• 1-Falling In Love is Hard on the Knees
• 2-The Show Must Go On
• 3-Lost
• 4-Suprises At Rivendell
• 5-Tommy, Tarot, and Pain
• 6-The Morning After
• 7-The Council of Elrond
• 8-Leaving Rivendell
• 9-Memories
• 10-Spies and Even More Suprises
• 11-Caradhras
• 12-Unconscious and Dreaming
• 13-Legolas' Memory
• 14-Orcs, A Cave Troll and The Balrog
• 15-Lothlorien, Part 1: Fly Away From Here
• 16-Lothlorien, Part 2: You Won't Hear Me
• 17-Of Shits, Fans and Amon Hen
• 18-Through These Eyes
• 19-Edoras, Part 1: Revelations
• 20-Edoras, Part 2: The Morihin
• 21-Staying To Fight
• 22-Battle at Helms Deep
• 23-Final Answers

We had been moving after the hobbits for a day or two. Aragorn was careful in keeping to the tracks, using his eyes and employing my own to scout for any possible tracks and clues as to their direction.

The Uruk-Hai were not graceful, light stepping creatures. Every footstep they took left an indentation on the landscape – whether it be literal, or whether it be the evil scent and atmosphere that seemed to linger behind.

We moved in miniature groups, but our minds were set on one task. There was Aragorn and myself at the front. Behind us was Gimli and Boromir, and behind them, Tommy, Penny, and Carrie.

The siblings seemed to wish to stay together – or at least, Carrie and Tommy wished to stay together. Neither seemed to like Penny very much.

I had considered speaking to Carrie several times, but all the times I wanted to, I could think of naught to say. It seemed that what ever I might say to her would be counteracted by a sharp comment. Or by emotions exactly opposite to those I might expect – especially since she was in pain from her wound.

But that had always been the way. Even with Dínramiel. Compliments were returned due to the misunderstanding of them. Endearments or caring phrases would be mistaken for something else.

“Yeah. After all, I’m the only one who fully knows what lies ahead, right?”

An enigma. A mass of confusion and mystery that confused even Elves. I was disconcerted to be thrown so often. And to be spoken to in such a haughty, derisive tone as she almost always spoke to me. Not that I minded as such – I had not given her much reason to speak in any other tone.

She would probably never return my love.

She believed that my wanting her to remain alive would be so that she could lead us without straying from the clear paths.

My existence had been thrown the moment my wife left me. Imagine how thrown I was when she came back. And with the bitterest of ironies – she came back as a mortal.

But thinking along these lines made me feel guilty. It was as though I were weighing the differences, and that was not fair. Though at the same time – I was coming to understand the differences, and I had accepted that she was Carrie, not Dínramiel.

But she didn’t seem to accept that.

She could hide all she wanted, but I knew she was disturbed. By what, I could not pinpoint, but it was not hard to notice.

“Something smells really bad,” Penny commented.

“It’s not me!” Tommy cried.

“I didn’t say it was, Tr – ow!” Carrie was giving her a smile that could also be taken for a grimace. Her hand was still poised from when it had hit her sister upside the head.

“I told you not to start that again, Pen,” she said airily, reaching up a hand to streak it through her hair, looking frustrated. “Does anyone have a bloody hairbrush?”

We all looked at her.

“I guess that means no, then,” she sighed.

We were out in the open, with Aragorn stopping every once in a while to use his Ranger skills, listening, searching, and choosing. He was certain we were on the right path, and we all moved together at rapid paces, stopping for short breaks every now and then. I had left her alone all of these times we had stopped, and she had chosen to sit quite far away with her brother. I wasn’t sure as to whether I should be warmed by her dedication to her sibling, or hurt at her lack of communication with me.

I had learned long ago with her soul that to let it know it has hurt you is to dig your own grave. If I let her know exactly how sharp her words were and how much they pained me at times, she would either increase their strength, or become even more self-destructive from guilt.

One thing I had discovered about her was that allowing her to drink alcohol was never good.

“I just want you to know,” she slurred, arm around Boromir’s shoulder, “That I really loved you in Titanic.” She then proceeded to drop to the ground and grab a hold of the grass, screaming for everybody to hold on, because the world was tipping and we might fall off.

I had raised an eyebrow to Tommy, and he had flushed, holding up the flask Lady Galadriel had given him. Carrie was inebriated.

“I’m not drunk,” she snapped at Penny. “Can’t I be happy? Hmmm?!”

“Perhaps we should rest,” Aragorn said, amused.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Carrie nodded, instantly attentive. “I need to piss.”

Tommy choked on a sip from his flask.

Since then, I made sure she was kept away from any alcohol present, as much as it lightened her spirits and amused us all. I felt ridiculously like an overprotective father – when in reality, that was the last thing I desired.

We stopped for a rest near some woodland, and Gimli collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. “Thank the heavens for this chance to rest,” he bellowed.

“We’ll be back in a minute,” Carrie said. I glanced up, frowning, to see her grip Penny’s forearm and drag her partway into the woodland. I did not want her straying too far, but something told me that if I were to tell her this, appreciating it would be one of her last reactions.

“She will live,” Aragorn commented. For a mortal, he was remarkably perceptive.

“She has survived this far after all,” I agreed, my voice quiet. I was sitting alone with him – the others were grouped together, and of course, Carrie and her sister were in the woodland.

Aragorn was wiping his blade clean, polishing it neatly. “Did you ever suspect she wouldn’t?”

I frowned. I wasn’t sure I liked where this appeared to be leading. “Nay, I never suspected demise.”

“But insanity would be another matter,” Aragorn pressed. I lowered my eyes. “Legolas, I have been floundering under the weight of my ancestor. I did not wish to make the mistakes regarding the Ring as Isildur made all that time ago. But Arwen voiced an important detail. That I am his heir, not he himself. Just as Carrie is herself, not Dínramiel. She may hold the soul, but she is not necessarily doomed to be subjected to the same fate as Halda’Ithil.”

I gave off a frustrated sound. “And yet she has appeared before me, looking remarkably similar to her old self and bearing a personality too similar for my comfort. It ‘tis history repeating itself, mellonamin.”

“Or perhaps it is fate giving you another chance.”

I had longed to hear those words. I had turned them over in my head many times, considering Carrie’s purpose in Middle Earth. It seemed too simple in my mind that she merely be here to aid us in the war. But at the same time, I felt too presumptuous to think that she might be here because of me. Because of our history.

“Then why should fate be so cruel as to make her mortal?”

Aragorn shook his head. “From what I understand, Elves do not exist where she comes from. Do not forgot, mellon, that though her soul is of Middle Earth, her body and mind are not.”

“I would only have a limited time with her, even if she were to return my feelings.” There. I had said it aloud. Yet surprisingly, I did not feel any better.

“It depends on if you prefer limited time to no time at all,” Aragorn replied, and his words seemed to rattle my very bones. Could I really stand such a short lifetime with Carrie? And that was even if she would want to. “And what makes you so certain she might not share your feelings?”

I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

“I should think that the person you need to speak with is Carrie herself,” Aragorn continued. “She is, after all, the object of your affections.”

I knew I was blushing, and Aragorn laughed heartily. I had not realised I was being so obvious – but then, he was a Ranger after all.

I thought I heard laughter, and strained my ears, but the sound was gone. I was growing nervous because she was nowhere in sight. She was different to Dínramiel in many ways, when I considered it. Different eyes, darker hair, a more filled-out shape, a crasser way of speaking, but slightly less self-destructive and less prone to impulse. And Dínramiel would never have thought to say, do, or even think most of the things Carrie did. And you could tell what she was thinking, because it reflected in her eyes.

They were different – I had noticed it before, and had unknowingly created comparisons. Now I realised that I had not been fair in comparing them, since they both equalled the same way in my affections, no matter what.

“Do not expect her to be just like Halda’Ithil,” Aragorn warned. “Remember, she is mortal. Not to mention from another world.”

“I just…” I, but trailed off when a loud yell startled me.

“BLOODY HELL!”

Carrie came storming out of the woodland, glaring and resembling a charging Oliphant. She stopped and glared pointedly at her brother. “Our darling sister has decided to go back to our world.” She dropped to the ground, embracing her knee and resting her chin on it, staring at the ground forlornly. “Why, oh why, oh bloody why. What is happening?”

“What is happening?”

I glanced up at her, as she paced backward and forward, her eyes wide.

“What is it that you mean, cormamin ?”

She cast me a sidelong glance. “The whispers in the corridors. The Elves that are training and exercising harder than before.” She glanced past me and out to the horizon. “The shadow.”

“Dae ?”

Now she was definitely casting me a less-than-pleased look. At one point in the past, it might have made me shrink back. I suppose that when you are forced to spend so much time with someone, you tend to grow used to them. “Do you take me for a fool, Legolas? Did you think I would not see that darkness that lies not too far away?”

I sighed, and lay my bow down. I took the time to study my wife, as she stared worriedly at the horizon. I could not believe she was mine. Of course, had someone told me she would be mine not too long ago, I would have told them they had lost their minds. I had considered her to be the most obnoxious, stubborn she-Elf in all of Middle Earth.

Of course, I had not realised she had thought of me in the same way. Once we had been forced to speak, we found ways to tolerate each other. And now, after a while of sharp words and dark looks, we had set aside our differences and continued on with the arranged marriage. And I had come to love her.

I stood up, and approached her. She stopped moving straight away, and fixed upon me with a haughty gaze. “You need not worry yourself, morihinamin . It shall all be taken care of.”

“And that is why Elves are running scared, I suppose, lisse’ ?” She replied, her words dripping with sarcasm. I tried not to flinch at her words – she always seemed to know how to strike an arrow to my heart with her words. However, she seemed to notice the effect of her words.

“Amin hiraetha, tarenamin . It is not your fault.”

I sighed. “Too long has it been since you rested easy.”

She smiled. “And too long has it been since we spoke to each other in confidence.”

In fact, we had not spoken in confidence since she had discovered my self-abusive habits. I was never sure on how to approach her, for her caustic attitude tended to make me feel…unwelcome.

I drew her close for an embrace, and she complied willingly. Against my shoulder, she said, “Amin dele . I would hate for our lifetime together to be disturbed.”

“It will not be disturbed,” I replied, placing a kiss on her shoulder.

“Amin mela lle ,” she said softly. I smiled. I never heard enough of her saying those three words to me. I hugged her closer, thankful that at least if the shadow would threaten us worse than suspected, I at last had someone to love, and I would die joyful.

“Amin mela lle, Dínramiel,” I whispered.

“Carrie…it’s a good thing she’s gone back to our world,” Tommy said tentatively. “I mean, she couldn’t fight for toffee…”

“She wouldn’t have survived,” Carrie said glumly. She was staring at the ground still, her face set in an expression of discontent. “But still…” Her eyes seemed saddened somehow. I was momentarily confused, remembering how she and Penny would bicker. But at the same time, I remembered myself and Dínramiel. We had reconciled. Perhaps she had Penny had done the same.

After a moment or two, she rose steadily. In the moment when she rose, I felt something fade from me. Something that had held me back and restricted my trail of thought. I felt as though Dínramiel was slipping further into the past. And I knew that this was Carrie. Similar as she was, she was not my past wife. But I still cared for her nonetheless.

Carrie nodded her head, as though reassuring herself of something. “We should get moving,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m stone-cold sober now.”

She definitely seemed that way.

We gathered our belongings together, and yet again set out after the captured hobbits. The ground seemed to work in our favour, and kept indentations and subtle markings to betray the Uruk-Hai band’s progress.

I glanced back, and noticed that Carrie had backed away from the group, moving on her own as she seemed prone to do. I could tell straight away that she was in one of her contemplative, dark moods – her eyes once again betrayed her. I slipped back, so that I was beside her.

“Perhaps it was for the best,” I said quietly.

“I don’t doubt it,” she replied, shrugging. “I just wish I could’ve understood more.”

So do I, I thought to myself, but I said nothing in regards to her comment – it seemed to be shrouded with possible meanings, and I did not wish to touch on the wrong one.

“You fear your brother being wrenched from your grasp,” I said.

She rewarded me with a slight smile. “You have a remarkable knack for astuteness, my dear. You aren’t a mind reader, are you?”

“Nay,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “It does not take the most powerful Istar in the world to see that you care for your brother.”

“I’m that obvious, hmm?” She looked almost embarrassed. I frowned slightly.

“Do not worry, melamin. I am certain he cares for you too.” I was not sure who I was speaking of – Tommy, or myself.

She said nothing, but sighed.

I was not quite sure where my courage came from. Perhaps it was from my conversation with Aragorn. But from somewhere, I managed to gain the confidence to raise her chin and quickly brush her lips with my own. Just as soon as I did, I barely stayed long enough to catch the look of surprise in her eyes before I moved back to join Aragorn at the head of the group.

--------------------

Aragorn, who had been lying with his ear pressed to the ground, raised his head and spoke. “Their pace quickens. They must have caught our scent. Hurry!”

Everyone was moving rapidly across the plain, all determined in their goal, none falling behind. None that is, aside from Gimli…

“Come on, Gimli!” I called back to the Dwarf, who appeared to be hanging behind, out of breath.

“Three day's and night's pursuit…no food...no rest...and no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell,” he complained.

As we moved, I reflected back. As guilty as I should have felt at my mind’s occupants, I had been mostly focused on the mortal woman running alongside her brother, not completely on the hobbits. I had perhaps taken too great a liberty in kissing her, and it worried me that she might be angered.

At the same time, I felt guilty for enjoying it. She had spoken nothing of it, and had merely followed orders in a surprisingly diligent manner.

We followed Aragorn’s lead, not only because he seemed accustomed to the nature, but also because I was too preoccupied. He understood this, at least, and allowed me to move at my own pace. He was, after all, in a similar mortal/immortal situation with Arwen the Evenstar.

Aragorn paused along our route after some time of moving. He knelt down, and removed an Elvish leaf-brooch from the soil, studying it. “Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall.”

“They may yet be alive,” I said, filled with a renewed hope for the hobbits. I told myself that I had to stop thinking of my own whims and desires and focus on the Halflings, whose lives were at stake.

“Less than a day ahead of us, come!” Aragorn arose and began to move rapidly once more.

“Come, melloneamin!” I called over my shoulder. “We are gaining on them!”

“Fucking hell,” Tommy cried. “I’m not as young as I used to be, for gods sake! I think I’m gonna burst!”

“Join the club,” came Carrie’s reply, as she full-out ran to keep up. “I should hope I’ve lost weight doing this.”

“Slapper,” was Tommy’s reply.

“Asswipe.”

“Tart.”

“Blaspheme.”

“Trout.”

“Eunuch.”

“Owch.”

“Heh heh.”

We came to a hilltop, over-gazing the plains below. The scene was quite beautiful, even if it had no competition in my heart with my own homeland.

“Rohan, home of the horse-lords,” Aragorn said. “There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets its will against us.”

I had moved to a slightly higher hilltop, to give myself a better range.

“Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?” Aragorn called.

“The Uruks turn Northeast,” I called, then frowned. “They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!”

“Saruman,” Aragorn breathed. It was obvious now that the hobbits had been captured in the hope that one of them was Frodo Baggins. Saruman was hoping that he had the Ringbearer in his clutches.

I glanced to Carrie, as though for reassurance on the matter. She was the only one who knew what was happening, after all. But all I received was a blank look.

*

“Keep breathing, that's the key! Breathe! Ho!” Poor Gimli appeared to be having trouble with our march across the plains. And I could not blame him, really – the Uruk-Hai were moving faster than I could have perceived.

“They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them,” I said aloud, as we ran single file.

We ran into the night, tracking, scouting, until eventually, we had to stop. Gimli and Tommy needed rest, and though she denied it, I could see that Carrie was fit to faint as well. The moment we stopped for a rest, she dropped to the ground from where she was standing, adjusted the dressing that secured her arrow wound, buried her forehead in her drawn-up knees, and fell asleep. It was regrettable that it was only a short sleep, but it was a sleep all the same – she had gone too long without it.

After she was awoken (and she had not been pleased) Tommy passed around his flask, allowing us all to drink the liquid. I suddenly understood Carrie’s enthusiasm when she had ingested some of it. It instantly awakened the senses and rid exhaustion at least for a while. I had been tentative about Carrie drinking some, but if we wanted her to move along, we had no choice. Thankfully though, she only got flushed in the cheeks.

We began moving again, with a persistence that I think surprised us all. We were all eager to regain the hobbits – although Carrie seemed unsettlingly indifferent. I could only guess that she knew it would turn out okay.

“A red sun rises. Blood has been spilt this night,” I murmured, glancing to the sky.

The sounds of horses’ hoofbeats and grunts filled our ears. We all ducked, crouching behind boulders. Many riders on horses were passing us, their armour and mail glinting in the weak sunlight. They rode with their backs straight, their spears held proud. They were men of war – that was obvious straight away. Slowly, Aragorn stepped from his hiding place, the rest of us following suit.

“Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?”

Almost instantly, the riders turned about, and charged towards us, their steeds menacing and impressive. They soon had a tight circle formed around us, with the Fellowship – what was left of it – in the centre, the riders’ spears aimed at us from al directions.

“What business does an Elf, three men, a woman and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!” The lead rider spoke with confidence and demanding.

“Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine,” Gimli said, perhaps a little arrogantly.

The lead rider dismounted his steed with a flourish, coming to face Gimli with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”

I instantly readied my bow, loading it with an arrow, prepared to fight for my friend. “You would die before your stroke fell!”

The riders took the aggressive, moving their spears in even closer. As Aragorn lowered my arm, a voice said, “Maybe we should introduce ourselves, Éomer, son of Éomund.”

I turned, surprised, to see Carrie – the familiar sardonic smile twisting her face.

Éomer was also interested. He gave her a dark look. “Do I know you, she-Elf?”

Her eyes widened at that. I instinctively moved slightly more in front of her, blocking her from immediate danger from these men. She obviously had not expected to be mistaken for an Elf. All the same, she swallowed and said, “Not an Elf, Éomer. I am Carrie. These are Aragorn, son of Arathorn., Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas, from the Woodland realm, Boromir son of Denethor, and my brother, Tommy.”

“We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your King,” Boromir spoke up.

Éomer gave a derisive snort. “Théoden no longer recognises friend from foe.” He removed his helmet, revealing sandy-brown hair, a beard and moustache adorning his features. “Not even his own kin,” he finished. The riders withdrew their spears “Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets.”

“We are not spies,” Boromir said.

“We track a band of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive,” Aragorn said, with a look upon his face that was almost tired and pleading.

Éomer said, “The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night.”

This news brought Gimli from his silence, with despair and worry in his deep voice. “But there were two Hobbits, did you see two Hobbits with them?”

“They would be small, only children to your eyes,” Tommy urged, taking part in the exchange.

Éomer’s eyes were lowered, before he raised them and said, “We left none alive.”

We all seemed to collectively inhale sharply.

“We piled the carcasses and burned them,” the man continued. He pointed off to the distance, and I felt my stomach tighten. I could see the bodies piled, with smoke rising off them. Uruk heads were impaled on poles around the slaughter pile, creating a scene that could haunt many a night.

Boromir stared at Éomer disbelievingly. “Dead?”

I glanced behind me to Carrie, which I realised was becoming a habit when I had reached times of confusion. But yet again, all I received was a blank look. Nothing from those telltale eyes. I almost wanted to grab a hold of her shoulders and shake her, ask her why she cared so little for the hobbits. Why she was refusing to comfort me.

Éomer paused before nodding. “I am sorry.” He turned and called out, “Hasufel! Arod! Carlótë!” Three horses came forth, rider-less. “May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters,” he handed the reigns to us. He replaced his helmet on his head, and remounted his steed. “Farewell. Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands.” He turned to his riders. “We ride north!”

As the riders moved on, we mounted our horses – Boromir and Aragorn on one, Tommy and Carrie on another, and Gimli and myself on another. We rode towards the pyre, our hearts sinking with every hoofbeat. When we reached the site, the scent of burning flesh and muscle filling our nostrils, we dismounted unsteadily.

Gimli leaned in, and pulled from the pile a charred belt and dagger sheath. “It’s one of their wee belts!” He said, tears clogging his voice.

I closed my eyes, a wave of regret and sadness running through me. “Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.” May they find peace after death. Boromir lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping a fist to his chest.

Aragorn gave off a loud yell, kicking an orc helmet and sinking to his knees. We were all feeling great regret and sadness that we had failed those sweet, innocent hobbits.

“They’re not dead.”

We all turned slowly, to see Carrie standing next to brother – as always. She was becoming remarkably good at keeping a blank expression. But all the same, she cast an insecure glance at Tommy, before turning back to us. “I’m sure that…if you follow the tracks, you’ll see that they lead into the forest.”

Aragorn fixed her with a steady, calculating gaze, before turning his gaze to the terrain. I did not remove my eyes from hers so easily. Her knowledge and brazenness was disturbing me – not because she had it, no. Dínramiel had it. Would disturbed me was the thought that she could govern our fates at the blink of an eye. I was wondering just how much of our fates she had changed already.

“A Hobbit lay here,” Aragorn said suddenly, inspecting the tracks. “... and the other…” he ran his hand over the ground. “They crawled…” he moved further along the ground. “Their hands were bound.” He moved further still. “Their bonds were cut…they were followed.” Aragorn was growing more excited by now, at the prospect of the Halflings living still. “The tracks lead away from the battle, into...” We glanced up simultaneously. “Fangorn Forest.”

I turned and glanced at Carrie. She stared back with…what was that look?

Determination. She was determined.

As always.

“Orc blood!” Gimli cried.

We were in Fangorn forest, hunting for clues as to the Hobbits’ conditions. I was wondering if Carrie or Tommy might tell us how the hobbits were, but they said nothing, and merely allowed the scouting to continue. I was not sure whether to feel angry or exhausted.

“These are strange tracks,” Aragorn frowned, perplexed.

“The air is so close in here,” Boromir breathed.

“I’ll be having nightmares for weeks,” Tommy muttered.

“This forest is old. Very old. Full of memories...and anger. The trees are speaking to each other,” I said. I could feel the trees’ emotions as though they were my own. It was like a scaled fist gripping my heart. I could hear them speaking…it was hushed, and almost indiscernible, but it was there. A creaking noise seemed to frighten Gimli, and the Dwarf raised his axe, glancing around wide-eyed.

“Gimli!” Aragorn hissed, “Lower your axe!”

As Gimli lowered it, I felt a sudden burst of knowledge – a smothering presence that told me that we were not alone. “Aragorn, nad no ennas!” I moved forward a few paces, scouting with my eyes.

“Man cenich?” Aragorn asked.

What did I see? What did I see…

“The White Wizard approaches.” The entire air buzzed with the anticipation. His presence was like a blade lightly running up one’s spine, or like ice cold water on a fevered body.

“Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us! We must be quick,” Aragorn said quietly. We all prepared, and at the cry, we swung around to attack.

We were instantaneously blinded by a bright white light, throwing us off guard. Gimli threw his axe, but it was deflected – as was my arrow as I shot it at the wizard. I had a million thoughts in my mind – and the most prominent one was a question. Why had Carrie led us into this?

A red-hot glow was seeping along Aragorn’s sword, until it seemed to become too hot to touch. He dropped it with a yelp, and stared in wonder at the white glow.

“You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits,” the wizard said. So the hobbits were safe…

“Where are they?” Aragorn asked.

“They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?”

“Who are you?” Aragorn cried. “Show yourself!”

Slowly, the glow seemed to die away, and the White Wizard stepped forward. But it was not Saruman standing before us. It was Gandalf.

At first, my thoughts did not quite register. I could scarcely believe that Mithrandir was standing before me. I had thought he was lost to use forever. That the one who had kept me in Middle Earth (which I was grateful for) had returned from what had been considered as ‘death’.

And guilt suffused me. Had Carrie not told us that he would return?

“It cannot be!” Aragorn gasped, as I found myself dropping to my knee, joy and respect filling me. “You fell!”

“Through fire and water,” Gandalf nodded. “From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought him, the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and each day was as long as a life age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done.”

“Gandalf,” Boromir breathed.

“Gandalf?” The wizard blinked. “Yes. That's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name. I am Gandalf the White now. And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide.”

His gaze fixed on Boromir, then to Carrie. She gave him a sheepish look. I watched this wordless exchange with wonder, wondering what it was that they were silently conversing about. A slight smile tugged at Mithrandir’s lips, before he began to lead us through the forest.

“I am sorry,” I heard Boromir mutter to Carrie.

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.” I heard her plant a kiss on his cheek, and frowned. Some part of me instantly told me to apologise as well, which was when I realised that the type of humour she possessed which she called ‘perving’ was rubbing off on me.

“One stage of your journey is over, another begins,” Gandalf said. “War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed.”

When we were outside the forest, with our horses gathered, Gandalf gave a low, melodious whistle. Seconds later, an answering neigh pierced our ears, and galloping towards us across the plains was a stunning, almost glowing white steed.

“That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell,” I said, awed.

“Shadowfax. He's the lord of all horses and he's been my friend through many dangers,” Gandalf explained, fondly stroking the horse’s neck.

I turned, spotting Carrie stepping towards her brother. I knew that Gimli and Tommy were amicable, so I spoke. “Carrie.”

She turned back, her eyebrow raised.

“Ride with me.”

“Oo-er,” Tommy said, and she elbowed him in the stomach, a smile threatening to stretch over her face.

“Perv,” she muttered. She glanced to Gimli, who nodded with a slight bow. As she stepped forward, her eyes flicked to Gandalf, and I was humbled to notice a knowing smile on his features. I was still reeling from seeing Mithrandir once again.

I mounted Arod, my steed, and held my hand down to her. She took it, and I helped her onto Arod’s back, directly behind me, where she instantly wound her arms around my waist, shifting about.

“I’ve never really ridden a horse before,” she mumbled.

“Just hold on tight,” I replied, smiling. And with that, we rode off towards our destination.