Chapter 40 - Isengard

The dull clatter of horse-hooves brought many of the citizens of Edoras from their houses. Meeting suspicious and even hostile stares with his own gaze, Gimli tightened his grip on Eomer's tunic. Being unseated from the temperamental beast on which he was precariously balanced would not only be embarrassing but also painful.

Eomer turned his head, unconsciously flicking the long golden strands of horse hair that adorned his helmet into Gimli's eyes. "You must not blame our people for their suspicion," the horseman told the Dwarf. "It is long since strangers have been welcome in Edoras."

"And why would not strangers wish to visit this..." Gimli stopped himself lest he express his true observations, "this charming, windswept hill."

Eomer raised his eyebrows. "I have heard Dwarves are for the underground. Edoras may not be to your liking, yet it is our home, for we have known no other. At Helm's Deep, the stronghold of our people, there are many great caverns and chambers built into the rock. They are vast and fair, and I would that times were peaceful so that I might show you."

"I would deem it an honour." Gimli had already begun to visualise the greatness of the caves, the shining pools beneath the earth and great pinnacles of sparkling stone. "You seek times of peace? You are at war, then, with Saruman?"

"The men who ride with me have the foresight to see Saruman's deception. Was it not clear to you, who travelled with the Orcs for many miles, that their destination was Isengard and not the Black Land?"

Gimli considered that. "There were many of their number who bore the sign of the white hand."

Eomer's eyes flashed dangerously, and Gimli felt the man's body tense with anger. "There are those close to the King's ear who speak craven councils. We are not at open war with the Black Land, yet war is coming.

Saruman has offered the Rohirrim protection, an alliance of sorts. He proffers us his army to fight alongside orcs and goblin creatures of his own creation."

Gimli felt fear swell within him. The touch of Saruman's power reaching out to cover all the lands was a darkness more subtle and perhaps even more deadly than that of Mordor. "Surely your king must question..."

"The King's ear is drawn by advice other than mine." Eomer's voice was a harsh whisper. "Though I may be closest in kin since the passing of his son, he will not hear a word against the white wizard. I would say one spell-weaver and Orc-driver is much like the next, whatever the colour of his robes."

"Have you no other help on which to rely? Surely other men would come to your aid should you call." Gimli was thinking chiefly of Gondor and attempting to discover all he could while they had the opportunity. He glanced across to Aragorn, seeking his friend's eye.

Aragorn was listening carefully, though his eyes were not upon them. The harsh wind tugged stubbornly at the man's dark hair as he rode, and he held the sleeping Hobbit to his chest, yet the concentration upon his face was unmistakable.

"There was once an alliance with Gondor, though, since Faramir passed in July of last year, we have had no news from Denethor."

"Faramir, you say." Gimli's mind returned to his lost companions and a deep exhaustion seemed to take hold of him.

Eomer's eyes alighted on the Dwarf with eager interest. "You have met with the son of Denethor?"

"He and an Elf travelled with us down the Great River. We lost them at Parth Gallen, above the falls." The distress of their capture by the Orcs and Pippin's brush with the black death had driven the despair and worry for his companions from his mind, but now it returned in full flood.

"Lost," Eomer murmured, seeing the Dwarf's misery. "Were they slain by the Orcs?"

"Nay, not slain," Gimli replied, aware that Aragorn's gaze was upon him.

"We were separated."

Eomer did not broach the subject again, and Gimli was glad of it.

Aragorn drew his horse closer to Eomer's. "Could you not send messages to Gondor? Surely Denethor would honour the old alliance."

Eomer did not quite meet the other's eyes, and Gimli realised that in his respect he was aware of Aragorn's real identity. "We have heard rumours."

Gimli was not one to trust the whispers and secrets of the night, yet it seemed these people were highly superstitious and weary of strangers.

He had seen the surprise and trepidation in the young lord's face as he had mentioned Legolas, and that was enough to convince him that any rumours, however misguided, would be taken to heart. "Of what rumours do you speak?"

Again Eomer's eyes shifted uneasily to Aragorn, though the rest of his face and posture remained calm. "They say Denethor is considering parley with Mordor. For the safety of his people they say he would ally with Sauron."

There was a long pause. The wind tugged angrily at their cloaks and hair, yet did not touch the awkward stillness of the moment.

Then Gimli laughed. The ludicrous nature of the proposal caused him to shake his head in disbelief. "Who would suggest such a ridiculous idea?"

Eomer did not answer, and Gimli saw with growing dread that Aragorn's face had remained grave.

They had come to the summit of the slope, and Meduseld lay before them, its golden facets and carved columns stretched skyward, gold and crimson in the dying light of the evening.

As Eomer slid easily from the saddle, Gimli found his foot stretching to reach the stirrup, and he struggled to lower himself, with dignity, from Eomer's mighty steed. It was a challenge, yet Gimli had stared a Balrog in the eye, and he would not turn back from this simple beast of

burden. His eyes widened as he realised his boot had become caught in the finely crafted stirrup of Eomer's beloved friend, and he found himself hopping as the creature shifted and shuffled in an attempt to be free of the bushy bundle of Dwarf hanging at his side.

Heat rose to Gimli's cheeks, and it was as much as he could manage to mumble his gruff appreciation as Eomer attempted to extricate his foot.

The man at the door of the great hall, whose beard and hair were as bright a hue as Gimli's own had been watching the whole escapade and now was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

"Hama," Eomer said, greeting the man.

"My lord Eomer," the man replied with a nod, and his face became grave and solemn. "Late is the hour you return to your people. You were absent without the King's leave; surely you must have known you would be missed."

"Absent without leave?" Gimli muttered, feeling their situation worsen by the minute. "Now he tells us."

Eomer seemed to have risen in stature in the last few moments. "There were Orcs to the north. Our scouts saw them crossing the plains yesterday." Eomer's eyes darkened with bitterness. "Surely Grima would have reported this to the King?"

"I fear for you, my lord." Hama shook his head, and Gimli saw conflict swell within his gaze. "You trust to ties of blood, yet other council sets the King's mind against you." The voice had lowered to a whisper, and Gimli could barely make out the words. "It is not my place to question the King's decisions, yet this time I fear you shall not escape without severe consequences."

"Where is the King now?"

"The King is in council with Grima." Hama's face was almost as dark as Eomer's own, and Gimli wondered at the fact that this man could inspire such hate and yet still live. "The lady Eowyn is waiting, my lord. She wishes to speak with you when you are at liberty."

Eomer turned, gesturing to one of his men. "Eothain, tell the men to stable the horses and return to their families tonight."

"My lord." The young man dipped his head and was about to return to the men.

"Eothain, also tell the men to be ready to ride at dawn."

Gimli met eyes with Aragorn, and they shared a puzzled glance. The welcome of such a high lord was decidedly unfriendly, and Gimli recalled the angry stares of the people of Edoras as they ascended the slope to the hall.

"Come, my friends," Eomer said, shrugging off his cloak and tiredly rubbing his eyes with a dirty hand. "My sister will show you to the guest rooms, and in the morning we will see the King. He is evidently otherwise engaged."

Gimli and Aragorn, who yet carried the sleeping Pippin, followed Eomer to the side of the Hall, where there was a door into a kind of antechamber. It looked like a stable to Gimli, but then again, he thought all the buildings in Edoras resembled stables, or sported some horse motif.

Eomer opened the heavy door quietly, and ushered the man and Dwarf through it before sliding the heavy bolt across after them.

Following the horse lord down the narrow corridors Gimli felt a great desire to sleep once more upon a soft surface. For many days they had been forced to lie upon solid earth with hands and feet bound. His wrists still bore the recent scars of orcish rope, and his back the marks of the whip. Yet still, he thought, while the morrow might bring shadows of corrupt councillors and wizards manipulating men as though they were merely pieces on a game board, he would sleep comfortably until the dawn.

The room was darkly lit when they entered and the shimmering light of the moon played upon the bed and furniture like white fire. At first Gimli only had eyes for the comfort of the bed, draped with warm furs and calling to him with a lulling song.

Peering past Eomer's broad body, he saw then that a lady stood facing the open window, the moonlight shining brightly upon her figure. She seemed to glow white in the darkened room, like the spirit of the place, tall with golden hair that seemed softly ablaze. His mind rushed instantly to the figure of the Lady of the Golden Wood, and how she had ever illuminated the darkest of his dreams during their captivity with the Orcs.

He was speechless, and Aragorn too seemed to be transfixed by the sight. Eomer, however, moved into the room and spoke. "Sister."

She turned in a sweep of white and gold, and despite the dark hollows beneath tired eyes the lady's face seemed to come alight with joy at the sight of her brother. "Eomer! You have returned."

He laughed and seemed more at ease than Gimli had yet witnessed as he fondly embraced his sister. The Dwarf felt touched by the sight, although he knew it was unseemly for a Dwarf to be moved by such tender emotions.

Eomer turned to face his guests, "Here, Eowyn, is Gimli the Dwarf, Pippin the Halfling and Aragorn, the heir of Elendil, whom I have had the honour of rescuing from the Orcs."

"We owe your brother a great debt, Lady Eowyn," Aragorn said as he bent his head in respect, and Gimli followed suit, seeing her eyes widen as he did so.

She looked to Eomer and back to Aragorn, surprised.

"I was fortunate indeed in my discovery, sister, was I not?" Eomer smiled. "To find a lost king upon our fields. Surely it is a sign that the tighter Saruman closes his fist upon us, the more we slip through his fingers."

The note of determination in Eomer's words caused Gimli to feel caught up in the young man's energy, when the lady caught his arm with an almost violent grip.

"You are wrong, brother. Only today Grima sent messengers to Isengard accepting Saruman's aid."

Gimli heard Aragorn suck in his breath beside him, and he himself felt his heart clench in surprise.

"We have heard from Gondor, a spy from the council of Minas Tirith rode in secret through the night. It seems the Steward has indeed began negotiations with the Dark Lord. The King, seeing there is now no defence between Rohan and Mordor, has asked for all Saruman's forces to help us combat that of the dark land."

Aragorn stepped quickly past Gimli, causing Pippin to start and wake in his arms. "Saruman comes to Edoras?"

Eowyn looked helplessly at Aragorn, and Gimli seemed to see her hope in Aragorn's strength alight even as she gazed at him. "I did my best to persuade the King, yet he would not listen. In his mind he is convinced that Gondor has betrayed us and that without the aid of Saruman we will fall. The messengers will reach Isengard by the tomorrow at the earliest..."

"Saruman will muster his force swiftly," Eomer interrupted, meeting their eyes with a dark finality that caused even Pippin to fall into a shocked silence as Aragorn set him upon his feet. "We have but a few days..." The tall man's shoulders seemed to slump in defeat, and shaking his head, he murmured, "They will come, and the wizard's twisted creations will destroy us all."

"There is naught you can accomplish tonight, Eomer." Aragorn shook his head, and Gimli recognised the dark lines of exhaustion in the man's features as they were also upon his own. "Had you the support of the King, and the time to muster your people you could ride out and meet Saruman's force upon the plains. As it is..."

"As it is," Eomer spat angrily, "we must sit here like children on sandcastles while the tide is flowing, until we welcome Saruman through our gates and Edoras is burned to the ground."

"Brother." Eowyn laid a calming hand on Eomer's arm. Gimli noted the pallor of her skin, yet he saw that the despair that had been written plainly in her bearing at their first meeting had gone, and in its place seemed to have grown a determined resolution. "You must ride at first light, taking all the men who will follow you. Escape from this place before Saruman's army comes."

Eomer shook his head. "I will not leave you here. And the King..."

"I will stay with him."

Eowyn glanced in Gimli and Aragorn's direction and a hidden message seemed to pass between brother and sister. Eomer finally sighed, breathing out angrily through his nose in a way that seemed to Gimli's exhausted and befuddled mind to be very much like that of a disgruntled horse.

Eowyn bowed slightly in Aragorn's direction, formality hiding her obvious annoyance. "If it please my lord, I will show you to your room."

"Goodnight, Gimli," Pippin said. The Hobbit touched the Dwarf's hand in a way that made Gimli smile inside before Pippin followed Aragorn out of the room.

"As you see," Eomer remarked as he opened the door leading into the passage, "my sister can match any horse in her stubbornness."

It was a silent world that surrounded them. Cloaked in a dense haze of wispy cloud, the four figures finally reached the edge of the great expanse that lay before them.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell that invaded his nostrils, breathing in the thick, foul scent. He prodded the damp pool before him with a cautious toe. "It's some kind of bog!"

"At least there are no midges to be seen so far," Merry said, bending down to peer into the murky depths. "The Midgewater marshes were enough for me."

Frodo came up beside them, staring out into the swamp with what appeared to Sam to be a haunted look. "Perhaps it is the mist," he said after a moment. "I haven't seen a living creature since we entered the fog."

Indeed, Sam reflected, there had been no sign of life for many long miles, since they had left the craggy heights of Emyn Muil. He turned back to see Radagast standing thoughtfully behind them, peering with narrowed eyes into the growing mists.

"What is this place?" Frodo asked, turning away from the pools with a shiver.

"Some still name it the Battle Plain," Radagast replied. "The graves of those who perished in the Battle of Dagorland lay here before the marshes spread and covered all the land between here and Mordor."

"Is there no other way?" Merry asked, holding the back of his sleeve across his nose against the smell.

Frodo slumped down on a rock, pulling his pack upon his lap, and said, "At least no Orcs will follow us. Should we eat here before going on?"

Sam followed the others as they settled themselves down on the damp ground, and began pulling a packet of lembas from his bag. Before he could maneuver the elvish bread from its leaf wrapping Radagast tossed him a small chunk of dark coloured stuff. Sam fumbled, almost dropping the precious food, but managed to keep his grip. He sniffed gingerly at it, not recognising the smell. He looked up and asked, "What is it?

Radagast raised his eyebrows. "Dried meat. Courtesy of Saruman the White."

Sam saw Frodo frown, and Merry almost choked on the large mouthful he was in the process of swallowing.

Radagast shrugged at their bewildered glances. "Saruman will not miss it, and surely we have a more pressing need for supplies than he. Gandalf said he thought your supplies might have been running low."

The Hobbits looked at each other, and Sam felt the dread he had been suppressing during the toils of Emyn Muil rise up within him. He had thought with certainty for so long of Gandalf's demise, that to believe in such a hope now would surely be devastating if proved false.

"You have told us nothing," Merry said warily, looking at Radagast with hopeful yet uncertain eyes.

"You have not asked."

Merry rolled his eyes in exasperation, clenching his hands in the dead grass that lay beneath their feet. "You must tell us what happened, I mean, how did you fight Saruman?"

"There was no fight," Radagast said simply. "I waited with the Ents until..."

"Ents?" Merry asked. "What are they?"

"Tree shepherds."

The hobbits looked at each other, yet Radagast seemed not to notice, or not to care, and went on. "Saruman's army passed out through the gates; we watched it pass. Saruman was at its head." The wizard seemed more somber now, and in his eyes lay something that made Sam shiver, though he had not witnessed the sight himself.

"We moved in, and, as it was dark, the deception was not difficult. The Orcs Saruman had left to guard his doors were weak of mind, and in the tunnels below Orthanc, amid all Sarauman's foul works of smoke and metal, they did not suspect that I was not their master returned."

Frodo's eyes widened and Merry's small gasp filled the silence that followed. Frodo, his eyes still staring, began, "You pretended to be Saruman?"

"They let themselves believe that I was. There was little need to give orders. One of the Orcs suggested I had returned for the prisoner's body, and I only had to follow."

"Body?" Frodo repeated, and the same dread Sam heard in Frodo's words was echoed in his own heart.

Radagast nodded. "I feared at these words that Saruman had found his prisoner to be no more use and had disposed of his rival before departing with the army. But when the Orc led me down in the depths of the tower, and opened the door of a small chamber I found my cousin still breathing, though when I called his name he did not answer."

Sam saw that Radagast seemed to wince at this part of the tale and noted in the wizard's ancient face the guilt that had eaten away at him since his discovery. "You could not have come sooner," Sam declared in an attempt to be comforting, though he felt rather absurd in trying to ease a mind that was so much more complex and wise in comparison to his own.

Merry nodded. "If you had come sooner, you too would have been trapped by Saruman."

Radagast pressed his lips together in a thin smile, though Sam saw that it would take more than the assurances of hobbits to ease such guilt.

"I discarded my own disguise, for I knew that by now the Ents would have surrounded Isengard and moved in against the Orcs. I took the white cloth and carried the body within it until I had reached the summit of the stairs. From there, I could exit to the tunnel workings, through the door the Orc had unlocked. The great diggings were empty, and I could hear the battle with the ents above.

"The wooden platform to the land above was ablaze, no doubt the fault of the orcs in their attempt to destroy the Ents. I could see there was no other way to escape from the diggings. Lying the body of Gandalf upon the wooden floor, I used the pulley and rope to move the lift, yet the metal of the turn wheel was burning, and it was an arduous task."

Radagast held his palms flat out to the hobbits, and Sam saw the angry, red burns upon his skin.

"The fire was spreading, and I saw also flames were catching at the corners of my own clothes and the white cloth I had used to cover Gandalf," he continued. "The edge of the great pit rose up, and the battle came into sight. The ring of Orthanc was burning. Some of the Ents had been lit by the torches the Orcs wielded. For the most part, the Orcs were losing the battle, and, just as I dragged Gandalf's body away from the pit, the Ents broke the supports of the great dam, and the water flooded into the dike and flowed over the land towards us."

Radagast shook his head, and Sam was so frightened by the intensity of the tale that he could scarcely believe that it had occurred just three days before.

"We would have been washed back into the great pit then had not one of the Ents lifted us and dug his roots into the soil."

Even Merry was so engrossed in the story that he did not comment on the fact that the strange creatures with whom Radagast had travelled had roots for feet.

"The great wave of water struck us, yet the Ent held firm. After it had passed, and all the Orcs had been washed away back into the great hole in the earth, the kind Ent bore us to the steps of Orthanc and there he set us.

"And it seemed we had passed through fire and water, earth and air in the space of a few moments. Something happened, and even now I have not the words or the knowledge to explain it. The sun rose, and the dirty cloth about Gandalf, burnt and drowned in our escape, seemed to glow bright in the new sun, and I shielded my eyes against the blinding radiance.

"A change in the order of things seemed to take place, and time itself seemed to pause. And I opened my eyes, and he was returned to us, no longer grey, but white."

Dark eddying currents of water moved about him. The sky seemed dark with unshed tears over a broad sweep of shore and waves. He breathed heavily, as though the air was thick with smoke, yet before his eyes it was clear, though grey and sombre. No waves broke the steady flow of water about him. The dark liquid seemed to be a part of him, as though if he were to step further out into the dark stream he would become one with the drifting tides.

He looked down at his hands. They showed the familiar scars, yet this place was foreign to him. Not the place perhaps, for he had little doubt it was the waters of the Anduin washing passed him on their way to the sea, yet he was bemused as to why he was here.

The sinister horizon grew darker still, and from that obscurity of shadows and night came a shape drifting in the waves. And it passed him, tipping gently with the roll of the waves beneath its prow - and there lay a warrior, asleep it seemed, for there was colour in the face where all else was grey and desolate.

The boat of Lorien glided on, away from him, and he seemed to sink back into the waters with a great heave of breath, like a sob yet swallowed by the dark stream. For the warrior lying so peacefully had been Boromir, borne of the tides of the Anduin out to sea.

The sorrow and despair that came upon him was suffocating, and he seemed to drown in it. He was unable - nay, unwilling - to rise from the murky depths, content to sink further into desolation.

It seemed as though someone was grasping him, pulling him back to the surface, calling his name. He would have fought against the feeling, yet he had not the strength. He was dragged higher until light suddenly surrounded him, and he began to cough.

Gentle hands turned him to the side, and held him until the spasms ceased.

When he opened his eyes and sank back upon the grass, staring blearily at the sky. It was grey, and he feared for a moment that he was still trapped within the dream. Then the concerned face of Legolas appeared above him, leaning over to place a comfortably warm hand upon his forehead. He shivered, feeling soaked through, though he knew his clothes to be dry.

"Do you feel cold?" Legolas asked, not waiting for an answer before unclasping his own cloak to wrap around the man's shivering body.

Faramir felt weak and exhausted. He could barely focus upon Legolas' face as the Elf sat back to study him, though he could see clearly enough to recognise lines of worry marring the Elf's features.

"I am well," he managed, letting his eyes slowly close against the glow of the before dawn light.

Legolas made a noise in his throat that caused Faramir to open his eyes again. "I think we both can see that is not so."

Faramir sighed wearily. "A nightmare. There is no cause for concern."

"You were calling out." Legolas frowned at him. "Calling out so violently that I would have thought we were being attacked by all the forces of Mordor."

Leaning his head back on the grass Faramir recalled the dream and was tempted to ask Legolas what he had said while in the clutches of the dream world.

Legolas seemed to consider his next words carefully. "Has something befallen your brother?"

It was more than Faramir could do to remain unmoved. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead and swallowed deeply to calm himself. "I do not know."

"You called for him." Legolas' tone sounded so cautious, so caring that Faramir realised he must have frightened the Elf enough to shake him out the stoic silence that had for days possessed his entire being. "Over and over, you called."

"Just a dream," he said firmly, avoiding the Elf's piercing stare. "A simple dream. Forgive me for causing such a scene..."

"Faramir." Legolas held his arm in a iron grip, though it went lax almost immediately as the Elf stared at the spots of red upon the man's palm. Faramir pulled away, but Legolas was already tugging at the fabric of the man's cloak, searching for the bindings beneath.

He stopped suddenly, and Faramir felt himself grow tense waiting for the reaction.

"It is bleeding again." Legolas shook his head. "Why did you not tell me?"

Faramir struggled up into a sitting position, growing lightheaded. When the feeling subsided, he realised he was leaning on Legolas for support.

The Elf had already began removing the blood-soaked cloth from the wound.

With thoughts of Aragorn and Gimli and how much more they must have endured at the hands of the Orcs, he pulled away from Legolas' grasp and rose to his feet unsteadily.

At that moment the sun peaked above the horizon, shedding golden light across the bare plains. Faramir's eyes alighted on the horizon, widening as he realised what it was he could see.

"Smoke!" A great bonfire was billowing great white clouds of ashes in a northward wind.

Legolas came up beside him fixing his keen eyes on the distant pyre. In little more than a moment he turned back to Faramir, the fiery light reflected eerily in his wide eyes. "The bodies of the Orcs; they are burning."