Hello friends! This chapter is a bit on the longer side, but that's mainly because there's not too much original content, which is lame of me, I know, but I do like to be thorough in explaining things. I'll have another chapter soon to compensate though, don't be too angry!
"It cannot be," Aragorn whispered.
Legolas immediately knelt. "Forgive me. I mistook you for Saruman." Gimli followed his lead, leaning forward in an awkward half-bow.
Gandalf looked mildly surprised. "I am Saruman. Or rather, Saruman as he should've been."
"You fell," Aragorn whispered.
"Through fire," Gandalf became solemn. "And water. From the lowerst 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." Gandalf's hand tightened around his staff. "Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time. 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."
Aragorn was smiling as he stepped forward to grasp his old friend by the arm. "Gandalf."
Gandalf peered at him. "Gandalf? Yes…" His eyes twinkled as he regarded Aragorn. "That's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name."
Gimli, now, trying to keep a sob buried in his throat. "Gandalf."
Miraleth's smile dimpled her cheeks. "Mithrandir."
The old man gave them a knowing look as his lips piqued. "I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide." With that, he turned and whisked away, impatiently gesturing with his staff for them to follow.
Miraleth ran to match his pace, lacing her arm through his withered one as she'd done since childhood. "I Saw you rise from the ashes. Fortnights ago."
Gandalf chuckled. "Yes, my dear, I thought you might. Here," He held out his staff for her to hold as he pulled an old, gray cloak seemingly from nowhere and began to pull it on.
"Why did you not return to us earlier?" She pressed. "We have needed you. We have been alone, Gandalf."
"Well, there was business to attend to. We are in the midst of a war, after all." He took his staff back. "I've been here and there, running errands that needed to be run, saving the lives of your young Hobbits along the way. Such is the life of an old man." He smiled down at her.
Miraleth breathed a sigh of relief. Gandalf had seen to Merry and Pippin. She squeezed his arm a little tighter.
"I even stopped by in Rivendell for a bit, if you'll believe it," he added lightly.
"What?" She nearly stopped walking. "You were in Imladris? Have you seen my father? My brothers? Arwen, has she sailed? Have they sent word—"
"Patience, my dear," he gave her a reassuring pat on the hand. "Your family is well and fine. Elrohir and Elladan are half-mad wondering what's happened to you, of course, and send their love, what have you." His voice softened. "Your father sends his apology. He did not mean for you to come this way."
Miraleth was quiet for a moment. "I know."
Gandalf sighed once and his pace quickened into a brisk walk as he raised his voice so that the men behind him could hear him. "Well, come along then. One stage of the journey is over, another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed."
"Edoras?" Gimli repeated. "That is no short distance."
"We hear of trouble in Rohan," Aragorn said. "It goes ill with the king."
Gandalf, though, had already been aware. "Yes, and it will not be easily cured."
Behind them, Gimli was still mulling over the waste of cross-country exercise. "Then we have run all this way for nothing," he complained. "Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested—?"
"Gimli," Miraleth warned as the forest began to rumble around them. The air darkened.
"Ah, I mean—charming! Quite charming forest!" Gimli nodded vigorously at the trees.
Gandalf turned to address the dwarf, a wry smile on his face as he cast his eyes up into the branches. "It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."
"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend," Aragorn shook his head. "You still speak in riddles."
Gandalf laughed quietly with Aragorn before drawing a breath. "A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong."
Something in Miraleth—some inkling of hope that resided with her love for green and trees and live things—raised its head and sniffed at the air. The Ents. Tree herders. A smile spread across her face. Perhaps she would live to see greatness yet.
"Strong?" Gimli questioned, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Oh, that's good." He nodded for good measure, regarding the nearest tree and gripping his axe closer to him.
"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf," Gandalf pointed at him before turning and continuing on his path and calling over his shoulder. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!"
Miraleth heard Gimli grumble under his breath before trudging after them.
Breaking out of the treeline was like breathing in air Miraleth hadn't even known she'd been missing, and she fought the urge to let herself fall backwards onto the soft ground and knot her hands in the green grass that swayed gently in the breeze. She did, in fact, tilt her head back to stare into the blue, cloudless sky she'd been going without, letting her skin welcome the sunlight like an old lover.
"Missed the sun, have you, Miraleth?" Gandalf teased gruffly as he passed her, but her eyes were closed against the warmth, hands outstretched. She was vaguely aware of humming an acknowledgement. When he whistled a high, clear tune, though, she opened her eyes and peered over at him.
"No…" she shook her head once. "No, Gandalf,"
The whitest, most beautiful stallion she had ever seen came galloping over the plain, followed closely by the two horses Éomer had gifted to the group.
"Yes," Gandalf grinned, pleased with himself.
"Arwen would be so very jealous right now," Miraleth murmured to herself as she tilted her head back again and closed her eyes, happy with her sunlight, mythical steeds be damned.
She heard Legolas' breath catch and could practically see the amazement on his face. "That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."
"Shadowfax," Gandalf said fondly once the horse had stopped before him. He lay a hand on his neck. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers." He grasped the horse by the mane and mounted him with the strength of a young man. "Come, my friends. We have a long, hard ride ahead of us." he reared back and was gone, forcing the rest of the group to clamber up onto their horses as quickly as they could and follow.
"How far is Edoras?" Miraleth yelled over the wind as they galloped after Gandalf, making sure to keep her arms tight around Aragorn's middle.
"Two days' ride," he leaned back and shouted. "At Gandalf's pace, at least."
She snorted, but did not complain, content to rest her head on Aragorn's back and close her eyes for the remainder of the day. The sunlight was warm and welcome on her back.
When she awoke, it was dark outside, and their pace was slowing. Her arms were wrapped around Legolas' middle now, not Aragorn's, and she raised her head with a drowsy yawn, looking around for some sort of landmark or town, maybe. When all she could find instead were miles of plains, rocks, and shrubs, she let her head fall back onto the spot between Legolas' shoulder blades with a thunk. Rohan. She wasn't sure what else she had expected.
"You're awake," Legolas noted as they came to a stop. They had straggled behind Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf some, who had stopped at the crest of a hill, where Aragorn dismounted to make camp. "We took a break for water some hours back, but you were asleep and we didn't want to wake you. Gimli thought you'd be more comfortable in his spot."
"Oh?" Miraleth yawned again as they reached the bottom of the hill. "Why's that?"
"Aragorn doesn't care much for avoiding the rocks and holes in the ground. You didn't look very comfortable. Here," Legolas untwined her arms from his waist and hopped off the tired horse, offering her his arm so she could swing herself down as well. He took the reins and they slowly lead the horse up the small hill.
"I can't believe I'm still tired, is all," Miraleth crossed her arms and suppressed the urge to fall asleep in her steps.
She saw Legolas grin. "I can. We were walking in Fangorn for two days."
She stopped and stared at him as they reached the crest of the hill, where Aragorn was starting a small fire. "Two days? That can't be right, Legolas." They'd only been in there hours, maybe one day at most.
"You said so yourself, it bothered you that you couldn't see the sky. How were we to tell when the days passed?" Legolas secured the reins of the horse around a large rock.
She supposed that made sense, but she still did not like that time had ceased to exist in that forest. Who knew what could've been going on outside? Two days was an awful long time.
She didn't care. She was tired, she remembered as she yawned again.
"Here," Legolas had slid down to lean against the rock, and he pat the spot next to him. "Aragorn is taking the first watch."
She glanced up. Aragorn was indeed standing resolutely overlooking the plain. Gandalf stood next to him and they were immersed in deep conversation. A snore to her left told her Gimli had already collapsed.
Gandalf. Gandalf was there, safe and sound and renewed. Merry and Pippin were safe—with an Ent, no less, from what she understood. Frodo and Sam were alive somewhere (she hoped) and her brothers had sent their love. Her father, her sister, home safe as well. So she allowed herself to become weary, weak, and she curled up beside Legolas against the rock, resting her head on the solidity of his shoulder and closing her eyes just like she had all those days (months?) ago at home after the Council of Elrond. His hand raked through her hair as she breathed him in and before long, she was asleep again.
"What do you say, Miraleth? Eh?" Gimli shouted over the wind as they approached the walled city of Edoras. "I could take the Witch King right now if he appeared!"
"No, Gimli, I think after slicing you into two pieces he would set your head on a shelf and invite your body to try and reach it." She grinned when he scoffed and grumbled something about the precariousness of Elvish egos.
They slowed as they neared the gate to the city. "Edoras," Gandalf announced, gesturing with his staff to a large, towering structure built at the top of the hill the city surrounded. "And the Golden Hall of Medseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong." Miraleth, with a little effort, could see up into the dark, empty hall, where a withered man sat on a carved throne. Wrinkles were set into his pasty skin, and blind, clouded eyes stared, unfocused, on the ground. His crown seemed too big for his head, and was hidden in a nest of greasy hair. Gandalf regarded her as she frowned. "Be careful what you say," he warned them. "Do not look for welcome here."
A sullen-faced guard opened the gate for them once they were before it, and his eyes on them as they passed through the wooden frame made Miraleth stiffen. Like the village they'd passed through before, Edoras was a silent, spell-bound place of sorrow and whispering children. The old women who remained were shrouded in drab fabrics.
"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli noted darkly as people stopped their daily chores and tasks to watch them pass with suspicious eyes.
Miraleth caught a glimpse of bright yellow at the corner of her vision and she turned her attention to the hall above them. "Gandalf," she asked without tearing her eyes away. "Who is that?"
He glanced up at the girl in the white dress who looked down at them with a frown. "That is the Lady Éowyn. Niece to King Théoden, younger sister to Éomer of the Rohirrim, whom you have met. She has not known very much else but grief as of late."
The girl turned away and retreated inside.
Gandalf clucked his tongue at the stableboy who stood just outside the hall, dismounting and tossing him a silver coin. Legolas jumped from his own horse, offering his arm to Miraleth as she slipped down herself. "I don't like the feel of this place," he said under his breath, taking in their surroundings with unease.
"Neither do I," she cut her eyes at a nearby guard, lacing her arm through the crook in Legolas' elbow as they followed their three companions up the stone steps to the hall. "The old King is mad, I could See it from miles away without Mithrandir having to say anything at all. There is a plague here." Legolas sighed through his nose and tightened her arm against him.
"Legolas," Gandalf called, gesturing him over. "Miraleth will be fine for a few moments. Lend me your arm, I am an old man." Legolas did, after squeezing Miraleth's shoulder once.
"Ah," Gandalf smiled, leaning heavily on his staff when they reached their very own welcoming committee at the top. A disinterested auburn-haired man whose posture spoke of position headed a group of armored guards who blocked their way.
"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." Gandalf took the time to let confusion pass over his suddenly and almost comically, it seemed to Miraleth, weary face. "By order of…Gríma Wormtongue." The guard spoke the name with barely concealed distaste.
"Ah," Gandalf nodded, signaling to the rest of his group to comply with the man.
Miraleth exchanged a glance with Legolas as she relinquished the bow over her shoulder, pulling her sheathed blades from her hips and shoving the scabbards into the arms of the guard who had come forward to take her weapons. Next to her, Aragorn and Legolas were unapologetically and threateningly emptying their entire person. Miraleth slipped her quiver off her back. "Mm," she held up a finger before the guard could leave, and reached down into her boots and various hiding places on her legs for a few other choice daggers and blades, letting them fall with clangs and clattersinto the man's newfound arsenal. She smiled sweetly at him once she was done, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. He regarded her uneasily from behind his helmet.
But the head guard still frowned reluctantly at Gandalf. "Your staff," he finally said, nodding towards it.
"Hm? Oh," Miraleth had never heard Gandalf sound so elderly. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick."
Nothing left to say but clearly not fooled by the act, the auburn-haired man rolled his eyes as he turned and gave a signal for the doors to open. Miraleth caught Gandalf wink at Aragorn when his back had turned.
The old king she had seen before was there still, slumped into his throne. By his side was a greasy little man with pale skin and black, limp hair, swaddled in fine furs and a velvet coat that seemed too massive for him and she wondered briefly what he would be without their protection. He was leaning on the arm of the throne, disgustingly close to the king so that he could feed whispers into his ear. "My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming."
The doors slammed shut behind them, locking in place. Miraleth's knuckled cracked as she observed the throne room. Sullen men glared at her from under layers of unkept hair. A group along the wall kept pace with them as Legolas and Gandalf moved forward, towards the throne. Miraleth hung back slightly, falling into defense mode.
"He's a herald of woe."
Gandalf released Legolas' arm. "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessoned of late, Théoden King." His voice was too loud for the room.
"He is not welcome."
The old king lifted his head, fighting to draw breath. "Why…should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"
The snake at his side nodded. "A just question, my liege." He stood to address Gandalf, walking to meet them halfway in order to refuse them access to Théoden. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Láthspell, I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."
"Be silent!" Gandalf commanded. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." There was a surge of power as Gandalf raised his staff in front of him.
"His staff." Wormtongue froze in his tracks and backed away as if physically repulsed, his eyes widening, retreating to the safety of a nearby pillar as the room burst into motion. "I told you to take the staff!"
Gandalf moved forward towards the throne, arms outstretched as Miraleth whirled on her nearest attacker, sending a hit to his Adam's apple and then one to his stomach, not pausing to watch him crumple to the ground before she ran for a guard who had come too close to Gandalf.
"Théoden, son of Thengel!" Gandalf's voice boomed throughout the throne room as Miraleth flipped another armor-clad man over onto the ground. "Too long have you sat in the shadows."
The guards lay motionless or moaning on the floor of the room; Miraleth snapped at Gimli to grab Wormtongue as he crawled backwards away from the scene. The dwarf slammed a foot onto his chest. "I would stay still if I were you," he growled.
Théoden was writhing from side to side in his throne, twisting to get away from Gandalf's face and glaring at him when he couldn't escape. "Hearken to me!" Gandalf commanded, his hand out towards him. Miraleth felt a breeze. "I release you from your spell."
Silence for a stricken moment. And then, laughter.
The old man was laughing. A worn, grunting, mocking sound. Miraleth exchanged a dumbfounded glance with Legolas. She did not like this; uneasiness coursed through her. Théoden laughed louder, his lips cracking as they widened. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey."
Gandalf threw off the grey cloak he had been wearing, revealing the brilliance of white underneath. Miraleth could feel light on her face as she watched him, and Théoden was slammed back into his throne from the power, a surprised gasp leaving his mouth.
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" He thrust his staff toward Théoden, forcing him back into his seat again, moving forward.
A flash of yellow caught Miraleth's eye, and she looked away to see the young girl from before wander into the room, drawn by the commotion. Gasping, she rushed forward to her uncle before Aragorn caught her around the waist. "Wait," he murmured.
"If I go, Théoden dies." Théoden's voice was no longer his own, the hall suddenly filled instead with the deep tones of Saruman. Miraleth stepped backwards, away from Théoden, a shiver crawling down her spine.
Gandalf forced him back with his staff once more. "You did not kill me, you will not kill him."
The possessed Théoden struggled forward against the force of the staff, hatred bright in his eyes as he sought Gandalf out. "Rohan is mine. You are all mine. Miraleth is mine."
Miraleth's stomach twisted. She saw the movement of Legolas' head snapping to look at her as she spun on the spot, her feet moving to the double doors at the front of the hall. They flew open of their own accord and she stood in the clouded sunlight, her eyes on the horizon, vaguely aware of Gandalf and Théoden continuing their battle behind her. She could not see Isengard from here but she could feel eyes on her; not Legolas' or Aragorn's, who were watching her from inside and starting towards her, but eyes that watched from the very heavens above. She could See him as clearly as if he were standing before her. She felt her eyes cloud as the wind harshened outside.
—Saruman crouched over his own Mirror; a black, murky glass orb.
Long nails yellow, curling.
His stare; icy; on Miraleth.
An eye, orange and burning and—
"Miraleth!" Aragorn's rough hands on her arms.
"Be gone!" Gandalf took another step forward. All at once, Théoden rushed at Gandalf, yelling; Gandalf thrust his staff forward with a shout and the old king flew back into his throne, his head flinging back as somewhere miles away in Isengard, Saruman was launched off his feet and thrown to the floor.
The doors were shut. Miraleth was pulled backwards and Aragorn now relinquished her to Legolas, who encompassed her in strong arms and fed warmth to her suddenly freezing body. She grasped for him, curling her fists in his shirt. "I Saw him," she murmured.
"Saruman?"
"Yes—no." A fire had ignited in her stomach, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to be sick or run across the plains of Rohan until she was screaming at the gates of Isengard.
Legolas regarded her with worried eyes for a moment before ushering her back inside the hall. His hands were warm and sturdy on her back and Miraleth wanted nothing more for a split second than for everyone to disappear from the room so that she could stand there with Legolas' hands on her and his heart beating through the silence, the strength of his presence keeping her there, safe, protected.
She stopped, snapping back to the present and glancing at Legolas, her cheeks pinkening as she all but banished the thoughts from her mind, not quite sure where they had come from. She held her head a little higher, ignoring the warmth that still coursed into her from where Legolas' hands had been.
When Miraleth looked to Théoden again, his hair was softening to a light auburn, shining with health. Color had returned to his skin and his eyes were no longer sunken and empty, but warm. The King had pulled himself to his feet, eyes on Gandalf, who looked like weariness had set into his very bones. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he muttered, his voice no longer a hoarse groan.
Gandalf smiled at him. "Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword." A guard rushed forward holding the very item, hilt first, towards the King, who grasped it with sure fingers and pulled it from its scabbard.
Movement caught Miraleth's eye—a squirm of black velvets and furs. "Oh no you don't," she muttered. Gimli had abandoned Wormtongue on the floor, and Miraleth grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He shook and shivered when Théoden turned his eyes on him.
She stayed at the doors of the hall with Legolas and Gimli while Théoden had Wormtongue thrown down the stone stairs, and she watched the small man flee the city with a sour taste in her mouth. "What an unfortunate little man," she said shrewedly, crossing her arms. She looked over towards Éowyn, who had joined them. "I am very sorry for you having to deal with him all this time."
The girl shook her head. "I'm only glad he's gone."
Below them, the men had gone still. Théoden looked confused, his eyes roaming the people before him. "Where is Théodred?" Miraleth felt Éowyn's body fall into something sadder at the words. "Where is my son?"
Miraleth added one more name to the list of lanterns that had winked out.
Gandalf perched on a balcony, the stem of his faithful pipe between his lips as he appraised the night sky. He puffed out a ring of smoke. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Miraleth stood behind him. "So you saw Saruman, you say?" His voice was quiet.
Miraleth shifted. "Yes." Rohan had been very good to them now that Saruman's hold had vanished. She had been fed, given a room to sleep in, been given all her weapons back, had even washed up with a pitcher of cool, clean water a servant had brought her, but she still couldn't shake the cold feeling of eyes on her. Or rather, just one.
"She said 'both of them,'" Legolas added.
Gandalf turned to face them, his brow creasing. "Both of what?"
She was quiet.
Gandalf stepped forward, taking his pipe out of his mouth. "Both of what, Miraleth?"
"She looked horrified."
"I wasn't horrified," she snapped, bristling and crossing her arms in front of her. "I saw Saruman. But I also…" Her voice weakened, her words fading away to silence on her tongue. "The Eye. I saw the Eye. Saruman's got the Eye, or the Eye's got Saruman, I don't know, I couldn't tell—" She dropped off when Gandalf became solemn, slipping the stem of his pipe back into his mouth and puffing out a cloud of gray.
He exhaled slowly. "Yes, Sauron has been controlling Saruman for many years now, I'm afraid. Manipulation has always been a forte of his. And now they are growing bolder." He peered at Miraleth. "Did he say anything to you? Did you speak to him?"
She was quiet.
"Miraleth."
"Only…only what Saruman's shades had already said to me in Imladris," she said, briefly flashing back to the cloaked figures above her bed and the Black Speech echoing in her room.
"…Well? What was it?"
She stared at Gandalf as uneasiness settled into her. "That I have Seen what lays in the depths of the Great Eye."