𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Forty-Two: Hail The Victorious Dead

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The sounds of the group's voices drifted lazily over the still waters of Isengard, reaching my ears softly where I sat perched on the spokes of another wheel, this one wedged in stone a motionless. My feet were submerged entirely in the opaque grey water and I kicked them around aimlessly as I waited. Before our departure from Orthanc, Gandalf had gone to speak with Treebeard briefly, who would relay whatever information was passed to the Ent chieftains dwelling still in Fangorn and milling somewhere about Isengard.

The rest of the group chose to station themselves among the pillaged goods on the wrecked wall, digging through the salted pork and other goods Saruman had stored away.

Though I'd decided Saruman's words meant nothing, that they were the final words of a dying coward; I could not help but dwell over them in my solitude. I'd so much to be grateful for, so much to smile over. And yet, all I could think of was what Saruman had said. What the citizens of Rohan had done. How they saw me. How they all saw me.

I shot a glance over my shoulder at the rest of the group, who smiled and laughed heartily in each other's company. They didn't recoil at my presence, nor at my touch. They didn't grimace or frown, but rather smiled when they spoke with me. And still, I could not shake the feeling that deep down, they sported some ounce of resentment, some sliver of fear, some shred of doubt. How could they not?

I swivelled back around, my gaze instead on the dark tower, I involuntarily shuddered as my eyes traced up the tall and dark figure, now surrounded in desolate destruction. I remembered being marched up those stairs, thrown into a black room. Tortured by Saruman, convinced of my brother's death, taunted with the information on my mother, waved before my face like some far-away treasure I would never obtain.

Again, I revelled in the sense of satisfaction Saruman's death brought me. Closing my eyes so as to remove Orthanc from view, I leaned my head back against the wheel. I began to recall my time in the tower more vividly, the pain from Saruman's power, the constant anxiety over Legolas' fate, the longing for light, any light at all, to break the constant and heavy darkness.

I remembered our escape into Fangorn, the powers I now knew well aiding us. The explosion of white light, like the one I'd unleashed upon the battlefield of Helm's Deep. Taking Legolas' hand and dashing for Fangorn, disappearing into its veil of dark and twisted trees and running as fast as our injuries would permit through them. I remembered that stream, our kiss. I felt my heart speed up a little, and a warm feeling spread from my chest to my tingling fingertips.

And then, thoughts of Aragorn began to infiltrate my mind, and my eyes shot open instantly. How, amidst all this war and chaos, had I managed to fall in love with two? When I'd been so determined to avoid love entirely, when I'd decided to focus solely on the war, had I allowed myself to fall victim to games of the heart?

I shook any thoughts of Aragorn and Legolas out of my head. War was now truly upon us. And something so trivial as love had no place in a mind dwelling over war. I sighed, trying to focus my mind on a different thought.

Sam and Frodo. I wondered where they were now. I wondered if they were still alive. I sighed. They had to be. It was as I'd told Saruman, the strength of Hobbits was something wildly underestimated. If anyone could make it into Mordor-if anyone could destroy the ring-it was Sam Gamgee and Frodo Baggins.

At last having dwelt on all that needed dwelling, my mind settled, instead just absorbing the scene splayed out before me almost entirely without thought.

"Are you alright?" Théoden's voice startled me.

He was slowly wading through the water atop his horse, moving quietly so as not to alert me to his presence. He was slightly higher than me, atop his steed, looking down on me where I sat on the spokes, concern evident in his eyes.