King Théoden rose from his chair at the head of the great dining table, until moments ago laden with such heapings of food, Pippin had barely contained himself. The meal had begun once the king had joined them in the dining hall, a room smaller than the Golden Hall and plainer, with fewer tapestries and carvings on the walls. But what designs they had were no less fine than that which graced the King's Hall.

They were at last to have their talk of battle now that the meal was eaten. "Lord Aragorn has his path to decide. We, the Rohirrim, have ours. For though the Ents have seen to the orcs that marched from Isengard, we yet have orcs from Mordor to fight. Although my mind was bespelled by Saruman, I do recall giving orders to Éomer to prepare for battle." He glanced at Gandalf on his right, and Pippin thought he looked uncertain.

"I fear I was not present at the time, lord. I cannot tell you what plans you have made."

"I was present," Strider said from Gandalf's other side, but he hesitated. "I believe... you ordered Éomer to prepare to fight beside the uruk-hai of Saruman." Pippin wished to assure Aragorn that he remembered rightly, but he would not interrupt the king.

"With those orders, they would prepare for a battle to be fought beside an army larger than our own. Now we face Mordor alone."

"Your men should know as well that they fight for you, not for Saruman," Gandalf said.

"Rohan's army is no match for the forces of Mordor," King Théoden said with a scowl. "But there is no time to call to Gondor for aid. And we have good reason to believe Sauron will soon send a force upon them as well. They may not be in a position to come to our aid if there were time." Lord Théoden closed his eyes.

Pippin realized there was a misunderstanding among the Big Folk. They misjudged Saruman's plans. With so many formidable people present, he hesitated to speak, but this was important. He sat up straighter in his chair and looked to the front of the table. "Gandalf?"

The wizard turned at the hobbit's question. "Pippin, now is not the time—"

"But, Gandalf—"

"Pippin, we can discuss it later, I assure you."

Pippin frowned. Gandalf dismissed him as if he had nothing useful to say, as he had done many times before. But before was... different. So much had changed. He had changed. And he knew when his words were worth interrupting the king. He took a deep breath. "No, Gandalf, we cannot discuss it later," he answered with a sternness that surprised even himself.

Gandalf's eyebrows rose to new heights. Pippin raised himself on his knees and tried to ignore all who watched him, especially the newcomers. He bowed his head to the king. "King Théoden, I am Peregrin Took of the Shire and cousin to Merry. I apologize for my interruption. But there is something you ought to know. It is not all of Mordor that comes to Edoras."

There was silence around the table.

"How do you know this, Pippin?" Gandalf said warily.

Suddenly, the scrutiny of the Big Folk was too much for him. Why did he think he should speak in the first place? "I—I heard Saruman..."

"You heard him? When?"

Strider spoke up, to Pippin's relief. "Lord Théoden, Gandalf, Pippin is perhaps our best source of information." After offering a brief, private smile of assurance to Pippin, he turned to the king. "He was kept as Saruman's vassal while we were imprisoned. I imagine he heard most of his plans."

"I have, all of them, or nearly so." They all looked at Pippin with new interest. He focused on King Théoden, whose attention seemed least intimidating.

"My apologies, Pippin," Gandalf said. "You have a great deal to tell us."

"Yes, beginning with the army from Mordor," King Théoden said. "You say it is not all of Mordor?"

"Well, that was not my impression. Saruman used a word... contingent? I thought it meant a part of the army, the way he used it."

"Precisely," Gandalf said, smiling. "So, then only a contingent of Mordor's army approaches. We have no way of knowing the size of this contingent—eh, do we, Pippin?" The hobbit shrugged. "So we will have to make a battle plan—"

"With one meager army," Théoden finished, looking at Strider, then turning to one of the guards. "I must speak with Éomer at once." He paused. "Tell him nothing more."

The guard smiled. "As you wish, my lord King."

"Pippin," Gandalf said, "Is there any more regarding the force from Mordor that you feel we ought to know now? We will talk on all the rest soon, but now we must plan for Rohan to meet this army. Is there aught else you recall of Saruman's plans?"

Pippin closed his eyes. "Well," he said reluctantly, "only that this army is coming..." he glanced at Strider, "to collect Strider." All eyes were on Pippin—including Strider's. "I can't say for certain Saruman was going to go through with it, Gandalf. He was trying to double-cross everyone. Even Sauron, it seems.

"Sauron had demanded that Saruman bring Strider to him. That is why Sauron sent this force in the first place. But then Saruman began talking of fighting the army, so he might not have planned to hand him over. Perhaps he thought to do so if he could not put Strider under his spell completely." Strider's face grew hard, and Pippin wished he did not have to say these things.

"Sauron sent this army to collect Strider," Gandalf said thoughtfully. "Do you remember any of the precise words Saruman might have used? We are trying to grasp a sense of the size of this army. What you say now makes me think it might be quite small."

Pippin frowned, but shook his head. "I'm sorry, Gandalf. I don't remember anything else, not about the size."

"Then, with what little information we have," Gandalf said, turning to the king, "I believe that we have a chance with your army."

King Théoden nodded. "The news that the men fight unaided will be welcome to some, as they were loath to fight beside orcs, but their numbers will be smaller nonetheless, and that is never welcome news. Despite this, knowing that Saruman no longer has final word in Rohan may strengthen their resolve."

"Pippin," Strider said. "Why did you say that: 'not about the size'? Is there something we have overlooked?"

Pippin frowned. "I meant I hadn't heard mention of anything about the size."

"But you have heard mention of much more, I am sure. Is there aught that struck you as odd or significant, or a word perhaps niggling at the back of your mind?"

"I was only thinking about Saruman's plans. And Sauron. Saruman had talked of taking you and King Théoden to lead an army to Gondor. It seems he thought to make the Steward of Gondor feel he could not refuse him, when Mordor was on its way." Pippin frowned. "He said Sauron was coming to Gondor, but never why. I think he knew he was going to make Sauron angry with whatever he did in Rohan, and Sauron would really be coming for him. I think he was going to try to double-cross Sauron. I am not sure that helps you at all."

Ranger, wizard, and king looked at Pippin for a long moment. "At the very least, this confirms much of what we already suspected. And that is a great help," Gandalf said, and Pippin was relieved he had spoken. "You have done very well, Pippin. There is more to eat, if you like. You have certainly earned it." Pippin grinned broadly as he grabbed another piece of bread.

Strider added, "Well done, Peregrin." The hobbit offered a small smile in return.

On Pippin's right, a hand patted his. "Nicely done," Gimli said. "It is gratifying to see the Big Folk reminded that the little folk have words worthy to hear." Beyond the dwarf, Merry looked on proudly with a wide grin.

As Pippin chewed, footsteps approached. In a moment, the king's nephew—why the Rohirrim said 'sister-son' instead Pippin couldn't fathom—Éomer strode into the hall wearing a stern expression. The man slowed as he neared the king at the head of the table. His eyebrows rose and his lips parted as he saw the clarity in his uncle's eyes. After a speechless moment, he whispered, "Uncle." The stern expression fell away and hope and wonder took its place. The familiarity must have been improper even for the king's kin, for he quickly added, "my lord," and bowed, but even then he could not tear his eyes from his restored uncle.

Théoden rose slowly, smiling. "Éomer, sister-son, yes. Saruman has been dispelled from my court and my mind. I am once more your uncle and your King." He strode to him and clasped his shoulders while Éomer beamed. Pippin shared the man's glee, for he was immeasurably pleased to be rid of the wizard himself.

"How?"

"There will be time for that. There is much you should know, but I feel the story belongs to Gandalf." He looked back to the wizard who had remained at the table.

Gandalf came forth, nodding to King Théoden. "Long had your king been held under a spell of Saruman and so you may be gratified to learn that Saruman shall wield spells no more."

"That is indeed great tidings, Gandalf. No longer can they say you are only the bearer of ill news." Éomer sobered. "What of his army of orcs? When they do not receive his command, might they not attack?"

"Saruman's orcs will be attacking no one. That tale is longer than the time we have. But be wary of the new woods you will find to the northwest of Edoras. It would be safer not to enter it."

"New woods? To the ...northwest?" Pippin saw his confusion and wondered what he would think of the story of Ents Gandalf had quickly related to them. He contemplated what a forest striding across the plains would look like.

"As Gandalf has said, it is too long a story," Théoden said, "one you will have difficulty believing regardless. There are more pressing concerns."

"Yes, my lord," Éomer said reluctantly. "The orcs are gone then. The army from Mordor?"

Gandalf nodded. "That problem has not been eliminated, I fear. But what our dear friend, Pippin, has told us has made an important difference. He has gathered from Saruman's words that the army is merely a contingent. We have concluded that Sauron has not sent the whole of his forces against you. It may be possible to defeat them with what forces you have." Pippin sat up straighter at the mention of his name, though he hoped he would not be questioned as he was before.

Éomer looked from Gandalf to Pippin. "You say this servant that came trailing in with Saruman is your friend?" Pippin realized the man had not seen him since they had first arrived, when he was still tied to Saruman's side. What must he think of him?

"Pippin was forced in to the service of Saruman when he was taken prisoner by orcs. In that position he learned a great deal of Saruman's plans for Rohan and I imagine beyond," Gandalf assured Éomer. "He will share with us as much as he can remember of what he learned. For now, we have focused on the orcs that approach Edoras."

Éomer looked closely at Pippin, and the hobbit tried not to squirm beneath his scrutiny. The man looked as if he wished to ask a question, but kept it to himself.

"Éomer?" The man tore his eyes from Pippin to turn to Gandalf. "Have you not met a hobbit before?"

"A hobbit?" Éomer's brow wrinkled with further confusion.

"Yes, a hobbit. Others might refer to them as halflings, and the Rohirrim have named them holbytlan."

"A holbytla? The folk from the children's tales? Gandalf, surely this is no time for jest."

"No, no time for jesting, but time for Rohan to awaken to the outer world around them, perhaps. Pippin is not a child, as you might have assumed. He is a hobbit, as is his cousin, Merry."

Pippin appreciated Gandalf's efforts at clearing up the misunderstanding, but thought Éomer needed further explanation. "Yes, we call ourselves hobbits, and I'm nearly a fully grown hobbit, thank you. My coming of age is in less than five years' time, when I'll turn thirty-three."

Éomer looked upon him with wonder and then laughed. "And from this little one comes such important news as to change our battle plans. And more of it you have, you say?"

"Yes, sir. I was always near Saruman, but he often paid me no heed, so he did not hide from me his plans."

"Well, may I never make the same mistake. Hobbits are small, I see, but wise as well."

"You already learn the first lesson on hobbits," Gandalf said with a smile. "There is much to learn of hobbits—and from them," he added, "but that is for another time. Most important now is preparing for the battle you face."

"And you now believe the approaching force to be smaller than previously thought; is this correct, my lord?"

"Precisely," King Théoden said. "You must now adjust your plans for battle accordingly."

"As you wish, my lord." Éomer looked about the room then, taking in the two hobbits across the table, a flicker passing through his eyes as they fell upon the dwarf. Much more filled his eyes as he saw the sons of Elrond and the Rangers.

"It must be said, Gandalf, your friends are many and varied," the man finally said.

"Indeed they are, and for that I am blessed. We have with us, in addition to the hobbits Merry and Pippin, Gimli, son of Gloín, from the Lonely Mountain. Halbarad brought thirty Rangers from the North this very morning with Elrohir and Elladan, who rode from Rivendell with a message from their father Elrond for none other than Aragorn."

Éomer took all this in with another sweep of the table before his eyes came to rest on Strider. "You stood with Saruman when you arrived in Edoras, and met with Lord Théoden, did you not?" His voice barely held back the accusation in the question.

"I did."

"You said you would fight for Saruman, and that we had no choice but to do the same. Are you now of a different mind?"

"Aye." A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "I am indeed of a different mind," he said quietly. He looked up then to face Éomer. "I do not fight for Saruman." When Éomer's eyes narrowed in doubt, he added, "With Gandalf's aid, I am free from the spell under which Saruman held me."

"You were under his spell as well?"

Strider looked away from Éomer for a moment. "I was. Pippin tried valiantly to keep me from falling to it, but in the end... I was not strong enough."

"There is no shame in it. Even our King Théoden fell under his spell. If a king cannot best him, what can ordinary men do?"

Gandalf stepped forward. "Not all Saruman said were lies, Éomer. Aragorn is indeed this man's name, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He is no ordinary man, but rather the heir of Isildur and to the throne of Gondor—a prize in Saruman's eyes. Quite likely, Saruman was particularly ruthless and relentless with his spell-casting."

"He was, Gandalf! He was!" Pippin cried out, unable to contain himself. "And yet, Saruman would never have gotten Strider, but he was wounded and starved. He—he wasn't at his strongest."

"I believe you entirely, Peregrin," Gandalf said indulgently. He turned again to Éomer. "You no longer have a horde of orcs to fight for you. But you have many sturdy folk to lend their swords to your cause. All is not lost."

Before leaving, Éomer took one last look at Strider, doubt warring with hope on his face.

Once talk of battle had concluded, Gandalf leaned closely to the man beside him. "Aragorn, I would hear more of your story, but before any of it, I would hear of this Stone that you believe is a palantír. I must know this for sure, and I wish to see it, if possible."

Pippin shivered as his eyes grew wide. He wanted to hear nothing more of that Stone. Strider sighed, wearing a familiar look of dread. "Gandalf, maybe he would rather not speak of it!" Pippin said. "It's a terrible, awful thing that takes you to frightful places you wish never to return to. But Saruman made him return and return. Don't make him return once more."

Gandalf's eyes bored into him and Pippin's heart jumped. He hated when Gandalf got that look. He glanced at Strider, and the man wore a rather strange expression as well. What had he said? His stomach tightened, chasing away his hunger. The last time he had wondered what he had said wrong, disaster had followed.

Gandalf turned to Strider, and the man looked almost apologetic. "Peregrin," Gandalf said slowly, the use of his full name an ill omen for the hobbit, "what do you know of the frightful places to which this Stone takes you?"

Pippin's mouth dropped. How did Gandalf know? He looked at Strider, who wore a resigned expression. "Strider told me every nightmare he saw when Saruman put him on the Stone—"

"Pippin, tell him. It will be all right."

All right? How could Strider think it would be all right? Gandalf was certain to be angry with him—again. He looked down at his empty plate. Could he ever manage to do—or say—the right thing? Could he ever manage to keep Gandalf from being angry with him? When would he stop making horrid mistakes?

"I—I touched the Stone," he mumbled, but then an urge to defend himself pushed his words out in a rush. "I didn't mean to. It just happened! And Strider and Saruman both said that I was drawn to it. So I really didn't have much say in the matter. Before I knew what had happened, I had done it..." He trailed off, confused when Gandalf hadn't started yelling at him right off.

Gandalf surprised Pippin by rising and coming round to him, crouching down, and putting a hand on his shoulder. Pippin couldn't explain the almost sad expression on Gandalf's face. It wasn't at all what he had expected. "Do not fret so, Peregrin. No, I am not angry with you, for Aragorn and Saruman were correct. If you touched it without understanding why, rather than for the curiosity of it, then you were indeed drawn to the Stone. And that is cause more for worry than anger."

"I would never have touched that horrid rock. Strider warned me about it, said never to touch it. But he didn't have to. I saw—I saw what it did to him. If it could do that to such a man as Strider, then a hobbit has no business with such things." He shivered again and, to his dismay, felt his throat constrict.

"No, a hobbit has no business with such things. Which is why you had no chance to stop yourself. The Stone was far stronger than you."

"Tell him what you saw, Pippin." Strider's voice was gentle.

Pippin swallowed. He closed his eyes, hating to return to that fiery world inside the Stone. His chest tightened and he struggled to take a deep breath. "I saw a man. A man before a window. He didn't look at all pleasant. And then—he looked at me, as if he saw me."

"What did this man look like? It is very important to tell us anything you remember."

"It was dark, so I couldn't see much. He was not a very old man, but not young. I think he wore a cloak. Em, the cloak might have had some fur around the edge."

"You said you saw high mountains behind him, through the window, did you not?" Pippin nodded. "I believe those to be the hills of the Ephel Dúath," Strider said to Gandalf. "And Denethor wears such a cloak."

Gandalf nodded and stood. "Denethor has taken it upon himself to use the Stone of the White Tower. This complicates matters greatly. Did you say aught to him?"

Pippin mumbled then forced himself to speak up. "I—I told him my name."

"So, the Steward of Gondor Lord Denethor has laid eyes upon you."

"Is he—is he evil?"

"No, Peregrin. Denethor is not evil. But he is a force to be reckoned with. And he will know you are a hobbit. I must consider how to attend to this matter. Our next moves must be taken with great care."