Chapter XVI: Dead Faces
Gollum scrambled through the jagged rocks like a squirrel up a tree. Frodo, Merida, and Boromir were right at at his heels. The next thing they knew, Mount Doom loomed in the distance as the dark, foreboding landmark that it was.
"See? See?!" Gollum suddenly bragged. "We've led you out! Hurry! Very lucky we find you, yes, precious!"
Merida furrowed her brow in confusion, then rolled her eyes. Boromir briefly smirked at her reaction before continuing on, as though they were two mischievous children sharing an inside joke about some mutually disliked schoolteacher. Merida gasped when her foot suddenly sunk into the ground.
"Agh! It's a bog! He's led us into a swamp!"
"A swamp, yes, yes. Come, master," the creature remarked, glancing at Frodo. "We will take you on safe paths through the mist. Come, come! We go quickly."
Frodo was the first to follow Gollum. Boromir and Merida reluctantly followed him as well. The latter pulled her foot out of the puddle, ignoring the sogginess of her boot and the muddied hem of her dress.
"I found it, I did - The way through the marshes," Gollum bragged. "Orcs don't use it. Orcs don't know it. They go round for miles and miles! Come quickly. Soft and quick as shadows we must be."
Frodo, Merida, and Boromir looked on. The dreary, blood-chilling expanse of swamp stretched as far as their eyes could see.
...
"I hate this place. It's too quiet. There's been no sight nor sound of a bird for two days," Merida griped as she and the others sat down to rest. These breaks were few and far between. She rationalized that this was probably for the better since it'd probably mean that they'd be out of here sooner.
"No, no birdses to eat," Gollum lamented. "No crunchable birdses. We are famished! Yes, famished we are, precious!"
Merida rolled her eyes at his comment as he glumly slurped a worm. It amazed her how pathetically dramatic the little imp could be.
"Here."
Frodo tossed the creature a piece of the lembas bread he was eating.
Gollum looked up at him with puppy eyes and grinned ear to ear.
"What does it eats? Is it tasty?"
It wasn't long before he loudly spat it out and coughed.
"It tries to chokes us! We can't eats hobbit food! We must staaaaarrrve!"
Merida groaned. She often referred to her three little brothers as wee devils, but compared to Gollum, they were more like little angels... with titled halos.
"Well, starve then. Good riddance," she muttered under her breath.
"Oh, cruel miss!" Gollum whined. "She does not care what we hears or if we be hungry. She does not care if we should die!"
Gollum suddenly looked at Frodo.
"Not like Master... Master cares... Master knows..."
Merida raised her eyebrows.
Master...?
"Yes, precious. Once it takes hold... It never lets go."
Gollum reached for Frodo's chest, knowing instinctively where the Ring hung around his neck. Merida automatically threw her arm in front of the Ringbearer and glared at Gollum.
"Don't touch him!"
Gollum recoiled and gave a sulking glance back to Merida.
Frodo turned to her as soon as Gollum turned his back and went a bit of a distance, clutching the Ring.
"Thank you."
"It's nothing," she replied, concerned.
...
The four of them continued on shortly after their rest. Bursts of flame and murky ponds peppered the dreary landscape as they journeyed on. In fact... the flames looked eerily like will-o-the wisps.
Merida walked up to one of them.
She looked into the water and noticed the deathly pale faces in the water. She gulped, but couldn't pull away. Their eyes were closed. Some looked distinctly elvish, while others were garbed in Gondorian and Rohirric armor. A few hideous orcs dotted the morbid watery display.
"There are dead things - dead faces in the water!" Merida found herself stating in a panicked voice.
"All dead. All rotten," Gollum stated. "Elves and Men and Orcses. A great battle long ago... The Dead Marshes. Yes, yes, that is their name... Don't follow the lights."
Frodo's foot suddenly slipped into the water as he let out a loud gasp.
"Careful, now!" Gollum darkly warned. "Or you'll go down to join the Dead Ones... and light little candles of your own!"
Despite the creature's admonition, Frodo was staring into the face of a dead elven warrior, and Merida was suddenly lost in the details of another warrior - one who seemed to once have been a man of Gondor. The corpses' eyes suddenly opened, revealing soulless white orbs.
An invisible force pulled them into the water. Bubbles escaped from Merida's mouth as she tried to scream. Tendrils of ethereal hair and clothing mingled with her red tresses. Bony, wispy hands clawed and grabbed at Frodo's clothes and shoulders. His eyes widened in fear, reflecting the eerie, deathly glow of these spirits.
He glanced at Merida, his heart pounding. He swam towards her and wrapped his arms around her. If this is how they were going to die, then at least he'd be doing what he could to protect her.
Suddenly, the wraiths receded. The two of them watched in utter confusion as Boromir dove after them. They felt nothing as he passed through their bodies, fending off the malicious souls. They did however feel a pull of superhuman strength when he brought them out of the water.
The two of them coughed out the water in their lungs. As soon as he could speak, Frodo looked up at Boromir in awe.
"Boromir?"
The latter smirked.
"The Dead Marshes can't get to a man who's already dead."
"Don't follow the lights," Gollum repeated.
Boromir glanced almost ruefully at the gangly thing.
"You heard the little bastard."
...
It'd been only a few days since Gandalf had joined the company of Fergus, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They were now riding at a good speed across the plains of Rohan, their eyes set on Edoras. They were now very close to their destination- so close, in fact, that they could see its very gates from a short distance.
Gandalf slowed and paused to look upon them. Aragorn, Fergus, Legolas, and Gimli soon followed suit.
"Edoras..." stated the wizard. "And the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan... whose mind is overthrown."
At his last four words, Fergus' heart and guts sank into his boots.
"Be careful what you say," Gandalf said. "Do not look for welcome here."
With that, they passed solemnly through the gates of Edoras. The city would have looked like a dream kingdom of horses and fields had a dark, mournful shadow not fallen upon it.
The faces of the people looked sad and sullen, as though they were in the midst of an intense mourning period. In a way, they were.
"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli commented.
The four of them walked in silence until they reached the doors of the Golden Hall. Fergus felt as though something had turned his heart and stomach into two hefty iron balls locked in the cavity of his torso.
The doors opened with a loud creak, revealing a middle aged man in full Rohirric regalia with a long reddish dark blonde mane. His short matching beard framed his round face, his eyes dead set and serious. In spite of this situation, Gandalf still seemed to manage to muster a friendly greeting to the man and the guards that flanked him.
"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame, by order of..."
The man trailed off, as though he found his next words hard to swallow.
"... Gríma Wormtongue."
Fergus' eyes widened with shock. Right now, he was panicking inside.
What's happened to you, Théoden?! WHO THE HELL IS GRÍMA WORMTONGUE?!
As if on cue, Gandalf turned to him and the others and nodded reassuringly.
Aragorn was the first to give up his weapons to the surrounding guards, followed by Legolas, who gave up his arrows and daggers. Gimli reluctantly handed over his axes. Fergus followed suit with his own swords and other weaponry. However, he couldn't hide the cold, angry glare in his eyes as he handed it over to one of the guards, who promptly hurried back back to his post.
The captain glanced at Gandalf's staff, which was still in his hand.
"Your staff."
The wizard glanced at it, shifting his gaze back to the captain pitifully.
"Oh - you would not part an old man from his walking stick."
The captain glanced back into space, appearing to be caught in a mental rut. He eventually turned to lead them through the doors.
Gandalf looked over his shoulder and winked at the others. It barely did anything to calm Fergus' nerves, though he was glad that at least the wizard still had some control.
The hall had a dark shadow looming over it. A group of guards followed behind them. Fergus thought his gut couldn't drop any further until he finally saw King Théoden. He froze in his tracks.
The man he once knew was just just two breaths away from a corpse in his throne. His hair was white and thin, his eyes clouded and staring blankly into space. His face was lined with more wrinkles than Fergus thought was humanly possible. His robes looked like they hadn't been washed in ages. A pale man in black with greasy shoulder-length hair to match sat next to the hollow husk that was once the King of Rohan, like a vulture poised for a feast. This man was indeed none other than Gríma Wormtongue.
"My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming," Gríma whispered in Théoden's ear. "He is a herald of woe."
Fergus' eyes narrowed straight at him, ready to break his neck. He probably would have had Gandalf not spoken next.
"The courtesy of your halls is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King."
"He is not welcome," Gríma whispered again.
"Why... should I welcome you... Gandalf Stormcrow...?"
Théoden's voice was low and weary. His words lacked an ounce of conviction, as though he'd lost all will to speak or even breathe.
"A just question, my liege," Gríma commented. The pretense of him being some sort of advisor was disgusting. He rose from his place and addressed the five men before him.
"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he arrogantly announced. "Lathspell I name him! Ill news is an ill guest!"
Gandalf shot back almost immediately.
"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to brandy crooked words with a witless worm."
The wizard drew out his gleaming white staff. Fergus grinned sadistically at the sudden panic that now plastered Gríma's face.
"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff!"
Suddenly, the other guards swarmed in around them. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were quick rush in and fight off the guards. Fergus' smile only widened as one of them charged towards him. He was quick to grab him and send him flying towards the wall.
"Théoden... Son of Thengel..." Gandalf addressed. "Too long have you sat in the Shadows."
Gríma tried to slip away like the snake he was when Gimli suddenly placed his foot squarely on his chest, looking him dead in the eye.
"I would stay still if I were you."
Fergus immediately stopped what he was doing and looked up at the hollow shell that was once the King of Rohan as Gandalf approached him.
"Harken to me!" The wizard commanded.
"Come on, Théoden!" Fergus suddenly blurted. "You were once my old friend - you saved me when my own men would've left me for dead! I know that old man sitting in that throne isn't the real you! Come! Rise up and show the world who you really are!"
"I release you," Gandalf pronounced, "from your spell."
The wizard closed his eyes and opened his palm, as though he were releasing a powerful magic from the palm of his hand - which he was.
It took Fergus all of the strength he could muster (and then some) to stomach the next sound he heard without falling to his knees- a bout of mocking laughter from the man he once knew as Théoden.
"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey."
His clouded eyes suddenly shifted to Fergus.
"And you... How foolish are you, Fergus? To befriend your enemy? You should have stayed with your own kind! The world crumbles to greater powers because of stupid men like you!"
He laughed hysterically. Gandalf's gaze hardened with determination as he threw off his cloak, revealing gleaming white robes. Théoden's laughter immediately ceased when it blinded him.
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!"
Gandalf thrust forward his staff, which emitted a powerful force thrusting Théoden back and binding him to his throne.
A young woman in a white gown with long yellow hair rushed into the room as soon as she saw Théoden suffering. However, Aragorn was quick enough to throw an arm in front of her.
"Wait," he calmly commanded, almost reassuringly.
Fergus was on the verge of despair when the sudden change in Théoden's voice gave him a rude awakening. It was stronger, deeper - and definitely NOT his own.
"If I go... Théoden dies!"
Gandalf held his staff as though it were a spear and stepped closer to the fallen king.
"You did not kill me; you will not kill him!"
"Rohan is mine!"
The king jumped at Gandalf, who sent him back until he slammed against the back of his throne.
Fergus was stunned. In the blink of an eye, the strange voice within Théoden was gone. It seemed as though all of the energy was drained from him - so much so that he began to swoon and fell forward.
Aragorn released the woman, who rushed to catch King Théoden from falling to the ground.