Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

Everyone was rushing around, following orders from someone or other. There was quite a bit of chaos in the golden hall of Meduseld. I bade the hobbits come with me after the meeting in the main hall, using their noses to locate the kitchen. There were cooks within, of course, busy preparing the morning meal which would probably go uneaten until a later, less hectic time. I politely asked if I could perhaps use some of their supplies to make something myself, and thanked them upon receiving approval.

Merry and Pippin sat upon two wine barrels in the corner of the room while I gathered what I needed to make cookies that Legolas had so wittily nicknamed Mirkwood cookies for their ability to keep unspoiled for weeks on end, just as resilient as the trees of Mirkwood. Every now and again I cast a glance at the hobbits—the guilt alone on Pippin’s face was enough to break my heart. But matched with Merry’s worry, it made it nearly impossible to look at the two for any length of time.

I understood that Gandalf was taking Pippin with him to Minas Tirith—his being seen by Sauron was a dangerous thing indeed. Knowing that he would receive no special treatment as a hobbit in Gondor, he would only be granted normal rations; which were, as any person who has travelled with hobbits knows well, not at all sufficient for the shireling. I hoped the cookies would serve as something to snack on during the lonely nights.

“Lady Vanya, you need only ask for a meal if you a hungry.” Èowyn said as she came up to me.

“Forgive me if it is not my place.” I bowed slightly, but my anxiety diminished as she smiled at me.

“There is naught to forgive.”

“I was making a snack for the hobbits—something for the road.” I said in a quieter voice, nodding as she understood what I spoke of. She turned to one of the cooks, speaking gently to them before turning back to me and beckoning me to follow her. I cast a weary glance back at the hobbits who were dozing off.

“All will be managed in your absence.” She smiled as I followed her out of the kitchen and through the halls. “There is much legend and wonder surrounding you, Vanya. Please, tell me of your journeys.” She said as we at descended the stairs that led to the fields around the hall. She picked a spot in the tall grass and sat, bidding me to join her.

“You have my word, my lady, that they were much less journeys as they were foolish struggles.”

“One would think that being of royal bloodline would provide all I could ever want.” She said sadly after some time. “But after my father died, all I longed for was the freedom to see the world.”

“That was why I left Gondor. My mother had passed during childbirth, it was only ever my father and I. He was only a soldier, of course. In my sixteenth year he was killed during battle. I had no other family, very few friends, and so I left…I just ran away. I knew not where I would end up nor how I would survive, but somehow I did.”

Never would I have imagined to relate so greatly to Èowyn, we were on very different levels in the world yet somehow were so alike. Speaking to her came so easily, as if I had known her for many years. It was a comforting feeling: that somehow, through all of the darkness in the world there still was light.

“Where did you go?”

“Well, for many months I travelled along the western shores of the Anduin, for none wishes to attempt the dead marshes and emyn muil. I remember hiding from goblins near the southern border of Lothlórien, but not daring to enter the tree line. After some time I had wandered into the forest of Mirkwood.”

“Mirkwood?” Èowyn breathed in disbelief. I nodded wearily.

“There are smaller, less dense forests that are scattered around Mirkwood, I only knew my true location when the air became thick and I could not find my way out. It was a horrifying place, so full of darkness…” I recalled the forest in my memory, flinching as though I had been returned there. “The elf that travels with us, he found me wandering the forest and rescued me. He is the son of Thranduil, the elven king of the kingdom in Mirkwood. Thranduil was kind enough to let me stay with him for some time. When I turned 20 I left, crossing the Misty Mountains, and getting lost in them for weeks, before I ended up in Rivendell. I didn’t know then why Lord Elrond had been so willing to help me, but for five years I lived in his city and received the time to grow up that I needed. On the eve of my 26th year I bid everyone farewell and made for the country of Arnor. There I remained until this year, I was meaning to return home when I ran into the hobbits, and here I am.”

“A remarkable story.” She smiled in wonder. I shied away from her words, not knowing how to truly respond from such high words from royalty. “In Rivendell, then, you must have been given the name you are known by.”

“I think not.” I laughed, shaking my head as I picked at the grass. “My heart tells me Legolas is behind the spreading of that ridiculous name and whatever legend comes by it. I learned to fight first from…from a very old friend in Gondor. Legolas and some of the elves in Rivendell also aided me, but the true practice came in Arnor when I was alone. I take no pride in the name because if I were a man I would be no more than a runaway.”

“Men so greatly undermine the force with which a woman can wield a sword.” We laughed together, but my eye was caught by a rushing figure of white in the distance. I recognized the figure as Gandalf, and politely excused myself as I ran up to where Merry and Pippin followed.

"Of all the inquisitive hobbits, Peregrin Took, you are the worst!” Gandalf said with impatience. “Hurry! Hurry!"

“Where are we going?” Pippin asked his friend as they trotted after the wizard. One of the cooks rushed up to me, carrying a bundle of what I assumed were the cookies. I thanked her distantly and tried to catch up to the hobbits.

“Why did you look?” Merry asked irritably. “Why do you always have to look!”

“I don't know. I can't help it!”

“You never can.”

“I’m sorry alright? I won’t do it again.”

“Don’t you understand?” Merry said wearily, spinning to look at Pippin. “The enemy thinks you have the Ring! He's going to be looking for you, Pip. They have to get you out of here.”

“And you…You’re coming with me?” Merry shot a glance up at me before turning towards the stable and following after Gandalf. “Merry?”

“Come on.” I gently nudged the scared hobbit inside, his feet carrying him to where Aragorn stood at the wizard’s side. Gandalf lifted Pippin onto Shadowfax and got on himself.

“How far is Minas Tirith?” The hobbit asked as I slipped the bundle onto his lap, gently squeezing his hand before backing away.

“Three day's ride, as the Nazgûl flies. And we better hope we don't have one of those on our tail.”

“Here,” Merry said quietly, handing a leather envelope of something to his friend. “Something for the road.”

“The last of the Longbottom Leaf?”

“I know you've run out.” Merry said with a sad laugh. “You smoke too much, Pip.”

“But we'll see each other soon, won't we?” Merry turned from Pippin to look up at Gandalf, who sported a weary look. My heart was breaking, seeing these two hobbits who had already seen far too much now face the greatest hardship of all: continuing the journey alone.

“I don't know.” He was on the verge of tears. “I don't know what's going to happen.”

“Run, Shadowfax.” Gandalf urged the horse. “Show us the meaning of haste.”

Shadowfax blitzed through the stable in a flash of white, passing Legolas and Gimli and turning sharply round the corner. All of us stood in silence for a few moments before Merry rushed after them. Aragorn called out to the hobbit, taking chase just as I did. Merry ran up the stairs of the watchtower, stopping only at the top where he watched the shrinking image of his companion. I rested my hand on his shoulder as a few tears fell from his eyes.

“He's always followed me. Everywhere I went, since before we were tweens.” Merry laughed. “I would get him into the worst sort of trouble. But I was always there to get him out. And now he's gone. Just like Frodo, and Sam.”

“One thing I've learned about hobbits: they are most hardy folk.” Aragorn said hopefully.

“Foolhardy maybe.” Merry said. “He’s a Took!”

Merry stayed watching for a few minutes, but no matter how hard he wished Pippin would not come back and Merry could not go after him. Their courage was so admirable, like a young child speaking of war with a straight face. They did what needed to be done because they had no other choice: they had left the shire behind to try and save Middle Earth. After some time the hobbit turned from the landscape, his head hung low as he descended the stairs. There was one moment, just a heartbeat long, that Aragorn caught my gaze. He had an expression hard to place—something between sadness and worry. As I cast down my eyes he took in breath, as if to speak, but I willed my feet forward and down the stairs before he could speak.

As I wandered through the town my thoughts drifted back to those of the previous night: the doubt, the questioning. In Rivendell, at the beginning of the journey and the fellowship, all things seemed perfect. Many moons ago, my place was beside the others. But we had travelled so far, lost so much, and broken down into imperfect and delicate pieces of a bigger picture. There was no fellowship. There were individuals doing all they could to keep the fire, the dream, the abstract concept of it alive.

War was spreading to Gondor, that much I knew. When was a mystery, and I imagined that I would be stuck in Edoras waiting for some sign that could very well come too late. I could not help Frodo from Edoras, I could not help Pippin, and Merry’s sadness would not be cured until he was reunited with his friend. I was no great asset to the army of Rohan, if they were to go to war my absence would go unnoticed. I would serve no better purpose in Gondor, but at least if I met my end there it would be on familiar grounds.

For that was all I truly wanted any more. Some place to call home, a refuge for this lost wanderer.

Walking out into the field surrounding Edoras, I looked out at the land of Mordor, at the great eye itself. It was then that I thought about a use, at last, for my gift. If I focused hard enough, I was told, it was possible to look into the future of others. See along their personal time lines and pick out certain events to view in detail. If this worked for others, I wondered if it perhaps would work for Sauron himself?

With focus, I let all other thoughts drain from my mind and gave myself over completely to whatever power was within me. It was frightening at first to have this foreign thing take control of my mind, but once I passed the shock it came as naturally as breathing. All I saw was silver, a dense fog that bordered on liquid, swirling about before me. I tried to focus on the energy I imagined Sauron would emit. A darkness, a blackness, an unparalleled evil: power incarnate.

I searched for a long time, and when I feared the task to be hopeless I felt a gentle tug. It was slow, at first, but quickly picked up speed and pulled my conscious through the fog-lake. Shadows began to appear around me in unrecognizable and varying shapes, blurring by as I went faster and faster. The shadows began to take shape, forming people and places I was unfamiliar with. After some time I was thrust into a series of memories.

The first was of Sauron wielding a giant mace, smashing through entire ranks of elves and men with horrific ease. It had an uncanny resemblance to the scenes painted in Rivendell. When Sauron approached a man in Gondorian armour I understood this was the great war of the second age. In a slur of images Isildur raised his father’s broken sword and sliced the fingers off of Sauron’s hand. I felt the pain as if it was my own hand, barely recuperating from the event before I was flying through the fog again.

This time I saw what I could only assume was the construction of Mordor. Buildings that were once white and proud markings of Gondor were burned and defiled, blackened with the hate of Sauron. Orcs were made, tents were put up and over a short time Mordor filled with armies of orcs ready to die for their great leader. At last I came to what I interpreted as the future, seen through the great eye: orcs and trolls pour out of the black gates, surrounding a small pack of glimmering shields. A fight ensues, and is joined by nazgûl from the skies. The scene zooms in on a familiar face. It is my own, and just as I recognize this one of the trolls sends my body flying across the battlefield. I am bleeding out, all others far too busy to check if I am still alive. I shuddered at the image, and before I could pull away I was drawn past this, pulled backwards and turned, traveling higher and higher up the tower until I reached the top. I was face to face with Sauron himself, his eye burning my skin and hair and body until all that was left was my eyes.

The image fluttered in and out of existence, but when it was at last replaced with that of a human face I was in such a panic that my dagger flew out of its holder and was pressed against the man’s neck, pinning him to the ground I had laid on moments before. Tears clouded my eyes, but as I blinked them away I saw Aragorn, his hands held up in peace as his eyes pierced mine. I began to shake, dropping the blade and crawling away before belching up the contents of my stomach. I fell backwards against the outer wall of the town, covering my eyes and trying to catch my breath. Aragorn called to me but I had not the strength to speak. After my heart relaxed I began to cry, out of fear that Sauron had found a permanent spot in my mind, and for the promise of death he had shown me. How could I have been so naïve as to believe a simple look into the future would actually slip past The Dark Lord Sauron?

“Vanya,” Aragorn called again, desperation peaking into his voice as he knelt before me. He reached out, but when his hand met mine all I saw was fire. I snapped away from him, abruptly standing and retrieving my knife before turning on my heel.

“I cannot… I…I need time.” I stammered out before taking brisk steps back into the city. I walked straight for the stables, closing the doors behind me and almost running to Feredir. I entered his stall, collapsing onto him as I cried. He whinnied in his panicked tone but I had not the courage to lie and tell him all was well.

I pulled away, looking into his big eyes and knowing that my place was not here, in Rohan. If indeed I died before the black gates then there was still someone I needed to see in Minas Tirith before that end was met. I took a deep breath, promising Feredir I would return soon and leaving the sanctuary of the stable. In a rush I gathered all of my things quietly and returned to the stable. I fastened my belongings onto Feredir, fixing his bridle and taking the reins into my hand as I led him from his stall.