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˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ SHEPHERDS OF THE FOREST ❫ ❞
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT FOUR  ── respice finem 🏹 ⁺⑅

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CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY  ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ YOU HAD US WORRIED ❞
CHAPTER FORTY SIX ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 3019
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THEIR TRAVELS FROM HELM'S DEEP TO ISENGARD WERE MOSTLY SPEND IN SILENCE. Most men who followed their Fellowship were still weary—either physical or with grief. It thickened the atmosphere heavily as they rode. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the creak of leather, the distant call of a bird—seemed amplified by it.

At the front Gandalf rode upon his white steed, one that seemed to glow with light every time the sun shone upon it. Close behind him, King Theóden and his nephew Éomir followed him with a few of their loyal guardsmen. Their horses trotted silently.

Though it was a short trip of a day and a half, time seemed to move slowly. But perhaps it was because with every minute that passed, Gyda's worried gaze remained fixated on Elgarain.

The High-Queen sat atop her horse with practice ease—to most who did not know here well enough. But to Gyda, her stature was easily distinguished as a rather well executed ruse. The way her shoulder twitched every so often or how her thighs would cling to her horse a little tighter than normal. As if she were afraid she'd topple over if met with the slightest stroke of wind.

The dread in her stomach had not settled since they left the keep of Rohan's fortress, no it had increased by tenfold. Gnawing like a beast willing to break free from her.

Gyda urged her horse forward, drawing closer to Elgarain. She wished to reach out, find a way to ease her pain, but to do so would mean to reveal their problem. And the road was no place for such things.

"What is it that has you so worried?"

Gyda's attention is drawn away from her dearest friend.

Legolas' face is marred with worry when he noticed her own frown. "Gyda what is wrong?"

Her heart called for her to tell him, to confide in him—to let him help like he had promised to always do only a day ago in Helm's Deep. "Nothing is wrong Legolas." She replied evenly, avoiding his watchful gaze.

Legolas directed his horse closer to her and lowered his voice when he spoke again; "Gyda you can trust me."

"I trust you." She answered without hesitation nor doubt. "I just worry for Elgarain's safety, you know I do." The half-truth tasted bitter on her tongue and in his eyes, Gyda knew Legolas did not believe her.

"Elgarain is strong and you've taught her well. She's done good." Legolas told her, searching her gaze. "You know so too, I know you do. This is about something else."

Her fingers tightened around the reins of her horse. "Legolas..."

"Gyda."

"I wish not to talk about it, not yet at least." Gyda stated.

The silence that followed was suffocating, but she could not talk to him about this now. Not without consulting Gandalf first, not when she knew what awaited them.

Legolas sighed, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch Gyda's hand. "I understand," he said quietly. "But remember when you're ready, I'll share this burden with you."

Gyda nodded, offering a weak smile in return. "Thank you for understanding."

With a final reassuring squeeze, Legolas let his horse draw back into his place in the procession next to Gimli, leaving Gyda to her thoughts.

She casted a glance at Elgarain once more, the strain on her body evident even as she held her head up high.

The sun was casting long shadows across the landscape as the company pressed onward. Slowly the landscape gradually shifted. The rolling hills gave way to rocky terrain, with grass surrendering to jagged stone.

They had reached the southernmost point of the Misty Mountains, where the river Isen flowed into a valley long controlled by Saruman. His malevolent influence tainting the land like a spreading disease; the earth was cracked, groaning as if in pain and the air carried the acrid scent of smoke.

Her heart ached with sorrow.

But then, through the thickness of a lingering evil, something else sounded.

A sound that should not be found in such dreary place—so light and warm and welcoming.

The sound of laughter.

It pierced through the air and Gyda tilted her head to catch a glimpse of what she had come to recognise as the sound of Hobbits.

As they approached and the trees grew sparse, their company rounded a corner of a broken wall and there they were and Gyda's heart grew a little lighter at the sight. Merry and Pippin, seated on the remains of the wall that had once protected Isengard. Both were smiling, unharmed for as far as she could see. They were surrounded by a meal, both of them holding a mug of ale in their hands and a pipe in the other.

The sound of horses drew their attention and smiles as bright as the sun broke out on both their faces. Laughing brightly, Merry climbed to his feet and held his arms out to wave enthousiastically "Welcome, Lords and Ladies, to Isengard!" He pointed at the tower of black stone behind him. It stood high and proud, though smoke rose from the ground surrounding it.

"You young rascals!" Gimli grunted from his position behind Legolas. "A merry hunt you've led us on and now we find you feasting...and...and smoking!"

Gyda held back a smile, catching Legolas' bemused grin next to her. To Gyda, Gimli almost sounded enviable of the feast Merry and Pippin were sharing.

"We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," Pippin chimed in proudly. "The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork?" Gimli muttered to himself.

Despite the joyous reunion and seeing the Hobbits safe again, Gyda could still remember the fear she felt after losing them. Even if she would never really admit it out loud. The young Hobbits had stolen a small piece of her heart.

She cleared her throat and both Hobbits turned her way with wide eyes when they caught side of her stern gaze.

"Gyda!" Both exclaimed equally excited as terrified by her. It made her smirk.

Slowly she made her way down from her horse before making her way towards the duo their heads craning upward with each step she took closer. A moment of silence passed her shadow looming over her, before quick as lightning, Gyda reached out and knocked their heads together.

They grunted, clutching their heads.

"Idiots—" She brought them both in for a hug. "You had us worried," she whispered and her heart warmed as both Merry and Pippin clung to her tightly.

Gandalf shook his head, muttering something about Hobbits beneath his breath.

Elgarain spurred on her horse to ride up a little closer towards the two Hobbits. "Are you two unharmed?" she asked, skilled eyes scanning their bodies for any possible injuries.

"We are fit as a fiddle, m'lady, I promise you," Pippin assured. "And we are glad to see you alive and well."

She smiled, bright as the sun. "Likewise, Master Hobbit but what are the two of you doing here?"

"We're under orders from Treebeard," Merry announced, pointing at the mighty tower of black stone behind them. "Who's taken over management of Isengard."

Gyda took a step away from the Hobbits to look upon the might of the Ents—something she had only ever heard stories about...vague memories of her mother brushing her hair as she told her about them. The Onodrim were only stories once, and to now see them returned after centuries made her heart beat with excitement.

"Then let us go meet him," Gandalf nodded.

Placing a hand on the back of Pippin's and Merry's shoulders, Gyda urged the two Hobbits forward. With quick and practised ease, she situated herself back on her horse before holding her hand out to Merry.

He wasted no time in reaching for her and Gyda helped hoist him upwards and behind her.

Aragorn extended his arm to Pippin, pulling him up onto the horse behind him. With Gandalf and Théoden leading the way, they passed beneath the remnants of the shattered gate. Gyda watched her surroundings with caution and a hint of amazement. The Ents were certainly not to be trifled with

The entire valley was submerged, the waters thick with mud and debris. The stench of rot hung heavy in the air, mingling with the damp chill that seeped through their cloaks. roken trees and shattered stone jutted out from the murky depths, remnants of what had once been a stronghold of Saruman's power. The horses snorted nervously, their hooves slipping on the uneven ground as they navigated the treacherous terrain.

They had to be careful to lead their horses forward, keeping a careful eye on the floating pieces of wood and iron that might injury them.

As they neared the tower, Gyda craned her neck to take in its height. The black stone soared proudly from the earth, its walls nearly smooth, save for the four jagged horns at its summit, like the claws of some great beast. The craftsmanship was flawless, a testament to ancient skill.

Her attention was diverted from the tower by an oddly shaped figure standing before the entrance. It resembled an ancient man, so old that he seemed to have taken root and merged with the very essence of nature. The Ent's form was that of a tree, adorned with bark, branches, and verdant leaves. Yet, two deep green eyes, alive with intelligence and spirit, dispelled any illusion of it being merely a tree.

"Onodrim," Legolas whispered reverently behind her.

"They've returned," Gyda murmured.

The men of Rohan halted their horses, wide-eyed as they beheld the shepherds of the forest before them. Gimli shifted uneasily behind Legolas, though he restrained himself from reaching for his axe. Even Aragorn found himself captivated by the ancient being. With one glance at Gandalf Gyda noted he seemed to only one who appeared unaffected.

"Young Master Gandalf," the Ent intoned, its voice deep and resonant, as if emerging from the earth itself. "Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there's a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

A tense silence followed, as though Saruman might suddenly manifest before them.

"Show yourself," Aragorn muttered, eager to confront the inevitable.

"Be careful," Gandalf warned. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."

Gimli grunted in annoyance. "Then let's just have his head and be done with it."

Gyda turned her head to look at him. "We don't lower ourselves to the evil ways of our enemy, Master Dwarf."

"We need him alive," Gandalf added. "We need him to talk."

A silky voice, both alluring and venomous, drifted down on the wind. All eyes turned upward to see Saruman, who had appeared atop his tower. Yet through his powerful magic, his words reached them as clearly as if he were standing right beside them, whispering his poisonous thoughts directly into their ears.

Gyda felt the hairs on her neck stand as she gazed upon the old wizard and heard his treacherous words.

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards," Saruman spoke. "Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace you and I?"

From the corner of her eye, Gyda saw Elgarain wince and her eyes drift to the ring perched on her finger, glowing softly in the light. A calmness fell over their company as Vilya seemed to break Saruman's poisonous hold.

A haze seemed to clear from Théoden's eyes and made way for a fiery anger. "We shall have peace," the king spoke with booming voice. "We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged!" He took a trembling breath and spoke through gritted teeth. "When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace."

When Saruman spoke again, the silky pretense was gone, replaced by the venom of a cornered snake. "Gibbets and crows," he sneered. "Dotard!"

His gaze shifted to Gandalf, standing beside the king. "What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess, the Key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad-dûr itself along with the crows of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards?"

But Gandalf responded calmly, his voice a refreshing breeze against the storm of Saruman's rage. "Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk, but you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel."

"So, you have come here for information. I have some for you." Saruman reached into his pocket and pulled out something, holding it up for them to see. From such a height, those without the Elves' blessed sight would not be able to discern it. Gyda's heart dropped into her stomach. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Gyda muttered.

"I'm afraid so," Gandalf replied, somehow having seen it as well.

"What?" Gimli protested. "What is it?"

"A Palantír," Gyda explained. "One of the lost seeing stones. They were once a gift from the Ñoldor to the men of Númenor."

"And most dangerous," Gandalf added, his voice holding a certain edge to it now.

Saruman's voice echoed through the valley as he stared into the orb, something within it swirling with strange colors and shapes. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it."

Worry swirled in her stomach, twirling and festering like a wound. It made her clench her jaw.

"Even now he presses his advantage," Saruman continued. "His attack will come soon. You're all going to die."

Elgarain shared a nervous glance with Gyda. She could read in her gaze the same fear she felt in her own heart. It wouldn't be long before they were riding out to war once again. Perhaps she would see the plains of Mordor again.

Gandalf urged his horse a few paces forward, clearly troubled by Saruman's words.

Their fear seemed to spur Saruman on and returned an sinister gleam in his eyes. "But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor? This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king. Or did you think the heir of the High King could save her people? She's hardly worthy to carry the might of that ring!" His smirk was a twisting, foul thing to behold.

The slight at Elgarain was not missed, and despite her better judgement, Gyda jutted her chin up and spoke through gritted teeth, "You underestimate her Saruman. It is not the crown that makes a ruler, nor the ring that grants worth. It is the courage to stand against the darkness. She carries the strength of her ancestors—the strength of her father and all that strength will light the way for her people." Her tone changed to a low and dangerous lilt, "Mock her all you like, but she is far more worthy than you could every comprehend."

The air suddenly grew heavy, like the calm before a thunderstorm. "Do not speak of things you do not understand, daughter of Gyldorn," Saruman sneered maliciously. "Soon there might not be anything left of your beloved queen to defend."

Hot, burning fury roared alive inside her at the way the wizard spoke. A familiar metallic taste filled her mouth, and only then did Gyda realise the way she was biting the inside of her cheek. Her hands trembled by her side...with rage—or fear she did not know.

She took a shuddering breath to look at Elgarain, the High-Queen was shaking slightly before she took a look at her with the same heartbreaking worry she carried in her own eyes.

"Oh yes, Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him. Those he professes to love."

Gyda gritted her teeth at the way he spoke with such contempt.

"Tell me," the wizard continued mercilessly. "What words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

The mere mention of Frodo and his impossible task made Gandalf seem suddenly older, the weight of the world pressing down on him as he lowered his gaze.

"I've heard enough!" Gimli snarled. He leaned closer towards Legolas and lowered his voice: "Shoot him. Stick an arrow in his gob."

Legolas surprised her by reached for his bow. The way his blue eyes were frowning at the wizard told her that he had struck a nerve within the Elven prince as well.

"No," Gandalf said, turning around to stop the Ellon. "Come down, Saruman and your life will be spared."

"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!" Saruman screamed. He lifted his staff and sent a blast of flames down at Gandalf. The flames were bright and hot, surrounding Gandalf completely and taking him from their sight.

The horses whinnied in fear, backing away as the heat surged toward them. Gyda instinctively reached for her sword. Move, she urged herself, move, but she remained frozen, gripped by horror and helplessness.

Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the fire vanished. In the dissipating smoke, Gandalf stood unscathed, his robes untouched by flame.

"Saruman," He intoned, his voice resonating like a storm in the heavens, "your staff is broken."

Thunder growled in the distance, the earth quaked, and Saruman's staff splintered into pieces.

A figure cloaked in black furs appeared at the tower's edge, and Gyda was quick to recognize the slouching figure—Gríma Wormtongue, the former adviser to King Théoden who had betrayed his people. It seemed he had crawled back to Saruman after being banished after all.

Théoden's expression reflected a mix of surprise and sadness, but when he spoke, his tone was unexpectedly gentle. "Gríma, you don't have to follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan! Come down."

Gríma hesitated, bowing his head as if ready to abandon Saruman and descend. But Saruman's voice cut through the moment, drawing him back.

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman jeered, his voice sharp, the only weapon left to him now that his staff was shattered. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory of Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Théoden, with remarkable composure, ignored the venomous words and addressed Gríma once more. "Gríma, come down. Free yourself from him."

"Free?" Saruman roared. "He will never be free!"

"No," Gríma whimpered, shaking his head in despair.

Saruman turned on him with fury. "Get down, cur!" He struck Gríma hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Saruman!" Gandalf called out, his voice commanding. "You were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"

"Withdraw your guard," Saruman replied bitterly, "and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!"

Behind the wizard, Gríma struggled to his feet, his face a mask of rage and desperation and Gyda could feel the familiar shift in the air even before it happened.

Before anyone could react, he drew a dagger from beneath his cloak and plunged it into Saruman's back.

Saruman gasped, his body going slack.

Legolas was swift, but not swift enough. He loosed an arrow, striking Gríma, but Saruman had already been mortally wounded. Unable to keep his balance, Saruman staggered and fell from the tower, his white robes billowing like a tattered flag as he plummeted.

Gyda could not look away as he fell, fell fell until...

A sickening crunch was heard as Saruman's body struck the ground. There was no splash of water, for the wizard had been impaled on a spike of a wheel.

Gandalf was the first to recover. He turned to Théoden. "Send word to all our allies and to every corner of Middle-Earth that still stands free. The enemy is on the move. We must know where he will strike."

Before Théoden could respond, the wooden wheel beneath Saruman groaned ominously and began to turn, slowly submerging the wizard's body beneath the murky water. As the wheel rotated, a black, round object tumbled from his robes.

"The filth of Saruman is washing away," Treebeard spoke after a moment of silence, drawing their eyes away from Saruman's body.  "Trees will come back to live here. Young trees, wild trees."

A second splash echoed, drawing Gyda's attention to Pippin as he dismounted his horse. Aragorn called out to him, but the determined Hobbit paid no heed. Wading through the water, Pippin bent down and grasped something. As he lifted it, Gyda recognized the Palantír gleaming in his hands.

"Bless my bark!" Treebeard exclaimed, his deep voice filled with surprise.

"Peregrin Took," Gandalf said sharply, urging his horse forward, his hand outstretched. "Hand it over, my lad."

Pippin hesitated, his gaze lingering on the dark stone .

"Quickly now," the wizard pressed and the Hobbit relented, handing him the stone.

As Pippin climbed back onto Aragorn's horse, Gandalf turned to Treebeard. "I leave the Key of Orthanc in your care. It will be up to you and your kind to restore this land."

"And heal it we certainly will," reebeard rumbled, the corners of his ancient face curling into a smile beneath the layers of bark.

"We must return to Edoras," Théoden spoke. "My people have been ordered to gather there."

Their company turned away from the tower, though Elgarain moved her horse towards the Ent first. She placed a fist upon her heart and bowed. "I'm honoured to have met a shepherd of the forest."

Treebeard bowed his head in return. "As am I to have met the High Queen of the Firstborn."

Then, at last they went again; toward Edoras.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE;
Would you look at that! Another update!
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