"Gideon?"

I blinked in response, sleep evaporating from my body quickly.

"Master Gideon?"

A second round of blinking, this time more purposeful. I turned my head toward Aragorn, who was still shaking my shoulder lightly. "Yes?" I replied, quiet in the meager light of dawn.

"We're going to practise again." He nodded.

I nodded, rising onto one elbow, before registering just how dim the light was this early in the morning. "Do you think there's light enough for it? I'd hate to hurt you…or have the same happen to myself…"

"Rise. The sun will do the same soon." Obediently I did, trusting his decision to train with me this early, rather than in the evening, which had become part of a now-normal routine over the last few days. "Bring your sword." He said, and then turned and began to walk away from our camp, where we were less likely to have distraction or interruption. Gimli had already become too engrossed with my new training on one occasion already, and Aragorn had been careful to not make the mistake of sparring close to camp again.

"Move your feet, keep moving!"

I could still hear him encouraging and critiquing me from the side. Aragorn had made the decision that I was to have only one instructor at a time. And at Gimli's peaked interest in teaching me how to wield an axe…the great weapon of our people, I believe Gimli called it…he suggested, as gently as possible, that swordsmanship was the skill best learned first, as I already had a blade with me, and knew how the basics of using it.

At last Aragorn stood ready, and I did the same, without need for the command to do so. I had learned the patterns of his teaching skills quickly, and could now go about entire lessons without him telling me when to rise and stand and change position.

I waited, adjusted my feet a little, digging the toes of my boots across the ground a little, as if to grip the earth, took in a reassuring breath. Aragorn took up the notion to start the spar himself this time, and I took a single step forward, keeping my balance, and meeting his blows. For a moment he pushed the edge of his sword against mine, trying to drive me back, but I knew now that my stance was secure, and my balance was good. He would have to shove even harder than that to get me to fall over. I wasn't going to panic just yet.

If anything, that was the lesson I was most grateful for…the learning not to panic.

Aragorn shoved harder, and my wrist fumbled with my sword and I had to quickly retreat back a little, and then quickly defend myself.

Of course, it was one of the more difficult lessons for me to learn.

Breathe…and I did so, placing my feet in a strong stance again, and the hurrying to meet Aragorn's strikes until I managed to regain the rhythm I had before and fall back into easy, sure strikes and well met blows.

Aragorn allowed the spar to be more friendly than educational for a few minutes, and then became harsher in his offense. His sword swung faster, nearer, pressuring me to fight back more. I tried, meeting one strike, in the hope that it would set him off balance…Aragorn was not set off balance easily. We were soon locked, blades cross before us, the swords colliding in the middle of the blade.

The only thing to do was slide the blades even further along each other until the hilts locked. We stayed in that block for a few seconds, the metal shaking in our hands (or at least in mine, I was beginning to feel adrenaline again and it more bad for me than good). "Now what?" Aragorn asked, prompting me.

My mind reeled back to the previous spars and his teachings…good balances, firm grips, sure strides, precise aim. Taking opportunities…and when there was none creating them yourself. Daring to do so, and acting as quickly as I could I swung out of the block, taking a step back to avoid his close pursuit and swung at his side, which was temporarily exposed.

I was quick, but he was better still, managing to catch my attack, push me and my momentum further away, and then follow us, until his sword was neatly pointing at my shoulder. "You've got to be joking." I sighed, and I thought I could almost hear Dwalin's voice coming out of my mouth at my exasperation. "How in the world did you escape that?"

"Next time do not step so far away." Aragorn instructed. "It will work better."

"Alright, let's try that again." I nodded, and stepped into the ready stance.

"Perhaps not." Aragorn tried to dismiss me. "The sun has risen, and we'll need to be moving on soon."

I glanced around me, finding that there was sufficient daylight now. "Have we really been sparring all this time?"

"It's not been too long." Aragorn replied.

"Well, I suppose…" I shrugged at that. "But have we really spent all this time training and only had one spar?"

"You're improving some." Aragorn nodded.

"I am?"

"Does that news surprise you?"

I had to admit it did. Not really the fact that I was improving, that was believable, the fact that I appeared to be improving over the span of a few days was more surprising. Aragorn took my silence as as agreement. He snickered softly to himself. "Come, Gideon." He nodded. "Let's return now."

"May we spar once more?" I asked.

"Again?" He turned his head, an eyebrow raised.

"Not a full spar." I corrected myself. "Just the last bit, the one with the block. To practise." I held out my sword like I had in that moment and stood ready. Aragorn paused a moment longer in thought, and then stood as he had with our swords locked together. I waited a moment, then jumped away, staying closer than before, spinning from the block and swinging out to his side again.

Aragorn gave a short hiss of pain. Well, not true pain I expect, but more unexpected surprise. I had accidently struck him in the back of the hand with my blade. I dropped my sword, and the apologies suddenly came flowing from my mouth like an unstoppable waterfall. "Oh! Sorry! Was that me? I did not mean to actually strike you. Sorry. Of course it was me. Stupid, really. Maybe I was too close. Sorry. I'll step back a degree further next time. Sorry. Are you alright? Damn, your hand is bleeding, isn't it? How bad? I'm sorry."

He held up his hand (the bleeding one) and quieted me. "It is nothing." He brushed it all off. "Take up your sword again. We'll have to hurry back." I nodded, mutely.

As we walked back side by side, I took the opportunity to look over where I had cut him. It was not very deep, only a scratch, luckily. Despite being on the hand he used when he fought, movement did not seem to bother the little injury.

"Sorry." I added again, breaking the silence between us. Aragorn laughed lightly, as he wiped the trail of blood from his hand.

/

Horses were tall, very tall. I felt as though I would be even higher up than the head of a man standing on the ground. The today the beasts were quick, and I clung to saddle where I sat behind Aragorn. We were due to reach our destination soon, and I hoped the people there would not take me for child. I had no beard like Gimli to alert them I was a dwarf, and my size was like that of a youth. Mother would probably laugh at my thoughts, and say being mistaken for young boys ran in the family.

We approached a hill that I had seen growing out of the distance for some time, and I noticed that it was really a town, and a large one, build about a hill. Rohan. Most things was carved of wood, from the sturdy walls all around the township to the very shingles on the roofs of the larger houses. Those that were smaller were still made of thatched hay. Some of the buildings had adornments that looked like horses, and other had simpler patterns carved into the thresholds. When we were directly before the settlement I lost sight of the rooftops and doorways and my view was blocked by the wall.

All in all it had looked cozy, and charming in it's own way.

Getting closer, we realised that such was not exactly true.

There had been a discarded flag that blew in the wind to greet us, one that had the image of a horse on it, pure white, with it's powerful muscles outlined by gold embroidery. I was surprised to find something as important as a flag so easily dismissed by it's bearers. The fabric had been cast to the wind, and no one sent so much as a stable boy to go and retrieve it.

I watched as the breeze carried it away. A few more gusts of mind and it was gone, forgotten.

No one had even noticed it.

Had I been a few inches taller I would have jumped down from the horse and ran to fetch it, but with my height dismounting on a whim was difficult.

We entered the town and were greeted by some sideways glances from the villagers.

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

The people did seem to have a ghost-like quality about them. They blended in so well with their surroundings they seemed to melt into the walls of the stables and homes and market stalls. There was a grimness to their actions, a sheer lack of joy. They'd be ignoring us, and then as we passed by, there eyes would lift, and there would be a haunting gaze on you, that was soon dropped.

No one showed the least interest, or even a bit more surprise, at our arrival. It was like we were the living in a graveyard.

Apparently sweeping up and sorting out potatoes was all they cared for at the moment.

"They do seem rather…distant." I said, to Aragorn. "Hopefully there's an inn that will take us, if we are to stay here." I looked up at him. "Aragorn?" His gazed was fixed elsewhere, and I followed his eyes to the lone figure who was watching us keenly.

A lady outside the hall, atop the very peak of the hill. Her hair was golden and she wore a dress so crisply white that it she resembled in some ways the image of the horse upon the flag with it's white coat and golden thread. When she saw more than one person was looking at her she turned and went back inside the hall.

"Who was she?" I asked.

"The Lady Eowyn." It was Gandalf who answered me.

"She's the only who seems to have realised this city has new visitors."

Gandalf merely nodded, taking in the ghost-like gazes of the others.

With the wizard taking up the lead, we dismounted before the hall and walked directly up the stairs, with no trouble except for when we reached the entrance. A captain and a few guards stood ready, the first people other than Lady Eowyn to see that we were coming.

"I cannot allow you before Theoden, our king, so armed, Gandalf Grayhame. By order of… Gríma Wormtongue." The last part was said quite bitterly.

Unarmed? I froze up a little, despite better efforts. This had not been part of our plan…

Nevertheless, the plan had called for us to go before Theoden and the only way that was going happen peacefully (more or less) was if we did not have any weapons on us. Gandalf gave a nod, and I watched was Aragorn, Legolas and even Gimli handed over sword and axe and bow.

"Be careful with this," Legolas gently passed over the bow. "It was given to me as a gift from the Lady Galadriel."

The guard seemed awed by this news, and took it carefully.

It was enough to make me hand over my blade, and the few knives I had in my bag. "Be careful with it, please." I said. "It's nymphian." They stared at the image of the otter curiously, but handled the weapon well.

"Your staff?" The captain requested of Gandalf, and Gimli and I shared an apprehensive glance.

"Oh? Surely you wouldn't part an old man from his walking stick?" Gandalf asked, pleasantly.

The captain nodded, and let us pass without any more words. Gandalf quickly concealed his staff beneath the grey robe he wore, and we at last entered the hall. Legolas had the good sense to take the arm of the wizard, as though he did need assistance walking.

The inside was dim, lit by only a few braziers full of candles. When I beheld King Theoden and Grima Wormtongue, the first image that came to my mind was that of a puppet on strings and it's player.

King Theoden looked pale, shriveled, and resembled overall a moth eaten rag. The king of the ghosts and his graveyard kingdom. Even his eyes had gone dull. Beside him knelt Grima, who looked like a raven that had ink spilt over it. Except for his face, his face was set in a grey, sunken complexion. He whispered into the king's ear. The player pulling the strings of a puppet…

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden, king." Gandalf called out, his voice echoing in the dimness of the tomb-like hall.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf?" The breath that came out of Theoden sounded ancient. It really was like we were speaking with a withering corpse. What dark magic in the air here?

"A just question, my liege." Grima hissed. The sound of his choice changed my perception of him and I took his looks now more for a black serpent than a raven.

"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is in ill guest." Grima stood and approached us.

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" Gandalf spat back, and then he at last revealed his staff again.

The effect it had on Grima was immediate, as he began to cower back, a snake slithering into it's hole. "His staff!" I was half a gasp and half an order. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

This was when the guards began to act, and the four of us had to leap away from Gandalf's side and tackle them into the floor by brute force alone. Given how I wasn't so tall I barreled myself into the legs of the nearest guard and we both collided jarringly into the floor. There we grappled for a moment before I managed to twist my hand back to my boot and pull out a small knife I had there.

It wasn't much more than a blade for sharpening lead, but if I ever remembered one lesson from my father, Fili, prince of Erebor, it was this:

"Children, always make sure you carry a knife somewhere on you. More than one if you can, and hide them all well."

To which my siblings nodded, and I asked our mother if such was really needed.

"Your father survived a battle of many armies with the help of many knives." She would shrug. Then, softly, "Do as you wish Gideon, he is only teasing…remembering old days of adventure."

So I had started carrying lead and quill-pen knives in my boots, if anything to have them when I needed them and to appease Father.

This one was certainly proving it's use. Who else in my family had said the taller man is the one who comes to a spar more prepared? Thorin? Dwalin? Perhaps Vesper?

Even though the blade was by all means small, stuck in the right place it could still cause a good lot of damage and so my guard went still and surrendered.

My attention was torn away from him when I heard the sound of Theoden laughing hoarsely. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." His words were gasped out.

Gandalf threw off the grey covering with a sweep of his shoulders and the white of his robes seemed to reflect the feeble glow of the candles and amplify the light within the room. The ghost-king was about to be restored to life again.

"I will draw you Saruman, like poison is drawn from a wound." Gandalf said, lowly, as he neared the throne.

It appeared that the process of reviving someone was an unpleasant one, for when Gandalf pointed his staff at Theoden, he cried out as though in pain. I winced, as the struggle between the two of them went on.

I saw her as a flash of white and gold, before Aragorn stopped her. The Lady Eowyn burst into the hall, drawn by the noise, and tried to rush to the king's side. I was reminded of Fali, and her own impulsiveness when it came to the people she loved.

Another voice came from the king, one that did not sound like his own. "If I leave…Theoden dies!"

Eowyn made to rush to his side again, or cast herself between the wizard and the king. I jumped up from the guard, who was too stunned by the happenings in the hall to move anyway, and took hold of her other arm.

She looked down at me and her face changed from a glare, to surprise (she probably thought I was a younger boy) and then curiosity as she saw that despite my height I appeared older.

"Rohan is mine!" The words of evil erupted from his throat. Her face turned to him again, concern written all over her face, and I felt badly for restraining her, but it would have been dangerous for anyone to step into the path of Gandalf's magic.

With a final command of "Be gone!" Theoden was thrust backward into the throne, and at last the air of growing tension settled.

Eowyn tore herself away from us, with a force so strong it hurt my wrist. She immediately went to the Theoden's side, and cradled his face in her hands as he breathed with laboured effort.

A spectacular change came over him, as life returned to his cheeks, the deathly pale hue cast back by a healthy rosiness. The disheveled grey hair, shrank back till it was neat and blond. The eyes cleared until there was fire in them again.

Eowyn was smiling at him, and grasped his hands, gently bringing the knuckles of now strong hands to her lips to kiss them fondly. He turned to her as though waking from a dream. "I know your face." He said at last, strength returning to his voice as well. "Eowyn…" He spoke softly. "Eowyn." Then, as he turned to face us, "Gandalf?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." The wizard smiled.

"Dark have been my dreams of late."

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword." The captain of the guards carried forth the blade in question, a solid piece, with an elaborate hilt of two horses, their graceful necks bent so that their noses touched.

He drew the blade from it's place, and as he did, I felt chills down my back, as though all of Rohan was again drawing in breath and coming back to true life.

Theoden stood triumphant…and then his eyes shot out over the hall and narrowed upon Grima Wormtongue, caught beneath the boot of Gimli.