before him the entirety of their loving relationship. Images of the weather-beaten old Ranger, laughing with Rercyn, talking with Rercyn, being there for Rercyn through thick and thin, rose and fell.

Wudon. Oh, Wudon. His mentor. His role model. His father-figure.

I will miss you so.

And Rercyn took a deep breath, and cast the sorrow away from him like a well-worn cloak, to be taken up again when the time was right. Looking back at Addroc, Rercyn attempted a smile. Addroc had tried to cheer Rercyn up before this. It was now Rercyn's turn to do the same. "So, how came all of you to be here? Chased out of the city again by suspicious innkeepers?"

Addroc snorted and took up the friendly banter again with an eagerness painful to see. "Nay, though I swear that the people hereabouts grow evermore cantankerous and unwelcoming to the weary Ranger. Unfortunately, 'tis behavior which our respected Steward has lately seemed to share! Behold, Rercyn," and here Addroc swept wide his arms in a grand gesture, "your cavalry. Ow!"

"Ah! Don't strain your injuries so!" cried out one of the boys in distress as he dropped down from the tree and rushed to Addroc's side, the other boy following closely at his heels. Disregarding the old Ranger's protests, they dragged down Addroc's right sleeve to display a neatly bandaged shoulder and began to inspect it. Rercyn watched with surprise, then increasing amusement, as Addroc flapped and shouted for quite awhile before managing to shoo the boys away on a firewood-collecting mission. Slumping down with poorly-hidden relief, the old Ranger cocked a jaundiced eye over at Rercyn and said warningly, "Don't even think of saying anything."

Wisely, Rercyn stifled a chuckle. In all his merriment, however, his keen eyes hadn't missed the fact that Addroc had hammed up his indignation to the lads' mother-henning. Addroc wanted the boys gone before he talked to me, and probably for a good reason. "Not at all. I'm curious, rather, by what you mean by 'cavalry'?"

"Ah. 'tis a long tale, one," and here Addroc lowered his voice, "unfit for impressionable young ears. Before I start, however, understand that I would never speak ill of Steward Denethor; he is a good ruler for Gondor. Unfortunately, he has been beset with many difficulties over the past few months. Mayhap you've heard of his lady's illness?"

"Of course! I believe that she took ill...why, she took ill two years ago, I reckon, when Eorel and I were still near enough to the city to receive news. Surely she has recovered since then?"

"Sadly not, laddie. Lady Finduilas' condition has been steadily worsening; 'tis doubtful that she will live through this year. The Steward has been fretting over her very much; some would say overly much. I say 'tis nonsense – what husband, much less a loving one like the Steward, could remain calm about his wife's impending death? But such are the wagging tongues on the street; they believe that he has been neglecting his duties for the poor lady. As if the Steward would ever do that! But everything might perhaps have still been fine, if some of the Steward's uppity counselors hadn't taken it into their fool heads that this was an opportune time to stage a coup by bringing forward a false heir to the throne! Naturally, the Steward would take none of their nonsense, and exiled the whole treasonous lot from the land, but 'tis clear that he is in quite a state of agitation. Ah, it does my heart no good to see him welcome the New Year with such a heavy burden on his shoulders."

Rercyn gulped. Cautiously, he lowered his head, hiding his expression away from the keen eyes of his mentor. His head was reeling from all the unexpected news. False heir! Treason! Exile!

The sudden appearance of a royal pretender wasn't a problem; such imposters appeared from time to time throughout Gondorian history. Rercyn was convinced that Raza was not one of them; such imposters rarely had more than a pretty tale to spin to back up their assertions, and they almost certainly never had the royal healing abilities that Raza possessed. However, this news, coming so soon upon the heels of Rercyn's late-night conversation with Eorel, greatly disturbed the poor Ranger; he truly didn't know what to think or do now. Certainly he couldn't tell Addroc of Raza's existence. Warily, Rercyn remarked, "It appears that Eorel and I have been away from the city for too long. However, I see little reason that this should be kept secret from your young students. Surely everyone must know of it by now?"

"Oh, aye, that's not the news I was speaking of. Rather, it's the Steward's increasing disregard for the Rangers which I disapprove of. Mayhap you remember the urgent message you sent awhile ago, regarding your guarding of an 'important person'? That message was singularly uninformative, and so we could do nothing other than wait for further information, which you never sent. I'll be speaking with you on that later, laddie; it appears that you've forgotten the need for sending constant reports back to the city. But anyway, a few days ago, another message turned up, demanding that the Steward send you aid. I didn't see it, but young Rigel was the carrier, so he told me that it ordered, practically ordered the Steward to send out all Rangers to, and I quote word-for-word, 'rescue the important crow-traveler guarded by two Rangers'. Oh, and to 'bring light upon our travels'. Odd, is it not?"

Rercyn sucked in a disapproviing breath. "Who'd be presumptuous enough to order the Steward around?"

"Hah. Believe it or not, 'twas Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim!"

"Mithrandir? The wizard that the Steward detests?" Rercyn's incredulity and confusion was unfeigned. What association could the wizard possibly have with Raza?

"Aye, 'tis a puzzle, right enough! Verily, if it was as urgent as the wizard made it out to be, why could he not use his powers to rescue the crow-traveler himself? Well, naturally it didn't sit well with the Steward, to be ordered around in such a high-handed manner, and yet your message made it clear that something was going on with you two, so we Rangers pestered him to let us investigate. But, well, the Steward was already in a temper from his lady's illness and the failed coup, so what should he do but make it a first-level trainee mission!"

"What? But...but that's preposterous! This is too far from the city safety zones to bring trainees! How old are those two boys, anyway?"

Addroc sighed despairingly. "Mablung is but a mere twelve years of age, while Damrod is ten. The same age as the Steward's elder son, Boromir! 'tis shameful indeed, that they'd be caught in this...this power war between the Steward and the wizard!"

"Yes. Quite." Rercyn grimaced. "I take it that the two youngsters know nothing of this?"

"Naturally. 'tis not my place to question the Steward, nor is it within my heart to deprive the two children of their joyful pride at being chosen for such a demanding mission. And thus far, they have comported themselves admirably. Mayhap you've noticed the odd increase in Orc activities lately? Curious, is it not?"

"...quite." Not at all, if one realizes that the Orcs were all targeting Raza.

"It took us off guard, the first night we travelled out into the wild. Wudon," and here Addroc took an unsteady breath, "Wudon had the first watch, and just managed to raise the alarm before the Orcs took him down. Fortunately, Mablung and Damrod didn't panic; they followed each and every one of my instructions to the letter. It was wonderful to see them, Rercyn; young they might be, but the talent and initiative they show is incredible. You have them to thank for saving you last night; after we escaped the Orcs, they pleaded that we continue the mission. We've been travelling and fighting Orcs for the past few days – and one of those great brutes tried to tear my arm out! It was just a stroke of good luck that we heard you and Eorel crying out and reached in time to chase off those strange creatures," and here Addroc couldn't restrain a shiver, "that were attacking you. 'tis fortunate, too, that they seemed wary of the fire-torches we were holding. What were they?"

"Vala knows," murmured Rercyn, fighting to stave off his own shudder at the memory of the cold, terrifying beings. It appeared that the story was at an end, and yet, looking at Addroc's careworn, well-beloved face, Rercyn couldn't help but think that there was more to it than Addroc would ever confess to. Addroc and Wudon are far too old and respected to be made instructors of first-level trainees. They shouldn't have been gadding about in the wilds like this! They must have finagled their way into this mission after hearing that it was Eorel and I who were in trouble. Oh Wudon. Discreetly, Rercyn passed a hand over his wet eyes, mourning the unneeded sacrifice of his mentor. Oh, Wudon.

Addroc's next question, though, dispelled much of his sorrow and replaced it with panic. "So, what of your news, Rercyn? I warrant that it must be very interesting indeed! What might be so important about this crow-traveler that the wizard speaks of?"

Swallowing hard, Rercyn smiled weakly. "Well, ye-es, that's a truly interesting tale to tell. Heh."

Addroc waited, but when it became clear that Rercyn wasn't prepared to speak further, he prompted him again. "Come now, speak up! 'twill be an interesting thing to discuss, I warrant, on our trip back to Minas Tirith. How came the wizard to..."

"We're going back now?" demanded Rercyn, startled. "But what of...what of the crow-traveler?"

Addroc blinked. "You mean that there truly is a crow-traveler? I'd just about convinced myself that it was all wizard nonsense! Well, I saw no crow-travelers, though I do see crows." He gestured at the tree behind Rercyn. Rercyn glanced upwards.

A dozen pairs of beady black eyes peered back down.

Sucking in a surprised breath, Rercyn swung himself onto the tree. Disregarding Addroc's surprised and curious look, he murmured to the little Crebain, "Now, why might you be here?" The Crebain cawed. "Where's Raza?" As one, the little birds looked to the east. Nodding his head, Rercyn spoke again, hopefully. "I don't suppose there's a chance that you could tell me what on earth's going on?" At that, the Crebain just fluttered their wings and gave Rercyn no reply. Rercyn sighed and nodded. "Right."

"Rercyn." At Addroc's stunned, yet increasingly amused tones, Rercyn glanced down. "Mayhap my eyes are deceiving me, but...are you speaking to those little birds?"

Rercyn sighed again. "The number of odd things Eorel and I have had to do over the past few days would surprise you, Addroc. At any rate, I'm afraid I have to say that they are not the crow-traveler whom the wizard referred to. Rather, that title belongs to a man who, I believe, has been carried off by the strange beings you saw. We need to get him back as soon as possible."

"I can't say I fancy the thought of fighting those beings, Rercyn, especially with two youngsters tagging along. Perhaps if we could send a message to the city, to ask for further reinforcements..."

"That'd be advisable, but I'd still prefer it if we led the chase. That man is very important, Addroc, more than I can say. It's truly urgent that we retrieve him at all costs!"

Faint sounds filtered into Saruman's consciousness. It sounded like...humming? Yes, that was it. Someone was humming a little tune. Hmph. Saruman did not welcome this disturbance. Grumbling a little, he shifted around into a more comfortable position and flapped an imperious hand at the annoying voice. "Go. Leave me be."

But wait. Something was wrong. His own voice sounded odd and croaky. Saruman frowned and tried again, in a stronger tone. "Go awa...ack!"

The sharp pain in his throat pulled Saruman fully awake. Sitting up and groping for his neck, his hands grabbed hold of...bandages? Disregarding the voice, now fussing at him to "leave those bandages alone, Saruman!" he dug suddenly-shaking fingers under the dressings, and encountered...scars. Deep, ropy scars stretched across his neck from ear to ear. The last memento of the Crebain.

But no. No, his throat couldn't be damaged. That'd mean that his Voice could have been damaged. That'd mean that his power, his talent for persuasion, was compromised. He was a wizard, the head wizard, the chief of the White Council; surely he could heal insignificant wounds with ease. The damage couldn't, couldn't be permanent...!

"Saruman. Saruman! Calm down!" Forceful hands pried his desperate fingers away from his neck. Saruman blinked, startled to see a worried face swim into view. A worried, deeply familiar face. A worried, deeply familiar, much hated face. Shaken and confused, unable to quickly bring up his usual mask of false courtesy, Saruman instinctively blurted out a less-than-flattering greeting.

"By the Vala, what are you doing here, Gandalf the Grey?"

Gandalf was unperturbed at his sudden hostility. Puttering around Saruman's bed – like an old woman, Saruman thought uncharitably – he was slow to reply. "All in good time. You must not try to talk just yet. Though that wound will heal fully with time, the damage it wrought was curiously severe. I was quite anxious to see you in such great pain."

Pain? Oh yes, Saruman remembered pain. The injuries the Crebain inflicted were nothing compared with the agony wrought from his unknown attacker's mental assault. Thankfully, Gandalf appeared ignorant of the true reason Saruman had been injured so badly. Disregarding the old wizard's admonition to keep quiet, Saruman snapped out, "Bah! I could have taken care of it easily. That still doesn't explain your presence here. Were you not enjoying yourself at...the Shire?" He barely managed to contain a sneer at his last words.

"Yes, I was. However, urgent business called me away. Perhaps you might have heard of an odd man traveling to Minas Tirith? I know little of him, save that it is imperative that we find him before less savory characters do. However, I had barely reached the borders of Gondor before I sensed a great disturbance in our bond. Imagine my shock to find that your link to the bond had been destroyed!"

Saruman stiffened in sudden fear. Link? Bond? He knows of my bond to the Crebain...wait. Abruptly, he remembered the other bond that he had. The bond that linked him to the other four wizards of Middle Earth. The bond of the Maiar.

That particular bond was one which the wizards had, in the early days, used to call together the White Council. For the Maiar, newly arriving at the unfamiliar land of Middle Earth, that bond had been a source of comfort and companionship. Though it was mostly an inactive bond, its presence, humming quietly in the back of minds, had served to remind them that, no matter how far they were from each other, they were not alone. Over the years, however, as the wizards became more familiar with their dwellings and more comfortable with other modes of communication; as the differences between them became more pronounced, they grew distant from each other, slowly but surely pulling away from the bond.

Saruman had, in truth, forgotten about the bond altogether. As he turned inwards to explore his mind, though, he was disconcerted to realize that it had been burned along with the Crebain bonds by his unknown attacker. Trying to ignore his inexplicable sense of loss, Saruman focused back onto Gandalf's tale.

"...and we decided that, since I was the closest to your lands, I would make my way here in all haste. So, I sent a message to Denethor, requesting that he complete my quest, and rushed to Isengard. I admit that I was most relieved to find you alive. Indeed," and here Gandalf's voice lowered with some unnamed emotion, "I had feared the worst. When I saw you lying so still, broken, bleeding, wracked by pain..."

Gandalf stopped, seemingly overcome by the fearful memory. Saruman, too, was silent; he could imagine all too well the disgraceful image that he'd presented. To think that Gandalf had seen him brought so low! The sheer indignity and mortification he felt nearly choked him.

After a long while, Gandalf finally spoke again. His voice rose again with passion, for he now pursued a familiar argument that had been discussed between the two countless times before.

"And so, Saruman, my old friend, do you not see it? The destruction of the bond could only have been wrought by evil means! I plead that you listen once more to my request. Is this not sufficient proof that the Dark is still rising and that Sauron is growing evermore powerful? Our attack upon Dol Goldur was not enough; it had merely forced him to change his base of operations. Let us venture into Mordor and smite the evil within, once and for all!"

Saruman still remained silent. His thoughts, jumbled as they were, brought him no enlightenment. For what now could he do? His tentative alliance with the Dark was in a shambles; for he agreed with Gandalf that certainly his attacker must have been Sauron. Who else could have been as powerful? But oh, it galled him so to have been proven wrong. It galled him so to hear Gandalf's self-righteous claims...but no. No, it was uncharitable of Saruman to think so. Gandalf had dropped his quest, had dropped everything for my sake. Gazing at Gandalf's affectionate, caring smile, Saruman felt the familiar rush of resentment. But now...it was now mixed with a faint flicker of gratitude.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of his old friend's – rival? Helper? – face. His voice, when he finally spoke, was gruff and curt.

"I will consider it. Now leave me be."

A/N: Just wanted to make a few quick notes. Firstly, Severus hadn't intended to burn away Saruman's bond with the other Maiar, he just accidentally did it in his desperation to get the job over and done with. Secondly, Mithrandir is Gandalf. Thirdly, kudos to those who spot all the canon characters (at least five, if we're counting mere mentions of their name and blink-and-you'll-miss-it appearances) in this chapter!