Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

“They are far, far away.” Legolas said sadly from beside me as we looked out at the rolling hills of Rohan. “I know in my heart that they have not rested this night. Only an eagle could overtake them now.”

“Nonetheless we will still follow as we may.” I replied, turning away and going to wake our companions. I knelt before Aragorn and gently stirred him from his sleep as Legolas did the same to Gimli. We left them to fully wake and Legolas pulled me aside.

“Vanya…You do not look well.” He said quietly. I shrugged away from his concern, wrapping my arms around myself from a sudden chill.

He was right, though. On my hands and arms I could see the evidence clearly. My skin was pale; far paler than usual. So pale, in fact, it seemed translucent; the very veins darkening into purple designs along my body. Although I did not wish to admit such a thing, I was tired. Tired and hungry. During the night I had eaten some lembas bread, but it was not enough to satisfy me fully after such a hiatus from a true meal.

I did not dare sleep once more; for the prospect of lapsing into another nightmare was not one which I could endure. I knew that my sickness was due to a combination of misfortunes. Boromir’s passing caused my nightmares, which turned me away from sleep, and also removed my appetite. I had a feeling, also, that by rejecting my oncoming visions I grew weak. I imagined it was like attempting to push away a breath or stop a heartbeat; it was not meant to happen.

The sun had not yet risen and Aragorn knelt before a rock, placing his ear to the stone surface. He remained there for some time before opening his eyes. His voice was quiet and weary as he reported his discovery.

“Their pace has quickened. They must have caught our scent…Hurry!” He sprung onto his feat, lurching into a sprint and disappearing down the hill. I followed eagerly, happy that we were finally pressing on.

I had run great distances before in Fornost; but not all of it combined compared to the race we were on now. So many leagues we had travelled since first we left the Falls of Rauos, and although the journey had taken a toll on me it felt as though it had been no longer than a day. When, in truth, today was our fourth. I imagined it felt like such little time because the landscape had not changed much. After leaving Emyn Muil behind us it became the rolling hills and plains that we were on still. But I knew that in a few hours’ time we would be upon the borders of Fangorn forest.

"A red sun rises.” Legolas said, his head turned around at the sun that was now peeking into the sky. His voice was grave. “Blood has been spilt this night."

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"Rohan.” Aragorn announced as we stood atop a hill. It served as a lookout point, and as we surveyed our path Legolas went off to a higher peak. “Home of the horse-lords. There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us."

"Legolas!” I called. “What do your elf eyes see?"

"The Uruks turn Northeast. They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

"Saruman." Aragorn said gravely.

"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them." Legolas said as he returned to us. Suddenly he turned his attention ahead of us, squinting into the distance. “Riders!” He cried. “Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!”

“We cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?” Gimli asked.

“We will wait.” Aragorn said. “They come down from the orc trail, we may get news from them.”

“Or spears.” Legolas remarked as we got out of view. We pulled the Elven cloaks around ourselves and let them hide us. It was not long before a great host of riders were trampling over the very ground we were on before. The carried spears and wore armor; and also carried flags of Rohan. This meant that they were in fact not dangerous to us, and so Aragorn stood and walked out of hiding.

“Riders of Rohan!” He called, alerting them of our presence as Legolas, Gimli and I joined our leader. “What news from the Mark?”

The riders rapidly turned at the command of their leader, doubling back and barreling towards the four of us. Within moments they were upon us; encasing us in an impenetrable circle of horses, riders, and spears. They were so tightly knit and close that the edges of their spears were inches away from my skin. Following Aragorn’s lead, we held up our hands in a show of harmlessness. The one who was the leader rode forward through the others until he was before Aragorn, his spear pressed against the Ranger’s chest.

“What business does an Elf, a man, a woman and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?”

“I am called Strider.” Aragorn replied after a moment. “I came out of the North. We are hunting orcs.”

“Indeed you know little of orcs, if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey if ever you had overtaken them.” The rider said. “But there is something strange about you, Strider. That is no name for a Man that you give. How did you escape our sight? Are you Elvish folk?”

“No, but we have passed through Lothlórien, and the gifts and favour of the Lady go with us.” These words caused the rider to look at us with awe.

“Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales say! Few escape her nets they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favour, then you are also sorcerers maybe.” And then, turning to the three of us, he spoke once more. “Why do you not speak, silent ones?”

“Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine.” Replied Gimli strongly. This sparked a fury in the eyes of the rider, who dismounted his horse and strode up to us.

“The stranger of lands should declare himself first.” He hissed. “Yet I am Éomer son of Éomund, and am called the Third Marshal of the Riddermark.”

“Then Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf Glóin’s son warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought.”

With a glare and Éomer’s men murmuring angrily around us, Éomer bore his teeth. "I would cut off your head — dwarf — if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

"You would die before your stroke fell!" Legolas said, swiftly taking aim at the Marshal of Rohan.

“Your pardon, Éomer.” I said softly, sliding myself in between the opposing forces. “When you know more you will understand why you have angered my companions. We intend no evil to Rohan, nor to its folk, neither man nor horse. Will you not hear our tale before you strike?”

His eyes pierced mine, and I prayed the sincerity I held was showing. He hesitated a moment before withdrawing and taking a breath. The atmosphere was rid of its tension, and he nodded.

“I will. But wanderers in the Riddermark would be wise to be less haughty in these days of doubt.” His eyes slid to Gimli, who grunted. “But first, tell me your right names.”

“Legolas is the son of King Thranduil, who rules over the forests of Mirkwood.” Aragorn began. “Gimli is the son of Glóin, and means no ill to those who oppose the enemies in Mordor. Vanya is of Gondor, you may know her as Brennil ned Bellas.”

“Lady of Strength?” Éomer said in shock. “You are the warrior from Fornost?” I nodded meekly, wishing he would just let us talk of important matters like the whereabouts of our hobbits. “And you, Strider?”

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king."

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." Éomer said sadly, content with our introductions. He removed his helmet; and by doing so gave the go-ahead for all of his companions to take their weapons off of us. “Not even his own kin.”

“What has happened?” I asked wearily.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land. My company is those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished.” He said sadly. “The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies.” Aragorn defended. “We track a band of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." Éomer said confidently.

"But there were two hobbits, did you see two hobbits with them?" Gimli begged.

"They would be small, only children to your eyes."

"We left none alive." Éomer said after a moment. My eyes were glued onto him, eyebrows twisted in a fit of confusion. "We piled the carcasses and burned them."

"Dead?" I breathed, unable to look backwards at the place he was pointing to.

"I am sorry." His voice was sincere as he nodded. I bit back the tears fighting to get through; trying to pull myself up from the hole I was falling into. He whistled sharply, calling out two names and beckoning two horses forward.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than the former masters.” He mounted his horse as Aragorn and Legolas grasped the reins of each horse. “Farewell. Look for your friends, but do not trust the hope. It has forsaken these lands. We ride north!"

I watched in dismay as the riders of Rohan galloped away. A pit was in my stomach, as if there were rocks within me. I felt heavy, weighed down with helplessness. Legolas helped Gimli onto the white horse; I believed its name was Arod. The other horse, Hasufel, bore Aragorn on its back.

“My lady.” He beckoned, holding out his hand to help me onto the spot behind him. I hesitated a moment before placing my arms around his middle, holding on as Hasufel began to gallop towards the smoking pile in the distance.

We got to the carcasses, the stench horrendous and the sight even worse. The charred remains of our adversaries were stacked high and wide; at least two hundred orcs reduced to black bones and ash. There was a single spear stuck upright in the ground; atop it was the head of who was probably the new Uruk leader. I slipped off of Hasufel, wandering to the edge of the pile. Gimli joined me, beginning to rifle through the bodies with the tip of his axe.

I could not believe this was true. We had failed them. All I had hoped for was now lost; death creeping after me in my footsteps. Boromir was gone, the hobbits were gone, Frodo and Sam were alone somewhere in the wilderness; marching on towards the Black Gates. Gimli suddenly stopped, his hand slinking into the black mess and holding something up.

"It's one of their little belts." He said solemnly, holding up the burnt material. I turned away from the sight, again fighting the tears that wanted to be born. I looked up at the trees and cocked my head to the side. Trees. They reminded me of the green of the shire. The shire reminded me of the vision I had of Meriadoc, happy and with a family. But that was impossible, if he was in fact.

If he was dead.

My visions had not before been wrong. Not ever. So perhaps there was still hope; no, there was hope. They weren’t dead, they couldn’t be. The forest before me; it was no ordinary forest. This was Fangorn, one of the oldest forests in all of Middle Earth. I had also another vision of this forest; of me seeing it from my exact spot. This was where I told Feredir to go, back at the doors of Moria.

“They aren’t dead…” I whispered, taking one step forward but stopping. A feeling that was all too familiar and unwanted came upon me; and again I fought it. But it was not so easy as I would have liked; and I battled within myself until I fell to my hands and knees. I crushed my eyes shut, my heart racing to give my lungs air but failing. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t feel. Pain rippled to each nerve ending within my body, this unbelievable war inside of me. My head began to throb, and as white crept into my shut eyes it suddenly stopped. I took in one breath, and then the contents of my stomach rushed upwards and out of me. My limbs were wobbly as I struggled to both keep myself up and breathe. Legolas helped me to my feet as I wiped my mouth, feeling beads of sweat roll down my face. I avoided his eyes, shrugging wearily out of his grasp and wandering forwards.

Aragorn released a cry, kicking a helmet straight past me. It clanged as it collided with the ground; continuing to roll out of my sight. There was silence as they were overcome with the same helplessness I had had moments ago. I stared at Fangorn’s edge, trying to feel if this was indeed our path.

"A Hobbit lay here, and the other." Aragorn said quietly, and I turned to see his fingers grace two impressions on the ground. Looking ahead a little, his eyebrows furrowed before he spoke. "They crawled.” He followed, crouched close to the ground, reading the impressions the hobbits left and crawling closer to where I stood. "Their hands were bound."

I looked down at my feet and saw two pieces of material. Bending down, I picked them up. My heart rising, I realized what they were. "Their bonds were cut!" I looked down, following the impressions as the turned to hobbits feet. "They ran over here… and were followed."

"The tracks lead away from the battle!” Aragorn said hopefully. “And into… Fangorn Forest." The three of us stood at the edge of the tree line, looking up at the grand trees of the forest.

"Fangorn!” Gimli exclaimed. “What madness drove them in there?"

“They are alive.” I said simply, not hesitating before marching into the greenery. I did not care for the legendary danger of these forests; Merry and Pippin were in here somewhere, along with Feredir. That was enough for me.