Part 6

Posted: December 2003
Author: Khylaren

*****

Chapter 6

Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!
-Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

The armies of Mordor and the Rohirrim came together with a sound that, for as long as she lived, Erin knew she would never forget. The sound of horses screaming, men shouting, swords crashing and arrows flying. The sound of chaos unleashed.

They surged forward into the blackness, and it was all she could do to stay by Rúmil and Orophin's side. Elven bows sang out around her, striking their foes, and clearing the path for Théoden as he led their charge.

Terror gripped her. She clung to Ared's back as the battle-wise horse wheeled, striking out with his hooves at anything that dared to get too close. A sword swung at her and she ducked automatically, feeling the wind from its passing on her cheek. She struck out with her knife, aiming for the throat as Rúmil had shown her, and was rewarded by a spray of hot blood across her face.

Gagging, she pulled back, feeling as if her actions were in slow motion as she watched the man fall lifeless at Ared's feet. Something swift flew by her face and she jerked back reflexively, her eyes widening as another man fell next to the first, arrows imbedded in his body. She quelled the nausea that rose and pulled Ared's reins, guiding the horse behind Orophin and Rúmil's as they charged into the fray.

"Stay alert," Rúmil shouted, swiftly knocking another arrow to his bow. Two more of the enemy fell before Ared's feet. Erin could do little more than hang on, ducking the blows that came her way as her horse eagerly followed its fellows. From what little she could see, the Rohirrim were laying waste to their foes; only a few slipped by them to be dealt with by Celeborn's elves, and Erin was beyond grateful for their skill.

Smoke from the burning city filled the air, stinging her eyes as they drew closer to the great wall. She tried vainly to see where Éowyn and Merry were in all the confusion that surrounded them, but could make out very little in the darkness. Besides, the need to stay alive made it difficult to spend much time looking for her friends. She managed to duck another blow aimed for her as Ared spun on his hindquarters, nearly unbalancing her seat in the process. The horse kicked out with deadly accuracy, and the man screamed in pain. His screams ended abruptly, but off by an arrow through his throat.

Erin leaned against Ared's neck for a brief moment. If we get through this, I'm going to rub you down myself and give you the best horse-treats I can find. If we get through this…

Ahead of her, where she knew that somewhere, the King and Éomer rode, she heard the sound of a horn. The sound of it carried across the field brazenly and she heard the voices of men roar in response to it.

"Ai! Tiro! Look!" Orophin shouted, raising his hand to the sky.

For the first time in days, the sky was growing lighter, and she could see the golden glow of the sun just below the horizon. The sun was rising, bringing daylight into the world once more.

~ * ~

The sky was brightening, and Théoden took that as a good sign. Around him the bodies of the Haradrim, Easterlings and Southrons lay in death beside Orcs and other fell creatures that had been summoned to the Dark Lord's cause. He glanced to the walls and saw that Elfhelm led his éored through the siege-engines, laying waste to the men and orcs there, driving them wailing into their own fire pits. Éomer's éored claimed the east, slaying all that stood in their path. Behind his own men, Lord Celeborn's elves rode, their arrows seeking and finding their enemy with deadly and beautiful accuracy.

Well done by far, but still the gates of Gondor had yet to be won from the enemy, and already he could see the growing forces waiting there to meet them.

He took his standard bearer's horn once more and raised it to his lips, blowing a long and brash note just as the sun drew above the horizon.

"Forth, Éorlingas!" Théoden shouted, setting his spurs to Snowmane's flanks. "To me!"

The thunder of hooves filled the air as they rode south to meet the enemy. Théoden's blood sang with the fury of battle, and his sword was swift. Ahead he saw the great Northmen, horsemen like themselves, and he raised his sword high in challenge. The chief of the Northmen met him with a savage howl, but Théoden felt no fear. His sword rang loudly against the chieftain's shield, the force of his blow knocking his enemy from his saddle. No quarter was given, and the screams of the dying Northmen filled the air as he took up their hideous standard and broke it into pieces.

He raised the horn to his lips once more, when a shadow fell across the sky, darkening the new day.

~ * ~

She saw it all.

The black creature hovered in the sky above where King Théoden rode, and she saw the horses react to its presence, screaming and squealing their terror of the beast above them. Most of their riders could not control them and were either thrown from their backs or hapless passengers as their horses fled. She could see Théoden fighting to control Snowmane, and the great, white horse reared back, twisting, falling…

Erin was too far away to do anything but watch helplessly as Snowmane fell, crushing his rider beneath his weight.

Ared and the other horses of her group reacted as well, and Erin found herself on the ground quicker than she could think. Back and shoulders aching from the sudden impact, she could only watch as her horse galloped madly away, squealing in terror. Only the elves had managed to stay mounted, and a hand reached down, hauling her across the back of Orophin's horse.

She clung to his strong back, pressing her nose against his armor as she fought to keep her head clear. It was most definitely not the time to indulge in hysterics. Those could wait.

"Are you all right?" Orophin called back, adjusting her grip around his waist lower so that it did not interfere with his aim.

"Did you see?" she cried, unable to keep from shuddering. "Oh my god, Orophin. Did you see?"

"Aye, Erin," Orophin replied, his voice low. "I saw."

Erin lifted her head, swallowing her terror, and dared a look around his shoulder. They had fallen behind the others, though Orophin was already nudging his horse to catch up to them. A horrible thought occurred to her and she looked back at the great monster, its claws digging into Snowmane's flesh as it settled on the ground. Where was Éowyn!

She had last seen her friend riding in the same company as the King. When the black creature had approached, the company's horses had fled or thrown their riders. Where were Éowyn and Merry?

There!

Erin gasped in fear.

Standing alone before the great beast was a rider, her sword lifted in defiance. As they drew closer, she could see that the beast held a rider as well; a black rider, with a weapon that gleamed with an evil light. It slowly dismounted, stepping forward with an eerily smooth motion, as if it lacked legs. Éowyn stepped forward as well, her head lifted in challenge.

"Oh my god," Erin whispered, Galadriel's words coming back to her. "She's going to…"

The black rider drew back its weapon and struck at Éowyn, shattering her shield in one blow and knocking the Shield Maiden to the ground.

"Hurry, Orophin!" Erin cried, drumming her legs against his horse. "It's going to kill her!"

But Orophin's horse balked at going any closer to the winged creature, shying away despite his gently worded pleas. Frustrated and filled with fear that made her knees quake, Erin slipped off the back of Orophin's horse, ignoring his shout for her to stop.

The black rider had raised his weapon, leaning over Éowyn with the obvious intent to finish her, when something caused it to rear back, hissing and screeching in pain and anger. It turned, and Erin saw what had made it pause.

Merry!

The little hobbit had stabbed the black rider with his sword as high as he could reach, hitting it in the leg. The thing howled its fury and swung at Merry, knocking the hobbit several yards away. Merry fell brokenly and did not move. The rider turned its cowl once more towards Éowyn.

And met her sword.

Erin saw the sword shatter like glass as the black rider gave an inhuman shriek. Its robes collapsed as if they had only held smoke. The winged monster it had ridden gave a hoarse cry, and rose into the air. It didn't get the chance to flee however. The sound of elven bows filled the air and it howled in agony. It fell from the sky and hit the ground with a resounding thud, struck down by more arrows than she could count. She saw Éowyn stand for a moment, looking down at her foe, before swaying and falling next to Snowmane and Théoden.

Sobbing, Erin ran, stumbling across the bodies of the fallen in her effort to reach her friends. She reached Merry first and crouched by his side. He was breathing, and when she touched his face, he opened his eyes.

"Éowyn, Théoden," he said weakly.

"Where are you hurt?" she asked, trying to see where his injuries were.

The hobbit shook his head, his eyes clouded in pain. "Never mind, just take me to them, please."

He was heavier than he looked, and Erin staggered under his weight as she tried to lift him.

"Let me," Orophin said from her elbow, and before she could protest, he took the hobbit from her, holding his small body easily. Erin stumbled after him and another hand caught her arm.

"Come on," Rúmil said, his hand firmly grasping her arm. Leaning on him, they made their way to where the King and Éowyn lay. Orophin carefully set Merry down beside Théoden and stepped back, his face a mask of confusion and grief.

Éowyn did not stir, and barely appeared to be breathing when Erin touched her, but she still lived. Breathing a sigh of relief, Erin turned her attention to the King.

Merry was clutching at Théoden's hand, weeping openly. He raised it to his lips and kissed it reverently, gasping in surprise when the King's eyes opened.

Tears blurred her eyes, but she saw the King of Rohan give Merry the gentlest of smiles.

"Farewell, Master Holbytla," he said softly. "My body is broken. I go now to the halls of my fathers. And even in their fine company, I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day."

Merry wept, struggling to speak past his grief. "Forgive me, my lord," he said, choking, "if I broke your last command. Yet I have done no more in your service than to weep at our parting."

Théoden smiled again. "Grieve not! It is forgiven. For a great heart will not be denied." With the last of his strength, he patted Merry's hand gently. "Live in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me. For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised you. Or listen to your herb-lore."

Erin saw his eyes close and sobbed beside Rúmil, burying her face in his cloak. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, comforting her. She heard Merry's sobs as well and turned back, swallowing her grief. She was being selfish – for Merry was hurting much more than she was.

The King surprised them both when he spoke again. "Where is Éomer? For my eyes darken, and I would see him ere I go. He must be king after me. And I would send word to Éowyn. She, she would not have me leave her, and now I shall not see her again. She, who is dearer than daughter to me."

"Lord, my Lord," Merry said brokenly. "She is…"

But he never got to finish, for his words were drowned out by the trumpeting of horns as the riders of the Mark approached their fallen King. Though the winged beast was dead, their horses were still reluctant to approach too closely, and Erin saw Éomer dismount, leaving his horse behind with the others.

He came to a stop beside them and pulled his helmet off his head. His handsome face was contorted in grief and pain as he looked down at his uncle, his King. Others joined him, their heads bowed in sorrow. It seemed as if even nature grieved for the loss of the brave King of Rohan, for the wind that had been blowing the great banner of Théoden's house suddenly stilled, and the banner fell limply against its pole.

Slowly Théoden opened his eyes and looked up at Éomer. "Give the banner to Éomer," he said softly. "It is his to carry now." He struggled for a moment to continue, his eyes closing in pain. When they opened again, they were bright, and his voice, which had been faint before, now came clear and strong. "Hail, King of the Mark! Ride now to victory!" The brightness in his eyes faded and he smiled one last time. "Bid Éowyn farewell."

Erin saw his eyes close as a long and shuddering sigh escaped him. She waited with the others, but he did not draw another breath.

"Théoden King! Théoden King!" the knights that surrounded them shouted, and Erin saw that all of them were crying every bit as hard as she and Merry were.

Éomer took the standard and held it, and the wind chose that moment to pick up again. The green banner with the white horse unfurled and snapped in the breeze, and the newly named King of Rohan raised it high.

"Let his knights bear his body in honor from the field, lest the battle ride over it," he declared, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "And all those other of the king's men that lie here, and those of elvenkind who have fallen in this battle." His eyes roamed over the fallen around him, and he gasped, spotting Éowyn lying cold and motionless beside Snowmane.

"Éowyn!" he cried, sinking to his knees beside her fallen body, taking her gloved hand in his own. He stripped the glove from it and held it between his hands, calling her name. "Éowyn, Éowyn, how come you here?" He shook his head; tears previously held in check now coursed freely down his face. His broad shoulders shook as he bowed his head over her still form. "What madness or devilry is this?" He rose to his feet, thrusting his helmet onto his head angrily. He turned away from his sister and Uncle, moving towards his horse with great strides. Mounting, he turned his horse, taking the standard from the knight who had carried it for him.

"Death, death, and death!" he cried bitterly. "Death take us all!"

Without looking back, he spurred his horse back to the front of the great host, and his men followed him. Over the field, Erin heard the horn of Rohan and heard Éomer's cry.

"Death! Ride! Ride to ruin and world's ending!"

Erin watched him go and cried, feeling as if the world was ending indeed.

"He does not know she lives," Rúmil said softly. "Nor did he give us the chance to speak of it."

Erin sniffled, wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands. "We need to get her to the houses of healing," she said. "And then I've got to find Aragorn."

"Éowyn lives?" Merry said in a wondering voice, his small face pale beneath its mop of curls. "Then all is not lost. At least I managed to save her." He gave them a weak smile, and collapsed.

Orophin watched one of the knights gather Merry tenderly in his arms, and Erin heard him speak softly.

"Aye, Master Perian. You did."

~ * ~

The battle continued on around them, but Erin paid it little heed. She could only watch as the King's men raised Théoden on a bier, carrying him in silence towards the city. Éowyn was laid carefully on a stretcher, the hilt of her shattered sword placed beside her, and borne by four knights behind the body of the King.

Orophin and Rúmil had left her in their care, and while she hated to be separated from them, there was still a battle going on. Every man and elf was needed. She knew that as soon as the men had taken the King and Éowyn into the city, they would be returning as well.

"Be careful, you two," Erin had told them, and was rewarded by a swift kiss from each.

"We will," they promised. "When the battle is over, we will come and find you."

Erin had been surprised at their gesture and their words, and watched them go with her heart in her throat. Her lips still tingled from their brief kisses. As if my love-life wasn't confusing enough, she thought ruefully, falling in step behind the Rohirrim as they carried their precious cargo to the city. I didn't need that reminder.

She pushed those thoughts away, and concentrated on keeping a close eye on Éowyn as they made their way towards the city. The lady was pale, almost ghostly white, and had not moved or given any sign that she was still living. Frustrated and worried, Erin lifted her gaze and searched vainly for some sign of Aragorn among the men that battled in the distance.

There were so many of the enemy. So many more than what she had seen at Helm's Deep. Huge, tusked creatures that could have been elephants except for their enormous size and bluish color, moved with ponderous steps that seemed to shake the earth beneath her feet. They were gigantic – easily as tall as trees, and carried armed soldiers on their backs. Around their massive feet swarmed thousands upon thousands of the enemy. She could not see any trace of the green and white banner of Rohan in the chaos that unfolded before her. The screams of the wounded and dying were carried to them on the wind.

Despair filled her. How am I going to find Aragorn? I can't go out there in the middle of that. I'd be killed before I made two yards.

The sky opened up on them, drenching them thoroughly in a deluge of cold water, and Erin shivered, drawing her cloak tighter. A heavy mist had rolled in with the rain, and their view of the battle and the city walls was gradually obscured behind it. It didn't seem to bother the Rohirrim, however, and they pressed grimly onward in the same direction.

It seemed to Erin that they were never going to get there when the mists that surrounded them seemed to open, and out of them rode a group of soldiers in unfamiliar armor. She gulped, her hand automatically going to the hilt of her knife, and she hoped that they were the good guys.

"What burden do you bear, Men of Rohan?" the leader called out, drawing his horse to a halt in front of them.

"Théoden King," answered Halig, lifting his helmet from his head. His face was wet with the rain and his tears. "He is dead. Éomer is King now, and rides in the battle. He is the white crest in the wind."

The man dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to another and knelt beside the King, pulling his helmet from his head. "Here is a good, brave man," he said, bowing his head. "Alas the day has come of his passing."

Erin was surprised to see him weeping, and wondered who he was. Something about him reminded her of the elves, but she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly what it was. He was fair, blonde and tall, like Orophin and Rúmil, but broad shouldered and muscular like Éomer. Perhaps it was simply the way he moved, the gracefulness in his actions as he bowed over Théoden's body. Or perhaps it was the ageless look in his eyes when he finally lifted his head. He rose, and looked at Éowyn's still form. He stared at her a moment, and shook his head.

"This is no knight," he exclaimed. "Surely this is a woman." He glanced up at them, shaking his head again. "Have even the women of Rohan come to war in our need?"

"Nay," Halig replied. "Save one. She is Éowyn, a Shield Maiden of the House of Éorl, and sister to our King Éomer. We knew naught of her riding until this hour, and greatly rue it."

The man drew his glove from his hand and placed it gently at her throat. "She lives still," he exclaimed. "Are there no healers among you?"

"No, my Lord," Erin spoke up bravely. "We are taking her to the houses of healing." She faltered as he turned his fathomless gaze to her. He looked at her with sharp eyes, and she knew he saw right through her disguise.

The man regarded her for a moment longer, before turning his head to one of his riders. "Ride quickly to the city and have them send aid. Great haste is needed, for the lady is on the cusp of death."

The rider nodded and set his heels to his horse, speeding away at a gallop towards the city. The man shook his head, turning his gaze from Erin and glancing at Halig. "Bitter times have fallen upon us, my friends," he said grimly, lifting his helmet and placing it firmly on his head. "Bitter times indeed." He mounted his horse once more and led his men away, towards the sounds of battle that carried through the mists.

~ * ~

Merry did not so much as stir when the healers had him laid tenderly upon a bed, and Erin perched at his side anxiously. She was torn between his beside and Éowyn's and drifted between them as the healers worked their skill on her friends.

"Will they be all right?" Erin asked, watching them strip Éowyn of her armor and lay a blanket over her chilled body.

The healer shook her head. "It is too soon to tell, soldier." The healer, a woman of middle years, glanced sharply up at Erin as if finally noticing her presence. "What are you here for? Are you wounded? Should you not be out fighting with the others?"

Erin pulled her helmet from her head, running her hand over her shorn hair. "I'm not a fighter," she said softly. "I'm only here because I couldn't let my friends go off without me."

The healer blinked, and grunted in surprise. "Do you have any skill in leechcraft, lass?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Then best you get out from here, lass. We do not need useless hands here," the healer replied, though her tone was less sharp. "Your friends will be well cared for."

Erin hesitated, looking at Éowyn's pale face. "What's wrong with them?" she asked softly.

The healer looked at Merry and Éowyn before turning back to Erin. "They call it the Black Shadow, for it is a malady caused by the Nazgûl. All who are stricken by it fall into a state such as you see here, and never awaken." She sighed, rubbing her face wearily with hands reddened from too much washing. "We cannot heal them, but we can at least care for them until they pass into the halls of their ancestors."

Erin gulped, her fingers tightening on her helmet. She had to find Aragorn. Galadriel had said Aragorn would know how to heal them. She had to believe that.

Without speaking she turned and fled the houses of healing, ducking past soldiers and healers as she made her way out the door. Cold air hit her abruptly and she took deep breaths, struggling to keep from giving into the need to cry, to scream, and to panic. It still wasn't the right time to indulge in hysterics.

She leaned against the stone wall, trembling, and gradually pulled herself back together. She put her helmet back on, and checked to make sure she still had her knife.

She had to find Aragorn. She had to find him one way or another, even if she had to go back out there and find him herself.

Erin took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, making her way down the long winding steps that led to the main street. She paused, watching the people below, searching until she finally saw what she needed: a group of soldiers getting ready to return to the battle. She walked through the crowds of people, stepping around food stalls and water barrels, making her way as surreptitiously as she could to where they were. She fell in line behind them, breathing a silent sigh of relief that no one seemed to have noticed the addition of a short soldier wearing an elven-made helm. Considering that her fellow soldiers were garbed in what looked like leftovers from the armory, their gear mismatched but still functional, she wasn't too surprised that they spared her only a brief and cursory glance.

They moved swiftly through the street, the crowds of people parting to make way for them as they traveled towards the main gate. They were almost there when something caught her eye and she nearly stumbled in surprise.

Of all the people in the world who could help her find Aragorn – this was one who had a chance of actually succeeding.

She turned away from the soldiers, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the powers that be, and made her way to where he stood, leaning in a familiar fashion on his staff. He turned, noting her approach with mild surprise. She pulled the helmet from her head, nearly weeping with relief.

"Gandalf!"
~ * ~

Sunlight gleamed off the bright jewels woven in the banner that flew from the mast of the ship as it drew toward the shore. The cries of despair and terror turned to joy as they recognized the great device worked upon the black fabric in gold and mithril and jewels: the White Tree of Gondor, crowned with stars for the House of Elendil.

Hope, which had all too recently been lost, was reborn.

Great fear gripped the forces of Mordor when they saw their own ships had been turned against them. A great host of warriors – elves and men alike, poured forth from the ships to lay waste to those that stood against them.

The arrival of Aragorn and the Grey Company had turned the tide.

Elladan stood shoulder to shoulder with Elrohir, their bows singing in harmony as they launched arrow after arrow into the fray. Melaphríl kept pace beside his love, and Legolas joined them, adding his arrows to their own. The elves of Mirkwood lined the shore, cutting a path through their enemy with their arrows while the rest of the Grey Company charged forward, their swords gleaming.

Slowly they drove the army of Mordor, unwilling, towards the armies that closed in on them. The knights of Dol Amroth came from the east, the Rohirrim from the south, and the forces of Gondor from the west.

Aragorn led them, Andúril, the reforged blade of Isildur, raised high in challenge. They pressed forward, exchanging their bows for swords, axes, pikes, and knives to meet the enemy full on.

"Five," Elrohir heard Gimli the dwarf shout gleefully, his axe cleaving yet another Easterling in half.

"Twelve for me, Gimli," Legolas shouted back. He spun, his knives glittering in the sunlight as he stabbed out at his enemy. "Thirteen!"

Gimli roared, not to be outdone, and took two more down with one mighty blow.

Elrohir fought beside his twin, as they had done many countless times before, working in tandem against their foes. He spared a glance at Melaphríl and saw the elf fighting with the others from Mirkwood.

Two Haradrim pressed him at once, and Elrohir was pushed back as he blocked their attacks. Spinning, he took one of them down at the knees just as the other moved in for the kill. He blocked the sword aimed for his neck and shoved with his body, knocking the Haradrim to the ground. His sword finished the job, and he turned away to help Elladan. His twin wore a ferocious grin, his sword locked with the curved blade of an Easterling.

Elrohir raised his own sword when something struck his side, causing him to stumble. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he turned, his hand clutching the crossbow bolt that had pierced his armor. Before he could react, another bolt struck him, higher in the chest. He stared at the black arrow disbelievingly for a moment, before sinking to knees. He felt no pain, but his body shuddered as another bolt struck him in the back.

The ground seemed to reach up for him, though it did not soften his fall. Distantly he could hear the sounds of battle still going on around him, and he thought he heard Melaphríl's voice, calling his name.

He wanted to wait for Elladan or Melaphríl to reach him, but it was difficult to keep his eyes open. He was so tired. With a trembling sigh, he pressed his face against the cool earth, and closed his eyes.

~ * ~

The White Wizard looked at Erin with surprise.

"Erin Smith? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice weary.

Erin reached for his hand, clutching at it tightly. "Never mind. I'll tell you everything later, Gandalf, I promise. Right now, I need your help."

His white brows furrowed as he caught her fear. "What is it?"

"Éowyn and Merry – they fought the black rider, the Nazgûl, and defeated him. But now they're both unconscious, almost dead, in the houses of healing. The healers say they can't do anything for them." Erin drew a deep, trembling breath. "Galadriel said I was to find Aragorn and bring him to the houses of healing. That he would know what to do."

Gandalf's eyebrows rose in surprise at her words and he considered them for a moment. "Yes, it is true, in times of old, that the hands of the King were the hands of a healer." He looked down at her and nodded. "Yes, I can see Galadriel's wisdom in this." He took her hand and placed it gently on his arm. "Come, then. We will find Aragorn."

Relief so profound filled her and made her weak, and she leaned against his strength for a moment. They did not get very far, however, when a voice called Gandalf's name.

Erin turned, and for a moment, thought it was Merry who approached them. She immediately dismissed her first impression, however, the closer the hobbit drew. He was clad differently, for a start. Instead of the reddish brown armor with the crest of the house of Éorl, he wore black armor, with a silvery white tree emblazoned on his chest. His small face, similar to Merry's, was drawn with fear and anguish.

"What are you doing here?" asked Gandalf when the hobbit came to a halt. "Is it not a law in the City that those who wear the black and silver must stay in the Citadel, unless their lord gives them leave?"

The hobbit nodded, his face wreathed in misery. "He has sent me away," he answered brokenly. "But I am frightened. Something terrible may happen up there. The Lord is out of his mind, I think. I am afraid he will kill himself, and kill Faramir too."

Gandalf's face tightened and he looked at the gate. "I must go and find Aragorn," he answered finally. "For the Lady Éowyn and Merry are in dire need of his help."

"But Faramir is not dead!" the hobbit cried, wringing his hands in distress. "They will burn him alive if someone does not stop them."

"Burn him alive?" Gandalf exclaimed. "What is this tale? Be quick!"

"Lord Denethor has gone to the tombs and he has taken Faramir. He says we are all to burn, and he will not wait. He has had pyre made to burn him on and Faramir as well. He has sent men to fetch wood and oil." The hobbit clutched at Gandalf's robes. "He means to do this, Gandalf. Can you not stop him?"

Gandalf looked down at Erin and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, Erin, but I must go and put a stop to this madness. Faramir is in mortal danger and each moment I linger here brings him closer to his death."

Erin nodded, not liking it, but understanding it completely. "Go and save him, Gandalf. I will find someone to help me."

The wizard looked at her a moment longer, then nodded. He whistled sharply, and was answered by a clatter of hooves against stone. Shadowfax pranced eagerly as Gandalf mounted him, and the wizard looked down at them both.

"Stay with Erin, Pippin. Perhaps you can help her. I will deal with Lord Denethor."

The hobbit nodded, wiping tears from his face with his small hands and watched as the wizard urged Shadowfax towards the Citadel. With a sigh that seemed far too big for him, he turned and looked at Erin.

She looked back at him a moment, and gave him a weak smile. "Hello, Pippin. I was hoping I'd get to meet you sooner or later."

Pippin nodded, and looked up at her appraisingly. "Who are you?"

"I'm a traveler," Erin replied shortly. "I met Aragorn when they were searching for you and Merry…"

"Merry!" Pippin exclaimed, interrupting her. "Where is he?"

"In the houses of healing, with Éowyn. That was why I had asked Gandalf for help," Erin explained. "I need to find Aragorn. Merry has been hurt, badly, and I think Aragorn can help him."

Pippin glanced back the way Gandalf had gone, then looked at her. "Gandalf cannot help us right now." His face took on a determined look. "It is up to us to find Aragorn. Can you ride a horse?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Erin answered slowly, following his train of thought. "Can you fight?"

The hobbit patted the hilt of his sword. "Well enough," he echoed.

She looked at him and smiled briefly. "I've gotta be nuts. Orophin and Rúmil will no doubt have something to say about this if they ever find out." And Haldir, and Lord Celeborn, and Éomer she mentally added. Erin took a deep breath and took his hand.

"Let's do it."

*****

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