Prologue ~ Explanation

First of all, this story has been long in the works, so I would like to hereby remove any suspicions of my stealing this plot bunny from Still Anonymous. This little rabbit was given to me some time passed. Thanks, Grey Wonderer! :)

Now, you will notice that the writing style changes from chapter to chapter. This is because I’ve tried to capture the accent of each horse depending on his "nationality." Just as Bill will speak like a hobbit, so Asfaloth will speak like an Elf. I do hope it worked.

At the top of each chapter, there will be a short note including a disclaimer, letting you know whether this is a canon horse or an OH. :) Also, it will let you know if it is book-verse or movie-verse. For the most part, they will be book-verse; but on some, that would be impossible, as they weren’t in the book. (Such as Brego, who is in the works.)

Requests are more than welcome, but I may not be able to fulfill certain ones, simply because I’m scared to death of them. :)

Also, if there is someone out there reading this who knows more about horses than I, please let me know if and when you find something that simply must be fixed. After all, we only had horses for a few years and we’ve never been experts on the matter. (Amaniel, that was half directed at you! :) )

Your horse loving author,

~: Chigger :~

A/N: Really now, is it necessary to tell you that Bill is not mine?

Book-verse

~ Bill ~

Nothin’ in my life was as wonderful as the day when I came under the care of Samwise Gamgee, for my Sam would never let anythin’ happen to me.

Just as my years with Bill Ferny were the darkest of my life, so my years under Sam’s care have been the brightest. The Shire’s a place of beauty and peace and I’ve only light duties at my age. Givin’ rides to Elanor and Sam’s other children isn’t even to be considered work, merely a joy and the will o’ my Sam.

But I’m getting ahead o’ myself. Let me go back some years and retell my tale from there. It all began, really, when I came under the cruel care, tyranny more accurately, o’ Bill Ferny as a three year old colt.

He fed me only occasionally, leaving me untended in favor of a night at the inn with a mug o’ ale most times. I lost weight and strength, was misused and made t’ work twice as hard in my weakened state. I learned t’ hate ‘im. With the small corner o’ my heart still whole, I hated ‘im.

Then a forgetful, bumblin’ ol’ man, Butterbur by name and the keeper o’ the inn, bought me for twelve silver pennies, buying me for the most peculiar but likable crew as ever I’d known.

Four hobbits and a man, off on a journey to Rivendell, the home o’ the Elves, while pursued by strange riders upon evil black horses, such as I’ve never seen elsewhere. Fearful beasts they were, and completely unsociable. I know, for I tried talkin’, but they only snorted at me in return.

Howsoever, I’m strayin’ from m’ story. The four hobbits were Shirefolk and the man was a ranger of the north, Strider by name.

The day we left Bree, a first for myself, we were seen off by as big a crowd of snoopers as ever I did see. One o’ the last was Bill Ferny who shouted insults and what have you over his fence.

My dear Sam got heated and sent an apple streakin’ straight for Ferny’s nose with a swish and a wham when it hit. Even I, who know nearly naught ‘bout the speech of men and had lived with Bill Ferny, was horrified by what came from behind that hedge. That man had a colorful way of expressin’ hisself, he did.

Well, we made the journey to Rivendell, lasting several days, days in which I gained strength and mended my broken spirit.

We spent some awful time in these horrible marshes, with bugs makin’ an awful racket and the hobbits complainin’. Then we came to the fearful place where we were caught by those black riders I was speaking earlier about. Freaky they were.

Howsoever, one of the hobbits, Frodo, got hisself stabbed and was thenceforth placed upon my back. He was a light little hobbit, with less meat on his bones than any healthy hobbit of Bree, that’s for sure. Most unnatural he seemed to me, but that’s merely the opinion of an uneducated country pony, and I mustn’t say aught against Mr. Frodo, as he’s my Sam’s most favorite of hobbits.

We made most of the rest of the journey just in that like, until we were met by a kindly, beautiful Elf riding upon a very friendly beast named Asfaloth. Kind animal that, a real Elven horse, for sure and certain. Spoke real fancy like with an accent strange to me.

He told me he was not too well versed, whatever that means, in the Common Tongue, which is, I’m assuming, what I speak. I asked him what he spoke, and he replied, Sindarin, the tongue of the Elves. Strange words for a poor country pony like m’self, for I had always held to the belief that a tongue was in your mouth and not a common thing among a group of people. But he said he meant language. Why he didn’t just say so in the first place, I don’t know. But I’m ramblin’ off the story yet again.

Anyway, Frodo was put upon Asfaloth and they ran for the river when them black riders showed again. They made it too, and when those spooky black fellas tried t’ follow, they was washed downstream by an amazin’ flood that came and went out of nowhere like, and it looked almost like a herd o’ horses runnin’ ‘em down.

Then we reached Rivendell, and my Sam turned me in with the Elven horses, although he came to see me a great deal. Those Elven horses, they’re big folk to my mind. Very tall, but with kindness and generosity to match. They’ve got to be the most proper and polite beasts I’ve ever had the pleasure o’ meetin’.

After a time, we left Rivendell, but not to home. No, there was a lot more to it than that. We left in the company of Gandalf, an old wizard I had seen come and go about Bree time and again; also Strider and the four hobbits, plus an Elf, a dwarf and another man.

Sam took very good care of me on the road, but I also took a great fancy to the Elf. Legolas, he called hisself, and he spoke that same as Asfaloth. Sindarin they call it, unusual and unknown to me, but the most pleasantest talkin’ ever I did hear. Whenever he spoke, I just wanted to run and play, unmindful of where we were or what was happenin’.

Anyway, we made a frightful journey, travelin’ quite a ways before bein’ stopped on a mountain by a blizzard. Nothin’ could keep us warm and when we finally made it down from that terrible place, I dreaded even the thought of snow.

It was decided to go through these mines and everyone, Legolas especially, although only to me, spoke of them with fear and horror, so perhaps it was a blessin’ that Strider and Sam turned me loose before goin’ in.

My Sam was wishful o’ my continuin’ on with ‘em, but he was made to see that I shouldn’t go. So he turned me loose, free to go where I wanted, but I wanted my Sam and Legolas. I would have stayed, only this huge, creepy monster jumped from the nearby water and started grabbing the hobbits. This scared me so terrible that I lost all thought and fled, leavin’ my Sam to go on without me.

I ran from the monster and from the sound of dogs, howlin’ in the night. It was enough to spook even one o’ them Elven horses in Rivendell, it was. I was plenty spooked and glad merely to slip by unseen.

Long months of hunger and toil followed. Months in which I managed, at last, to find my way back to Bree. I was thin as a cricket’s back leg when I stopped at the door o’ the Prancin’ Pony where forgetful ol’ Butterbur was.

The kindly ol’ man took me in and stabled me well, keepin’ me until, one glorious day, my Sam turned up at my stall door, as happy as I was, bidden’ me good mornin’. I was never more excited in m’life. Sam, my Sam, was back.

We then set out for the Shire, headin’ towards what was to be my new home. But it wasn’t beautiful then, no sir. It was dark and filthy. A worse sight I hadn’t seen since the inside o’ Bill Ferny’s stable.

Speakin’ o’ Ferny, we met him at the gate, we did. Rude he was before turnin’ cowardly. He was runnin’ scared from two hobbits with short swords when he passed me by. Perhaps I shouldn’t o’ done it, but I can’t regret reachin’ out and lambastin’ him good with a hind hoof. Nothin’ had ever felt so good, and my Sam even praised me for it.

My Sam left me in the best stable nearby (which wasn’t very nice considerin’ where I’d stayed while in Rivendell) while he and his friends did whatever needed to be done in order to rid their home of all riffraff and what have you.

Yes, sir, once my Sam finished his cleanin’, then his plantin’, then his tendin’, then his prunin’, the Shire was the beautiful place I now call home.

When he married sweet little Rosie and they began havin’ kids, I was Sam’s only pony. He would ride no other, and I wouldn’t o’ had it any other way. On the day when Mr. Frodo left on a ship for some unknown place across the water, I was there, carryin’ my Sam in his grief back to his home here at Bag End.

Long years have passed and things have changed, but I still have my Sam.  

A/N: Tolkien’s of course. Pardon me if I get something wrong. I don’t know much about Imladris or Glorfindel. Also, sorry it’s so short, but it’s the best I can do.

Book-verse

~: Asfaloth :~

I knew something was different when my Lord entered the stable bearing his light saddle and the bridle ornamented with small bells, for in his face I saw apprehension and almost fear. This was no carefree ride across the valley, but a dangerous journey we would be taking. My years in the service of my Lord Glorfindel have been lighthearted, wonderful times, years of enjoyment and laughter; but I knew in my heart that things would be so no more. For my Lord’s mind was not upon his small tasks, but wandering other paths.

We left Rivendell and crossed the river, my Lord’s gaze searching through the trees as we went, the small tinkle of bells seeming terribly loud in the stillness of the trees. Even the birds seemed quieter than usual, their songs trilling only occasionally through the forest. Each step I took felt as though I were walking on shards of rock and I stepped lightly, holding myself back from bolting only through great struggle.

For days we spent our time wandering paths long unused, hoping to meet travelers of any kind. We came, finally, across Aragorn son of Arathorn whom my Lord knew well, for he was the foster son of Lord Elrond and had been raised in Rivendell.

My Lord and the son of Arathorn conversed tensely for sometime before we were joined by four hobbits, peculiar folk to my eye and of a kindred I had never before seen. They had with them a delightful pony by the name of Bill, an ignorant young thing who asked an endless string of questions as we traveled together. I became, actually, quite fond of him and he seemed to return the affection, although his rough language was rather difficult for me to decipher at times. For I had never truly learned the Common Tongue, and he spoke in a strange dialect and with a heavy accent.

But it was not a happy journey for very long. We were pursued by the Nine and it was necessary after a time that I flee, one of the hobbits in my saddle, back across the river where they could not take him. The hobbit I bore was thin and pale, with a wound in his shoulder made by the blade of the Witch King. He was reluctant to leave his friends and held back upon the reins, but a command from my Lord was all I needed.

The following chase through the trees was no trouble for me, although rather frightening with all nine of the black riders in close pursuit. The stirrups had been shortened, and so my burden, by name of Frodo, was able to remain firmly in his seat. We reached the Ford with no time to spare and watched as my Lord Glorfindel and his companions chased the Nine into the river. The Lord Elrond’s flood then swept the Nazgûl and their foul beasts down river, killing their horses and sending them back to the Dark Lord for a time.

Rivendell was reached shortly thereafter and I was relieved of my burden who was then turned over to the charge of Lord Elrond. My Lord Glorfindel treated me royally for several days thereafter, often letting me out to run free for the morning.

Bill was stabled and turned out with us, and we became very good friends. We still had trouble understanding one another, but in time I learned to translate his questions and comments. The other horses of Imladris all overcame their first suspicious and soon Bill was well liked by all. But when the Nine Walkers set out on their journey, Bill went with them, leaving me once more with the peace and silence of Rivendell.

My life then continued as normal with my Lord, and nothing quite so strange has ever again crossed my path. But I will always remember it and wonder where young Bill be now and how he fares. He was a wonderfully endearing beast.

A/N: This one’s mine. He is also in The White Horse and the White Banner.

~` Fréa `~

I stood, my young legs shaking beneath me, watching as my mother died before my very eyes. Only hours before I had been born, and now the only beast in Middle-earth I knew and needed was dying.

I stumbled my way to her through the tall weeds around us. I could not suckle, for she lay on her side without the strength to stand. Longing for some comfort from her, I nudged her gently with my muzzle and she opened her eyes.

Seeing me, her newborn colt, standing over her, she nickered softly before closing her eyes for the last time, all life leaving her with one great sigh. Knowing my only source of life was gone, I cried out loudly, my small voice pealing out over the plains. But she was all I knew, and so I remained by her side, a trembling, hungry young thing with no reason to live.

Then, a day later, a strange man came riding up to me. His hair flowed long and yellow; his eyes were a chill blue. He ignored me, dismounting next to my mother and looking her over carefully. Only when he had finished did he turn to me, hardly a trace of care in his eyes. To him I was just a worthless colt who had killed one of his mares and would cause him no end of time and trouble. But he brought me to a stable and dumped hay down beside me. He spoke roughly when I would not eat it, nor drink the water he had provided, and then he left me to myself. The other horses in the stable were not unkind to me, but there was naught they could do for me.

Then came the boy. He was very thin, about nineteen years or so, with a shock of golden hair atop his head and two of the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. Those eyes widened upon seeing me and a smile covered his features. He asked a question of the man, who had followed him into the stable, and he muttered something under his breath in reply.

The boy seemed aggravated with my caretaker but he entered my stall and began rubbing me down with a wisp of hay, whispering softly to me. If felt good. Almost like my mother’s tongue when she had cleaned me after my birth.

When he had finished that, he lifted all my feet in turn, tapping the bottoms gently. I did not mind, for I yearned only for care and attention. This young man seemed to have both and I did not even fight him when he carefully pried open my mouth to look inside.

He inspected every inch of me carefully and must have found me to his liking, for he then turned to the man who had stood impatiently by and dropped several gold pieces into the outstretched hand.

Taking a nearby length of rope, my new master fashioned a halter which he slipped over my head, humming a pleasant tune the while. I resisted, not liking the feel of rope clinging to my face, but he held me gently yet firmly, beginning to sing softly to me.

I was soon so pleased to be with someone who cared that he could have put a saddle on my back and I would have made no trouble. He led me to his home, continuing his singing in a voice which still retained faint traces of adolescence.

He stabled me well and cared for me carefully until I no longer needed the constant watchfulness of a mother and could graze and drink water from a stream or a bucket.

My training had begun as soon as he had purchased me and had continued the entire time I was under his constant care. I was halter trained before anything and he was soon able to lead me about without any resistance on my part. Then had come things more complicated, such as taking a bit without fighting, following instructions through the reins and standing still when he left the reins hanging. But the hardest thing of all was the saddle.

When the girth was tightened, my instincts told me to buck and fight, ridding myself of the unknown enemy on my back. But Ceorl, my master, would not allow me my freedom until it was strapped well in place. And then no amount of bucking or twisting would move it from its place. At last I learned to heed it not, and was able to remain still for Ceorl to mount.

By this time, I was strong and fit, able to hold my master’s weight with no trouble. It was strange at first, having him always behind and above me, but it did not take long for me to grow accustomed to that also. We had many a wild ride across the plains surrounding Edoras during those carefree days of our youth. But Ceorl had also his duties to perform and soon he began to train me for battle.

I had to learn to stand firm no matter what frightening sight I beheld before me, to obey commands through Ceorl’s knees when he could not hold the reins, and to lash out at the enemy with my own hooves should they get too numerous and too near. While it was new and slightly confusing to me, I learned quickly under his gentle instruction and was richly rewarded at the close of each session.

Overall, Ceorl has been a wonderfully devoted mater and he has been repaid for his care. For not only does he now have a well-trained war horse, but his long weeks of training me in all weather filled him out and took the last lingering boyish qualities from him, turning the thin young man who bought me into a strong, handsome Rider of Rohan whom the maidens of Edoras watch with interest as he rides by upon his black stallion.

Why, I do believe my kind master is handsome enough even to steal the heart of a Lady of noble birth . . . 

A/N: I actually think Brego is PJ’s, isn’t he?

Anyway, this one’s movie verse.

~` Brego `~

My master and I had been together for a long time. Dear Theodred was always kind-hearted and loyal, never leaving me without care. I feel it safe to say that I was the most well cared for horse in all of Rohan, rivaling even Snowmane, mount of the King. For Theodred not only loved me, he knew that a man must be well-mounted in battle lest his horse falter and fail, thus leaving the rider afoot and easy prey. And what is more, even the bravest of horses would balk and shy when charged by the enemy, unless he knows his master well and trusts him.

My Theodred knew all these things. He knew also that it was his duty as Second Marshal of the Riddermark to fight even if it meant his life in order to save Rohan.

So fight he did and there at the Fords of Isen, his men put forth a valiant defense. But it was not enough. All were killed save Theodred, who lay upon the river bank, his life ebbing with the tide. It was there Éomer found us. I had wandered off a ways when they arrived and they soon left again, Éomer bearing his cousin upon Firefoot, his own mount. I followed at a distance, wishing to return home, but my instincts telling me also to run free as had my ancestors.

Upon our arrival in Edoras, I was discovered and again placed in my usual stall, but it was not the same, for Theodred was not there to administer to me. A boy of the stable unsaddled me and brushed me clean, but he did not sing as had Theodred, nor were his attentions half so loving and personal. Not only that, but when he left he tied two ropes to my halter, effectively reducing the freedom of my head to almost nothing.

I was not moved from my stall for several days. I remained there until I no longer took notice of time. The sunrise and the sunset were the same to me, different only in direction. Was Theodred still living? or had he at last succumb to his wounds?

Often had he spoken to me of his troubles while we were alone; the smooth tone of his voice when saddened always calmed me and I was able to comfort him to a certain extent. Therefore I knew that his father the king was failing; his counselor had overtaken his mind with whispers of ill-wind. I knew also that Saruman’s help was no longer to be fully trusted. But these things were of lesser importance to me, being shoved back by my concern for Theodred and the wear of battle upon me.

I soon grew out of my listless state and became of ill-temperament and fiery spirit. I would suffer none to ride me and few could safely approach me. The weariness of war began to set into my complacent mind as well as my abused muscles. I knew now that my master was dead, for the Princess Éowyn, his cousin, had come weeping to my stall seeking the consolation she could not find in her uncle. It was from her that I learned of Theodred’s death and the banishment of Éomer her brother.

I had lost my war-conditioning and become sluggish in my movements, for there was no one to ride me at breakneck speeds across the plains of Rohan each day. Grief consumed me, for there are few relationships so intimate as that between horse and rider after their first battle together. The fall of one at first brings grieving untold to the other until death would seem a mercy; but I knew that my pain would soon diminish if never wholly leave me. I wished only to be set free for the rest of my days, which would be few if I remained hidden from the sun much longer, unable to graze at will.

Then, soon after the death of my master, strangers came to Edoras, accompanying Gandalf Greyhame who rode upon Lord Shadowfax. It was with their advent that Théoden King was released from the spell of Saruman, for soon after I saw him mount Snowmane and there were none of the signs of weakness that Theodred had spoken of in the bitter days before his death.

One among their company, the only Man among them, seemed regal in his bearing, although his clothing was far from elegant and he showed the wear of travel. An elf there was also, tall and fair; and a dwarf, stunted of growth, whose beard far outmatched that of any Rider I had known. It was as all began bustling about the stable, saddling their steeds and preparing to flee the city, that I was noticed once more. Two men tried to lead me from my stall, but again my grief took hold of me, and the memory of war embittered my heart so that I wished never to again see battle without Theodred to guide me.

I reared and cried out, fighting against their hold; but they held tenaciously to the ropes which bound me, never allowing me opportunity to flee. It was then that Aragorn, the companion of Gandalf, came to me. He took from the grasp of one the rope and stretched out his hand to me, speaking softly in the language of my people. I resisted for a time, the memory of my former master still fresh in my mind; but soon his gentle speech calmed me and I stood, awaiting whatever was to come.

He asked me for my name and the Lady Éowyn answered as she joined us. They spoke for a time before Aragorn handed her my rein with one last soft-spoken command. She then turned me over to one of the stable boys with instructions to set me free. Those words, spoken with authority, soothed my heart and soul. At last, the freedom I had long desired was to be mine.

The boy led me from the stable and began to loosen my halter, but the sight of the wide open plains below us and the knowledge that I was soon to possess them stirred my blood and I broke away from his hold, racing down the streets and out the gates, my halter still in place and the rope dragging. I squealed with joy, my cry ringing out and echoing back again as I fled the confines of war forever and faced the life of freedom in Rohan.

For a time I wandered as I pleased, unmindful of the passing of time and wishing now that I had allowed the boy the chance to remove my halter, but not caring enough to go back. I soon learned to avoid tripping and it did not hinder my grazing at all, for there was no bit. I felt strength enter my sluggish muscles once more and I was at peace. But often the memory of those few moments with Aragorn leapt unbidden to my mind and I wondered how he fared and who he was.

I soon came to the river and lingered there for awhile, quenching my thirst when the need arose and grazing when it did not. It was in this manner that I found Aragorn again, and a bitter moment it was.

He lay on the banks of the river, his clothing wet and blood-stained, his body torn with wounds. My first thought was to flee any human companionship, but his position in the water pulled at my heart, for he lay exactly as had Theodred when he had fallen at Isen. Had my actions there condemned my master to death? If I had only allowed him access to his saddle and born him home once more, would he have lived? Was I now leaving Aragorn to meet the same fate as my master? or was he already dead?

My heart leading me, I walked slowly up to him, snuffling loudly for I was nervous. Gently, I nudged him, rolling him onto his back and sniffing him. Was he dead? "Brego," a soft voice whispered, more breath than voice.

He was alive!

Gently, carefully and slowly I dropped to the ground beside him, snorting and grunting. Would he have the strength to mount? He did; and as he slid slowly onto my back I could feel water and blood run from his clothing onto my skin, but I headed it not.

I started back for Edoras, but Aragorn spoke softly in Rohirric as he lay against my neck, telling me to make for Helm’s Deep. Therefore, I redirected our path and began the wearisome task of keeping him mounted, for he often passed into states of exhaustion and could not balance himself without a saddle.

After a time, he dismounted and attached the loose end of the rope to my halter and slipped the loop over my head. This gave him a better hold and he found it a simpler task to remain seated.

A loud rumble, as of marching thunder, caught our attention and we swerved slightly from our line of travel to investigate. Topping out on a rise, we encountered the frightening sight of ten thousand Uruk-hai stomping in our direction. I snorted and shied slightly, my ears erect as I watched in fascination; but Aragorn urged me to resume our journey, and I backed slowly away from the awful spectacle.

Now at a quicker pace we continued on, slowing every now and again to allow him a brief rest before once more trotting or even cantering in the direction of the great fortress. He often seemed near onto collapse, but seemed to gain strength as we went, and soon he no longer needed to slow our pace and we were able to travel more swiftly.

When at last we caught sight of Helm’s Deep in the distance, it was as sighting home after a long campaign; but with it came bitterness, for it was a symbol of war. I knew my years in battle would soon begin to tell on me in more ways than stiff muscles, and longed for the free life which I had known for so short a time.

But Aragorn spoke softly "Mae carnen, Brego, mellon nîn," slapping my shoulder gently. His grateful tone and the musical sound of the Elvish he was using soothed my soul once more and it was with a resigned heart that I bore him down to the fortress and up the causeway.

A great commotion arose around us as people crowded nearer to where we stopped. They seemed amazed to see Aragorn still among the living, the dwarf more than any of them, for he shoved his way rudely through the crowd, swearing he would kill Aragorn on sight. But rather, he embraced him tightly, blessing him as he may and near to tears.

Aragorn seemed slightly amused, but he felt an urgency, I am sure, to inform Théoden King of the approaching army. Therefore he left me in the care of others who brushed me carefully and gave me plenty to eat and drink, as well as a warm place to lie down.

Again stiffness entered my weary muscles and noticing this a Rohir led me around for a bit before leaving me in my stall. I was grateful simply to be once more fed and brushed. I had forgotten how much the gentle care of men meant to me, for long had I refused any care but Theodred’s.

I remained there, my stall sharing a wall with Arod’s. We had rarely met before, but knew one another by sight and were able to keep a pleasant conversation alive between us for a time. We had both lost our masters and found new ones. He had come under the care of Legolas, the elven companion of Aragorn; but he complained of having to carry the dwarf as well. I was certain that between the two of them, they made for an amazing load, and I complemented Arod on his strength, for he was a light horse.

He gave a soft nicker, almost as in humor, and said that, indeed, Legolas weighed far less than any rider he had ever born, save a child, but Gimli the Dwarf weighed nearly so much as saddle and rider alone. Yet it was no trouble, so long as Legolas kept Gimli from digging his metal boots into poor Arod’s flanks.

Night soon closed in around us, the sun’s last rays shooting streams of light into the stable where we stood before setting and leaving us in near darkness. The night’s noises were unnatural: the sounds of a large army approaching, but sounding more ominous than any army I had heard before.

Arod asked me what was happening, and the most I could tell him was that Aragorn and I had sighted ten thousand of the Enemy’s orcs marching on Rohan. Arod snorted and stomped, his silver mane leaping spiritedly. "Legolas will aid our Men and together they shall outlast them," he said defiantly.

I sighed slightly, but said nothing. Arod is far younger than I and he has come to love his new master almost to a fault. I pray he is right, but Béma help us if he is not. . .

~*~*~*~

Mae carnen, Brego, mellon nîn ~ Well done, Brego, my friend.

Sorry this took so long, but Arod has been plugging up the works with his long chapter and he’s still not done. Therefore, consider this your last chapter for awhile, and I’ll post again as soon as possible.

Also, if you didn’t like the ending, believe me, I agonized over it myself, but I felt that leaving off there was better than having an incorrect ending as my memory and ingenuity fail me. In future, I may change it, and if you have any suggestions or comments, please . . . please leave them. If you wish to bring me down a few notches, please do so. If you wish to praise me, even if just a little, please do so. But most of all, if you wish to point out a mistake or two or three, please do so! Feedback is the most precious thing any author could receive!

A/N: Tolkien’s wonderful creature. I love this horse!

Book-verse; in fact so very book-verse that it might be possible to find a few of the Professor’s descriptions and several of his quotes in this.

~` Arod `~

My master, Deorwine, slipped silently through my stall door; I had sensed him and his companions as soon as they entered the stable. His appearance was welcome as always and I tossed my head playfully in greeting, letting loose a small nicker. But Deorwine held my muzzle and gestured to me to be silent as he stroked my face gently. "Quiet, Arod my boy," he said softly as he led me from the stall.

All around us the horses of our éored were being saddled in preparation for what appeared to be a long journey. I called softly to Fengel, my brother, who stood across the way, his rider pulling tight the cinch. He tried to answer, but at that moment the strap was tightened and his breath left him in a loud huff.

I had always been rather jealous of his name, for it meant "prince" while my own was merely "quick". Yet this in no way tarnished our familial friendship and together on the battlefield I fancy we were quite a sight.

Deorwine led me over to where my saddle lay and cinched it tightly. The bit, which he held in his hand to warm, was slipped into my mouth, but not without my usual resistance. Only when he inserted his finger into the corner of my mouth did I unclench my jaws. I chewed on the metal for a few moments, settling it comfortably as I could behind my teeth; the flat, metallic taste taking over my mouth.

Once all straps were buckled tightly, Deorwine led me from the stable to where Éomer, nephew of the King and Third Marshal of the Riddermark awaited his éored. He sat high upon Firefoot, his grey stallion, the tail of his helm blowing gently in the breeze, as was his banner beside him. His advent was enough to strike fear into the hearts of our enemy, for he was ruthless upon the battlefield, and yet our own people loved him and had no fear of him. His men would follow him wherever he led, and if the secrecy of our departure was anything to go by, they were following him now against orders and into possible death.

Firefoot noticed me and nickered gently; Éomer patted his mount’s glossy neck in command for silence. Firefoot bobbed his head gently in apology and shifted his weight carefully, the saddle upon his back squeaking slightly. Soon all were gathered and we were mounted.

As our riders urged us silently through the dark streets of Edoras and down the hill to the plains below, I found myself positioned near to Folca, another stallion with whom I had always been at odds. I reached out to him, stretching my neck in an attempt to close my teeth upon his grey flank, but Deorwine pulled sharply upon the right rein, bringing my head around. Folca’s rider also had need of forceful control upon his mount and soon we had drifted apart, myself several lengths ahead of him. This suited me well enough and I remained silent and submissive for a time.

Once we had gained the plains, Éomer increased our speed and we headed North. We rode all night and long into the next day, resting only as the afternoon grew old. The saddle chafed me and a wrinkle formed in the blanket, rubbing a slight sore into my back. I champed once more upon the bit, trying to grasp it between my teeth, but Deorwine held back on the reins to be sure I never succeeded.

Sweat coated my back and a rock lodged itself in my shoe, causing me to limp slightly. Deorwine noticed, thankfully, and removed it quickly, but it left behind a dull ache which lasted for several hours before at last deserting my hoof. Folca and I met again, but as soon as I stepped over to him Deorwine once more pulled me away, allowing Folca to ride ahead, his proud head held loftily and his coarse tail swishing back in my face as he passed.

I became discontent and showed Deorwine my feelings by giving him a hard time remaining in control. I sidled away from whatever direction he wanted me to go and fought against his hold. Soon we were falling behind, but a call from Hasuwyn, a tall grey mare, was all it took to bring me once more in line, following my companions without a thought of Folca.

After several days in this manner, we received word from the scouts that a party of Uruk-hai were near the borders of Fangorn. We soon found them for ourselves; their loud growling, cursing and raucous laughter could be heard from farther away than even their stench was able to travel.

The signs of their passing could be seen upon the plains even in the growing dusk and the smell of crushed grass aroused my appetite. Therefore I attempted to graze, knowing I would regret it during the coming battle; but Deorwine held my head firmly, forbidding me even one mouthful.

We followed them for a time and they seemed aware of our presence; but they did not attack. They simply doubled their speed and continued on their way, their yelling and growling growing louder as we gained and they became heated. Our riders felled many along the way, firing their arrows with deadly accuracy while the fleeing enemy could only stop long enough to fire erratically and without aim or precision.

Mercilessly our riders herded the fleeing bands along the river towards the forest. By nightfall a great number had been felled, but near two hundred still remained. They at last came to a stop near a hillock and began raising such a din I felt that surely they would awaken the dead. But after a time they quieted and an eerie silence hung in the air for a time; a silence broken only by the guttural mutterings and growlings of our enemy.

We remained away, awaiting the light of morning. But we encircled the pack, and started fires in a ring about their camp without a sound. I could feel the tension rising and tossed my head restlessly. How long would the night drag on?

The moon emerged from hiding and bathed the land in an ethereal pale glow which shimmered as the long grasses waved in a light breeze. But soon it too abandoned us, as had its companion the sun, leaving us in an ever deepening gloom which entered my mind, bringing with it all sorts of dreadful imaginings.

I could see the Uruk-hai moving restlessly about, weapons in hand and a curse on their tongue. A few began arguing amongst themselves, but their words were muffled in the darkness.

Some of our men began to feel the same restlessness that had taken hold of me and they slipped silently into the enemy camp and slew several of the sleeping orcs before returning to camp unharmed. The outcry resulting from their actions sounded like a pack of rabid wolves growling and snarling at us and at each other.

Suddenly another mob appeared outside our circle of fires and moved quickly in our direction. Éomer ordered a small group of riders to deal with the newcomers while we tightened our circle around the original band. But the new turn of events was quickly taken care of: the new company of orcs was dispatched and our vigilant watch resumed.

It seemed to last an age, that short span of time awaiting the dawn, but at last the horizon turned grey and burst forth in fiery red as the horns sounded the charge.

In the ensuing confusion I found myself surrounded by foul smelling orcs, lashing out at them with all four feet and bearing Deorwine through the fray. But soon I felt him jerk, his body going limp in the saddle as his weight was shifted from the stirrups to rest fully upon my back.

I shied away from Fangorn, where I had almost entered in my confusion, knowing that something stirred within those trees that was unnatural; but the action caused Deorwine to fall, his foot catching in the stirrup as he did so. He hung there, hindering any movements of mine, his weight slowly pulling the saddle to the side.

I watched the battle from where I stood, shadowed by the overhanging boughs so that none approached me. I watched our men fall and, more than that, my companion horses in the ranks. Worst of all was when I saw Fengel run through by an orkish blade. His rider had fallen, also, and he was standing over the now lifeless body, defending his most beloved of friends up to the very last when a large Uruk wielding a horrid knife came at him from behind, where he could not see, and ruthlessly murdered him.

I cried out in anger and despair, watching helplessly as my brother fell slowly to rest beside his master, for even as he died he had a care not to fall upon and crush his companion’s body. There they lay while the battle raged on about them and I could not go to his side.

Mid-morning found the men of our éored piling the bodies of the vanquished enemy in a large pyre. I still stood near to Fangorn, Deorwine’s weight having pulled the saddle down until it was on my side and no longer my back. Éomer himself lifted the body, freeing me in the process, and carried my master over to where fifteen men, killed in battle, were being buried.

I followed aimlessly, the saddle still clinging tightly to my side. I knew my master and my brother were dead and I knew that I would either be given to another and continue my life in Rohan’s service, or I would be turned loose to wander the plains for the rest of my days. I had little hope of being set loose, but life under a saddle grew wearisome after three years.

I had little time to wonder, for we were soon on our way. Twelve horses had been lost, leaving three of us riderless. Myself, Hasufel, with whom I had always been amiable, and Walda were led in the rear of the column as we galloped homeward, knowing we had struck a hard blow against the enemy, even if a small one.

We traveled several leagues, the day passing swiftly as we ran with no chance of conversation. But we were startled when a voice came from the plain where no man was visible. "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

Swiftly our gallop was checked and we wheeled, charging down upon the place where a man now stood. His cloak seemed to hide him and still it was difficult at times to see him as he made small movements and the light’s angle changed. We surrounded him, my position near the outer edge of the circle restricting my view. I heard Éomer challenge him and a soft spoken answer in return, but as it was muffled by the small noises of horses and spears, before being completely drowned out by the constant, loud inquiries of the mare beside me, I could not understand what was said.

A gruff voice soon also took part in the debate, supported by one more fair. I could feel tempers around me grow hot and my nerves were soon on edge, but still knew not the reason, though I strained my neck in an effort to see. After a time Éomer called to his men, bidding them to stand back and allow him private counsel with these strangers who could hide themselves from the sight of both man and beast.

As we moved off to the side, I was at last able to glimpse the three companions, for two more had risen up from the grass beside their leader. Besides the Man there was one of stunted growth whose thick beard and stout frame suggested him to be a Dwarf, but to my mind that was impossible. Dwarves were only legends sung by our people. The other was tall and fair, his supple frame well-hidden in his cloak.

They spoke for some time, Éomer’s face changing expressions often, from dark to hopeful and from incredulous to amazed. The horses and men of the éored became impatient and restless during the wait. I was enthralled by the voice of the tallest Walker, soft as it was and from so far away, and wished he would say more. There was a new quality about him that I had never before encountered and it seemed to soothe while at the same time excite me. And yet he spoke hardly at all.

I was suddenly nipped on the shoulder and I turned to find Folca standing there, his teeth bared and his ears laid back. Angrily I tried to clamp my teeth onto his neck, but the Rider who had hold of my reins pulled my head away just his master forced Folca back. I blew loudly after him, the slight throbbing in my shoulder fanning the flames of my resentment higher.

When at last Éomer bid Éothain to lend to the three strange companions the three spare horses, the men of the éored muttered among themselves, their expressions grim and distrustful. But just the same, Hasufel and myself were led over to them, Walda being refused by the dwarf who seemed to fear all animals larger than himself.

Hasufel was given to the Man Aragorn and I was lent unto the care of Legolas, an Elf both noble and golden of heart. I had believed Elves to also be legends of which the Men of the Mark sang with wariness and distrust. As my temper was high after the brief encounter with Folca, I did my best to free myself and they were hard put to it to lead me to my new master. But he bid them remove my tack and it was done so. To feel myself free of all encumbering leather was a wonderful relief after the long hours spent beneath it. Before mounting, Legolas took a moment to rub my sweat-covered back with handfuls of the long grass, and allow the cool winds of lingering winter to blow around me, cooling my temper as well as my body.

Once this was done he leapt to my back, his lithe frame seeming to weigh as nothing. He gave me gentle commands, as though to test my obedience; and that quality I had noticed about him had some power over my heart so that I was glad to do his bidding. The Riders seemed surprised by this, for my fiery spirit was well known among them and to see Arod handled so easily after the display I had just given was a novelty, yet one that I was not ashamed of.

But soon the time came when the Dwarf was hoisted onto my back - and he was neither lithe nor light. He was large and heavy and did not know the tricks of riding. He dug his heels into my sides, shuffling around where he sat and no doubt clinging tightly to his companion all the while.

After a few more words were exchanged between Éomer and Aragorn, we turned and galloped away, both parties in opposite directions depending upon their mission. We rode back towards Fangorn with Aragorn leaning far over Hasufel’s neck, searching the ground for clues.

Gimli bounced like an old sack, wearing hard upon my back. Legolas tried to keep him steady and I strove to run in a much smoother gait, but still the stubborn Dwarf continued to jounce, his harsh voice rambling on in complaints, groans, grunts and curses.

As we drew nearer to Fangorn Aragorn halted once or twice to check the ground, careful to blot out neither footprint nor sign of passing. But each time he seemed disappointed and we continued on, the sky darkening above us as clouds rolled in and mist covered the sun.

We reached the sight of the night’s battle and my heart twisted as I stopped near the place where my brother fell. The mound of my master and his companions, surrounded by their spears, stood to the side, the great heap of burnt orcs and weapons claiming the attention of any passersby before the monument to the honored dead.

Here the three friends dismounted and searched the area, Gimli’s gruff complaining showing his fears while Legolas remained silent. Aragorn, too, spared no energy in speech and clung tenaciously to his task. But by eventide, no trace had been found and they made camp in dark spirits. Gimli wished to strike a fire; Aragorn disagreed. But after a few moments of debate, a fire was lit, the companions taking care to burn no live wood.

I then dozed for some time, the long day of riding catching both Hasufel and myself, and leaving us to rest as we might. The feeling of doom connected to the forest near to hand kept us upright, sleeping as we stood in case some unknown danger should suddenly show itself.

When I awoke a short time later Gimli sat alone near his dying fire, Aragorn and Legolas lay off to the side, sleeping peacefully. At least I assumed they were sleeping. Aragorn’s breathing was heavy as he lay sprawled on the ground; but Legolas seemed only to be lying for a time, his eyes fixed upon the stars above while his hands rested gently upon his chest which moved subtly with his breathing. In repose his face looked even more youthful and innocent, his chin losing its grim firmness and his eyes looking more like a newborn foal’s than a warrior’s.

Legolas’ manner of sleeping seemed to unnerve Gimli slightly, for he glanced often his way before his gaze darted back towards the forest which still gloomed over us. But suddenly an old man appeared on the edge of the forest. I saw him only a moment before Gimli who jumped upright, his movements awakening the others. Their attention was centered upon the stranger and they spoke to him, but he did not answer.

The stranger’s manner frightened me and I jerked hard upon my picket, pulling it from the ground. Hasufel did the same beside me and together we ran off into the night. But rather than running free, we came upon Shadowfax, our friend and the lord of all horses. He called us to himself and we ran toward him, our ropes dragging behind us or tripping us as we whinnied with joy, our heads held high and our feet flying in his direction.

Once we had submitted ourselves to his will, showing our loyalty and submission as best we could, we followed him as he ran across the plains. After stumbling over our pickets several times, Hasufel and I learned to run with our heads held slightly to the side. We wished to be rid of them, but had not the skill.

For a day we ran free with our lord, remaining near to Fangorn for a reason unknown to Hasufel and myself. But Lord Shadowfax would tell us nothing, saying merely, "It is my task to remain." Our questions were answered when a long whistle came pealing across the plains, followed by more of the same.

Lord Shadowfax turned quickly, his hooves making grooves in the damp earth, and ran back toward the forest, his mane and tail flowing beautifully on the wind as he went. Hasufel and myself were hard put to it to keep pace with him, for he is also the swiftest of horses, his speed rivaling even the birds who flew overhead.

By the time Fangorn was gained, Shadowfax was far in the lead; but I could see our friends waiting for us where our lord now stood, greeting Gandalf Greyhame who had called to him.

When at last we had reached them, Hasufel and I stood off to the side, awaiting our orders. "We go at once to Meduseld, the hall of your master, Théoden," said Gandalf, addressing us gravely. We bowed out heads in submission to his will. "Time presses, so with your leave, my friends, we will ride. We beg you to use all the speed that you can. Hasufel shall bear Aragorn and Arod Legolas. I will set Gimli before me, and by his leave Shadowfax shall bear us both. We will wait now only to drink a little."

I felt rather guilty, having left Legolas to travel on foot and so, once I had taken a refreshing drink, I made a poor attempt to pass the blame to Hasufel, lowering my head with my ears erect and stepping slowly up to my friend. But Legolas only laughed lightly, placing his hand under my muzzle and lifting my head to level with his. Speaking softly and affectionately to me in his native tongue he managed to let me know that I was forgiven.

Gimli spoke deridingly to my friend, his manner clearly conveying that talking to animals was foolish in his opinion. Legolas merely smiled over at him, but I bared my teeth, laying my ears back against my lowered head and stepping menacingly in the dwarf’s direction. Again Legolas laughed, slapping my neck affectionately yet admonishingly. "Peace, Arod," he said softly, caressing one of my ears gently before leaping lightly to my back once more. "Now I understand a part of last night’s riddle," he said. "Whether they fled at first in fear, or not, our horses met Shadowfax, their chieftain, and greeted him with joy. Did you know that he was at hand, Gandalf?"

"Yes I knew," said the wizard. "I bent my thought upon him, bidding him to make haste; for yesterday he was far away in the south of this land. Swiftly may he bear me back again."

By this time all were mounted and with a spoken word from Gandalf to Lord Shadowfax we were off. Our lord set a good pace, but he checked his usual speed in order to allow us the ability to keep pace with him. Yet soon thereafter he turned sharply and crossed the river, taking us due south into the flat land, where trees did not grow and the horizons seemed endless. With the wind waving almost ominously through the tall grey grass, it was a land I had often times avoided, for once one wandered in, it seemed unlikely he would ever find his way out again. But Shadowfax did not stay nor falter, for his knowledge of Rohan is above that of even the horse-lords our masters.

The ground beneath our hooves grew ever soggier and it became increasingly difficult to run, but run we did, for to slow our pace meant to fall behind and become lost. For long hours we ran through grass so high it reached above the knees of our riders. Hidden pools and acres of sedge lay in our path and I near lost myself once in a puddle of mire, but Shadowfax continued on and we followed trustingly in his path. Slowly the sun fell from the sky down into the West. Looking out over the great plain, far away we saw it for a moment like a red fire sinking into the grass. We could see where lay the Gap of Rohan and the smoke that rose from Isengard where war was in the making, by Gandalf’s statement. "Ride on!" he shouted to his companions.

Naturally, Hasufel and myself were slightly dismayed upon hearing this order, but we could not protest and followed our lord as best we could, feeling our muscles begin to cramp in places and hoping to be allowed a respite soon.

We rode on after the sun had set and dusk had faded, until night closed in around us. When at last we halted and the riders dismounted, even Aragorn was stiff and weary. The three walkers slept deeply; but Gandalf remained erect, leaning on his staff, gazing into the darkness, east and west. All was silent, and there was no sign nor sound nor living thing. I walked slowly around for a bit, allowing my sore muscles to relax; but sleep soon overtook me and I dozed as I stood. It seemed as only a moment that I slept before I was awoken by Legolas. He apologized for waking me, but there was no help for it and we were off once more, the cold moon bathing the surrounding grass in pale shafts as we ran swift as by the light of day.

Hours passed and still we ran on. The riders all reeled at times as sleep tried once more to overtake them, save Gandalf. Hasufel and myself, weary but proud, followed our tireless leader, a grey shadow flying before us hardly to be seen. The miles went by, until at length the moon set in the West.

A bitter chill crept around us and slowly the East’s darkness faded into a dreary grey. The sun rose, shafts of red light stretched above it, peeking over the black walls of Emyn Muil far away upon our left. Dawn came clear and bright; a wind swept across our path, rushing through the bent grasses. Suddenly Shadowfax came to a stand and neighed, his quivering sides shaking Gimli awake once more; Gandalf pointed ahead.

"Look!" he cried, and we lifted our tired eyes. We could see the mountains in the South before us, grass-lands clustered at their feet. A lonely height stood there amidst it all, lonely as a sentinel. Around it a thread of silver seemed to shimmer in the morning sun and upon its crest a crown of gold glimmered faintly.

"Speak, Legolas!" said Gandalf. "Tell us what you see there before us!"

Well I knew that before us lay Edoras my home, and I was impatient, but Legolas gazed ahead, shading his eyes from the level shafts of the new-risen sun. He began to describe what he could see and I stared ahead, straining my eyes in an attempt to see all that of which he spoke, but truly his eyes were more far-seeing than my own, for I could descry nothing save the river, despite my foreknowledge of what lay there.

When Legolas had finished, Gandalf spoke once more, his tone conveying orders of caution and discretion. I saw Gimli finger his axe blade and discerned that Gandalf gave orders to stay their weapons while in the Golden Hall.

I stomped impetuously, for I wished only to go forth, to return once more to my stable for a decent rest. But also my legs were beginning to cramp as we stood awaiting the finishing ride and I feared the paralyzing affect so many horses feel after a long run and a sudden stop. When at last we continued on, we no longer spent our energy in running, but trotted warily along, watching all sides lest we be caught unawares and see our deaths before ever we reached Meduseld.

We reached the stream with the birds singing and splashing around us, their carefree laughter echoed for a moment by Legolas as he caught sight of them, playing in the mud and puddles on the bank. The land was green as far as the eye could see, save the mountain sides, and the grass grew tall. The sight of the well-worn path where horses and men crossed the river at a low point tugged at my memory, for often had Deorwine and I crossed there, and often had we remained to quench our thirst after a long ride. But our company passed over it without so much as a pause and we came upon the wide track leading towards the uplands.

We came to the mounds, then, as they rose high and green, their western sides sprinkled with white blossoms, and we horses bowed our heads in respect for the kings of Rohan gone before.

We at last reached the wide wind-swept walls and the gates of Edoras, having followed the way which wound up the green hills. Here we came upon men in shining mail, who leapt to their feet at once and, grasping their spears, barred the way. "Stay, strangers here unknown!" one cried roughly in Rohirric, demanding the names and errand of our riders. I could see wonder in the faces of these men but little friendliness; and they looked darkly upon Gandalf as he sat before them, graciously born by Shadowfax.

"Well do I understand your speech," he answered them, still in my native tongue, "yet few strangers do so. Why then do you not speak in the Common Tongue, as is the custom in the West, if you wish to be answered?"

"It is the will of Théoden King that none should enter his gates, save those who know our tongue and are our friends," replied one of the guards, and I recognized in him an acquaintance of Deorwine. "None are welcome here in days of war but our own folk, and those that come from Mundburg in the land of Gondor. Who are you that come heedless over the plain thus strangely clad, riding horses like to our own horses?" At this I took slight offense, for I knew the man well, and yet he seemed not to recognize me. "Long have we kept guard here, and we have watched you from afar. Never have we seen other riders so strange, nor any horse more proud than is one of these that bear you. He is one of the Mearas, unless our eyes are cheated by some spell." Again his seeming ignorance annoyed me. How could he not know Lord Shadowfax upon sight? "Say, are you not a wizard, some spy from Saruman, or phantoms of his craft? Speak now and be swift!"

"We are no phantoms," said Aragorn, using at first the tongue of Rohan before speaking so that his friends could understand as well, "nor do your eyes cheat you. For indeed these are your own horses that we ride, as you knew well ere you asked, I guess. But seldom does thief ride home to the stable. Here are Hasufel and Arod," here I lifted my head slightly, "that Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Mark, lent to us, only two days ago. We bring them back now, even as we promised him. Has not Éomer then returned and given warning of our coming?"

The man seemed troubled and I felt my heart sink. Had something horrible happened to our beloved Éomer after our departure? "Of Éomer I have naught to say," he answered guardedly. "If what you tell me is truth, then doubtless Théoden will have heard of it. Maybe your coming was not wholly unlooked-for. It is but two nights ago that Wormtongue came to us and said that by the will of Théoden no stranger should pass these gates."

Wormtongue . . . I felt hatred boil in my heart and I tossed my head irritably. Long had that name been upon the lips of our people: a trusted councilor of the King, most loyal of friends. And yet only in the resent months had other epithets less comely been placed upon his foul head: traitor, liar, tool of the Enemy. These, however, were spoken only among the men of our éored, for he had great power over the King and could do almost as he wished.

"Wormtongue?" said Gandalf. "Say no more! My errand is not to Wormtongue, but to the Lord of the Mark himself. I am in haste. Will you not go or send to say that we are come?" His expression must have been fearful, for the man seemed slightly unnerved as Gandalf bent his gaze upon him.

"Yes, I will go," he answered slowly. "But what names shall I report? And what shall I say of you? Old and weary you seem now, and yet you are fell and grim beneath, I deem."

"Well do you see and speak," said the wizard. "For I am Gandalf. I have returned. And behold! I too bring back a horse. Here is Shadowfax the Great, whom no other hand can tame." At this the great grey head lifted higher and our lord seemed to grow before us. "And here beside me is Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Kings, and it is to Mundburg that he goes. Here also are Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf, our comrades. Go now and say to your master that we are at his gates and would have speech with him, if he will permit us to come into his hall."

"Strange names you give indeed! But I will report them as you bid, and learn my master’s will," the man said, the wonder in his eyes brighter than before. "Wait here a little while, and I will bring you such an answer as seems good to him. Do not hope too much! These are dark days." Swiftly he went, leaving us in the watchful keeping of his comrades.

Once more I found myself standing idle while my muscles cramped beneath me. I pranced about, bone-weary and near to exhaustion, but fearing still those awful cramps known to have killed horses in the past. Legolas allowed me my head and gave no command to hinder me, for well he knew my fears and he too seemed to dread such a pass, for we had formed a wonderful friendship with the first spoken word between us. And so we waited, the distrustful eyes of the guards darting from first one and then another of my companions while I pranced and Hasufel groaned.

At last the man returned, and some joy showed in his face. "Follow me!" he said. "Théoden gives you leave to enter; but any weapon that you bear, be it only a staff, you must leave on the threshold. The doorwardens will keep them."

The dark gates were swung open as the riders dismounted. Legolas slipped lightly to the ground and spoke softly to me; Gandalf lowered Gimli down by an arm before joining him; Aragorn dismounted heavily, his sword clanking and his face showing his weariness. Slowly, the travelers entered the city, walking in file behind their guide; Legolas brought up the rear and Gimli seemed almost to hide behind the wizard who walked before him.

I nickered softly after Legolas before the gates were shut once more. I resented being left outside when I had often, nay always, been allowed passage to the stables where I was given the best of care. But I was in good company, for Shadowfax also was there and seemed not to mind.

Idly he cropped the grass at his feet, his long mane spilling over his eyes. He blew and stamped and switched his tail, and all the while the guards watched him with amazement. Soon one felt gifted with some power or another and decided he would make an attempt to catch the noble steed. I felt my anger simmer at his disrespect, but remained to the side, knowing Lord Shadowfax was able to care for himself and would permit nothing for which he cared not.

The man approached to within a foot of the grey flank before the regal head jumped aloft and Shadowfax trotted off, stopping a few yards distant to once more nibble the tall grass. Again the stubborn man slowly advanced, his hand outstretched. His fellows called to him laughingly, warning him away from the great horse, whose ears now lay flat against his head. But this seemed only to bolster his courage and determination and he approached more swiftly.

This time Shadowfax tossed his mane and swept his tail back into the man’s face as he galloped off, returning to the river. I longed to follow, but my weariness at last caught me fully and my eyelids began to droop. My prancing, which had already slowed, stopped all together and I slowly lowered myself to the ground, grunting and groaning as I did so, my abused muscles slowly relaxing. When at last I lay stretched out on my side I closed my eyes and let loose with a long sigh. I thought vaguely how nice it felt to have no saddle at the moment, but soon it faded along with all other thoughts as I drifted into the most wonderful sleep I had ever experienced.

I awoke sometime later to the sound of an army gathering, and there, sure enough, stood the horses of our éored, all saddled and awaiting the mounting of their riders who congregated nearby. All seemed lighthearted and I heard one say Théoden King had awoken from his spell through the power of Gandalf and that the Rohirrim were going to war. My ears perked at this, for joy claimed me at the mention of our king’s recovery. His decline had been the subject of much conversation among the horses of our éored and we all feared the worst for him.

Wishing to learn more I attempted to rise, but found to my dismay that I did indeed have cramps, although not so badly as I feared. Hasufel still lay sleeping, propped up on his chest to avoid his saddle, his breathing slow and deep. His had been a heavier load than mine and I envied him not at all, although someone had been kind enough to loosen the cinch for him.

Slowly I raised myself to my feet and shook the grass and dirt from my coat. I felt very refreshed after my long nap and I believed myself up to another ride, although not so nearly a telling one as the last. Another ride such as I had just endured would end my days sooner than I wished, and I am sure poor Hasufel felt the same.

I spotted Hasuwyn off to the side, her rider speaking earnestly with one of the guards at the gate. I trotted happily over to her to seek more news, but was dismayed upon being taken in hand by a nearby Rider. "Arod!" my friend exclaimed upon seeing me, her ears perked merrily and her head held high in welcome. "I did not believe I would ever see you again! How fare you?"

I disregarded the man who held my head, and described to her our recent journey; she blew loudly in amazement. "But I wish to know now what is happening," I explained, indicating with a shake of my head all the commotion gathered outside the gates. "What of our king and the companions of Gandalf? And what of Éomer? Does Wormtongue still claim the power he has of late? or has he at last been deposed?"

She nickered lightheartedly. "Truly you have become curious in your absence, Arod, for you never before asked so many questions before receiving an answer. Théoden King is released from his spell by Gandalf who has returned from death with new powers, I am told. Éomer was imprisoned upon our return for supposed mutiny against his uncle and a threat against Wormtongue’s life; he has been released today by order of the king. Wormtongue has just now fled the city in haste and in fear, therefore I believe all power has been stripped from him as well as all privilege." She paused, her head hanging for a moment before she once more met my gaze. "Good news is ever mingled with ill and not all hearts are light today. Theodred our prince has fallen at the fords of Isen."

I felt my heart contract and I pitied our king. To awake knowing his son and heir had died while he sat idle must have been a terrible blow to him. But what of Éomer? Would not he, then, be declared heir? I knew it was a title he had never wished for, but it would seem that now he would be thrust under it, to carry it until the death of our sovereign lord.

Hasuwyn rested her light head upon my bare back, sighing deeply. "To think that you and I should live in such dark days," she said wistfully, watching the gathering of men and horses. "Many generations of our forebears have lived in times of peace and prosperity, ridden only for enjoyment or travel, and yet we are here placed in the midst of an army the like of which may never be seen again. Soon we will be fighting for our lives once more against the forces of Evil itself, knowing that hereafter the world will change, whether for good or ill we know not. Will Rohan stand at the end of this war? Will you or I stand? How shall we know?"

"But never have our fathers lived in lasting peace, Hasuwyn," I reminded her, "for the Dunlendings have ever been a threat to our people and the army has been in existence since the beginning of Rohan, when Eorl led his people down from the North. The horses who have gone before us have nearly all seen battle and many a noble steed has been lost upon the battlefield. But Rohan still stands today. I feel that she will still be standing tomorrow and from thenceforward. But if we do fall in the coming battles remember that we died defending our homeland and that we were loyal even unto death, though no oath kept us so. No one can know what the future holds for us, so dwell not upon that but upon the present. You are a mount in the army of Rohan, Hasuwyn, and of that you should be proud."

"Arod?" a soft elven voice asked behind me. I turned to find Legolas smiling over at me from where he stood a few yards away seeming to regret the need to interrupt us. With a glad little cry I freed myself of my captor and trotted over, greeting him warmly as he spoke.

After a brief moment, I turned back to Hasuwyn to let her know that I had not forgotten her; but she merely bobbed her head, her eyes shining with a smile that mortal men could not see. Legolas did see it and he called to her in elvish; to which she replied with a whinny of delight, a stomp of her forefoot and a toss of her head. The elf laughed joyfully before mounting.

Off to the side I saw Éomer attempting to boost Gimli onto Firefoot’s back and I winced for I pitied both Éomer and Firefoot the weight of the dwarf. They were having quite a struggle of it, but Firefoot stood firm through it all, even seeming to assist in any way he could. I marveled at this, for I knew that no matter how strong the bond between myself and Deorwine had been I would never have allowed him to hoist such a burden upon my back. Legolas only could convince me to do such a thing.

Gandalf whistled shrilly and called aloud the name of Shadowfax. I heard an answer in the distance and soon the great steed pranced up to where his rider stood and offered his services once more. Théoden then made of Shadowfax the greatest gift anyone could receive, turning him over to the care of Gandalf, though he felt that the choice had already been made without him.

Then Gandalf mounted and the host let forth a loud cry. Théoden raised his hand in command and the army galloped forth. The thunder of hooves and the clash of metal and wood mingled with the war-cries of the men to make a din the like of which was never heard save in times such as those, when the army knows they have no great hope for victory but they ride despite this, going to face death as best they may. All fears are set aside in the hope of glory and all thoughts are forgotten save those of war. Families are left behind and properties are left undefended. These are the most heroic moments in war: the gathering of courage to face the trials ahead, and the riding forth despite all odds.

And ride we did. The day was already waning as we rode forth from Edoras and the sunset shone into our eyes, causing me to become near blind as we went. I feared this ride would become like to the other and the cramps would this time overtake me, but as night closed about us we at last halted to make a descent camp for the night. We had ridden some five hours and were far from any villages or towns there on the western plain, but we had not yet completed half our journey.

We lit no fires, for we still were unsure of our surroundings and the position of our enemies. Guards were set in a ring around us and riders were sent out as scouts; but I slept peacefully. Nothing came to disturb the night’s calm and I was allowed a full night of rest, though I did not sleep the entire time. I awoke at dawn to the sounding of horns, and within the hour we were once more upon our way.

The sky above was still clear, for the clouds had not yet gathered above us, yet the air was heavy. I could sense something blowing on the breeze, fell and putrid it seemed and it came from the North-west where a darkness gathered at the feet of the Misty Mountains.

Gandalf dropped back to where we rode beside Firefoot and addressed Legolas. "You have the keen eyes of your fair kindred, Legolas," he said; "and they can tell a sparrow from a finch a league off. Tell me, can you see anything away yonder towards Isengard?"

Legolas leaned forward slightly where he sat, no doubt concentrating on the far horizon. He described what he could see, saying that indeed a darkness unnatural gathered near Isengard. Gandalf commented dryly, his tone conveying impatience, worry, annoyance and even fear, an emotion to which I had believed wizards immune. "It will be a black night," he ended simply.

He urged Shadowfax to the front of the column and left us near the rear. Legolas patted my neck gently, whispering softly in Sindarin, his soothing tone more than welcome. I had felt the nervousness of war settling over me and his calm composure worked wonders upon me, yet I could feel his longing, for what I knew not. Home, perhaps, to fight alongside those he knew and loved rather than the strangers of Rohan. Peace, also it could be, to leave war forever behind him and live in happiness, for who does not wish for this? And the elves more than most, they who are promised years uncounted but not survival through battle.

Firefoot blew loudly beside me. "You seem troubled, Arod," he said gently. "Is something bothering you?"

I wished not to speak of it, for I was close to ashamed of my feelings, but he was my captain and I owed him obedience. "It is the war," I admitted with a sigh. "I spoke with Hasuwyn before we left and she brought several things to my attention that I had not before taken note of. Yet it is not for myself that I fear, but for my friends – old and new – and our country. Speaking words of courage and comfort are well enough when given to others, but for myself I can find no consolation."

We continued on for a few moments in silence, my last words hanging in the air between us. Hasufel, who rode upon Firefoot’s right, then added, "I have felt the same, friend Arod. What will become of us in this war?"

Firefoot tossed his head spiritedly and pranced proudly, causing Gimli to flounder for a hold of any kind and Éomer to laugh. Proudly then he chanted a war-song of our people, the flowing words of Rohirric sending a shiver of excitement through me. "Look to your riders, my friends," he said upon finishing; "and see whom you bear. Arod, you carry one of the Fair Kindred from the Northern Realm whose king has long been a sorcerer of yore; and yet kind and gentle is Legolas, friend to all beasts. Hasufel, upon your saddle rests the Heir of Isildur, true king of Gondor, in whose sheath lays the Sword that was Broken and has been forged anew. Upon my back clings Gimli the Dwarf who sits proudly in the favor of the Sorceress of the Wood; he threatens those who belittle and insult her. With us rides Gandalf Greyhame who has returned from death ready to fight once more; and he is born by Shadowfax who now allows none other to touch him, save his loyal subjects. This is not an ordinary army, nor an ordinary war, yet hope rides with us despite the odds, for our king is once more at our head."

"But what of Theodred?" Hasufel asked softly, his head hanging.

"Our prince has fallen, this is true," Firefoot tossed his head; "but this does not give us reason for despair. Look now to my rider – the taller of the two. Éomer son of Eomund is my master and the heir of Eorl, for such he has been named by our king. Strong, is he, and well deserving of praise. Send away all dark thoughts and with them your worries; for now we are merely horses in the service of the Mark, let us act accordingly. Fear not, my friends, for to ride in this hour will be the proudest thing you will ever do."

The second day of travel soon came to an end. The air weighed heavily down upon us, its weight increasing with each hour. But our route was changed with the advent of a Rider and the departure of Gandalf. The stranger had been commanded by Theodred before he fell and brought news of the war. Gandalf then counseled the king to make for Helm’s Deep before he turned Shadowfax and galloped off. And so our direction was changed and we moved southward.

The journey to Helm’s Gate was not a joyful one for news of a great host moving towards us was heard and none knew the fate of Erkenbrand. But we reached the gate without a loss or a battle and entered the fortress with many welcomes from those who remained there. All dismounted and we were led through the gates of the Hornburg where we horses were then taken in hand and led up the Deep as far as we could go and with as many men as could be spared to watch us.

Folca stood nearby, but the high-strung excitement of battle was on all of us and we pointedly ignored one another. Firefoot positioned himself near to me, seeing that still my cares were upon me despite our talk and hoping to be of some help to me. But he was soon led away by the men who guarded us and I was left to myself, standing surrounded by stone with the ominous stillness all around which denoted battle on the horizon.

The night wore on into ever deeper darkness and gloom; and soon even Nature turned against us and began gathering her clouds which crackled with energy and sent down bright flashes of lightning to skitter across the rocks and ground all around us. The strength of the clouds then gave out and they sent down upon us a deluge of rain which drenched all within moments.

Soon the battle raged on, but I could see nothing of it, nor hear anything over the pouring of the rain and the rumble of thunder. All night the fighting continued even after the storm abated. Then, at last, the sun rose and with it came Legolas and his companions to fetch us. As we were mounted, we could feel the tremors of excitement emanating from the men around us – tremors that could mean only a charge.

Legolas’ face was grim, but he spoke softly as we went and I felt myself lulled into a state of calm fearlessness. We approached the great gates, but they were struck as with fire and lightening and crumbled to the ground. Almost immediately the horn of Helm sounded forth and all were called to the charge.

Théoden our king charged at our head, and beside him rode Aragorn. I watched them in the corner of my eye as I ran near the rear: Snowmane’s glossy coat shone in the morning light while Hasufel ran proudly beside him. And we plowed a path through our enemy, trampling many underfoot and pushing the survivors ahead of us. But as we reached the Dike, we found to our dismay that before us stood a great forest which none had seen before. The enemy, too, feared the trees and tried in vain to escape by another route.

But Gandalf the White with Erkenbrand and a thousand of Rohan’s soldiers charged down upon the enemy host, their swords flashing in the sun. The White Rider struck terror in the fearful hearts of our adversaries and they fled heedlessly into the trees, never to escape.

We remained there for a time, staring with wonder upon the trees; but from behind us came a shout and there stood Éomer and Gamling the Old. Beside them strode Gimli, a white bandage encircling his head and his axe in hand. Loudly he cried out: "Forty-two, master Legolas. Alas! My axe is notched: the forty-second had an iron collar on his neck. How is it with you?"

With a smile in his voice, Legolas answered lightly, saying he had lost by one count. But all could see that there was no friendship lost between them due to the contest.

Then our king took counsel with Gandalf and it was decided that we would follow the wizard to Isengard. Though our number was too small to launch an offensive against the stronghold of such a powerful enemy, Gandalf insisted that it was there he would go, and he would not stay longer than to speak with Saruman. He also promised that there the presence of the strange trees would be explained.

But out departure was delayed by the weariness of all and Gandalf counseled Théoden further, instructing him to choose only a small number of companions for the journey to Isengard, for we went only to parley and not to make war. These men were to be allowed rest while runners were sent to every village in the Mark spreading the news of our victory and calling to Edoras all men strong enough to wield a sword.

And so we rested until late afternoon when we were gathered together and the preparations for departure began. But we paused for a short time as Háma, captain of the King’s guard, was laid to rest beneath the earth, so it was not until the sun was sinking into the hills west of the Coomb that we at last set forth.

The horses in our small company were willing at first and we even spoke merrily among ourselves of our exploits in the charge so recently past; but all spirits were dampened and our hearts quaked as we came near to the shadow of the strange wood. We could sense a menace and an anger that seemed even to affect the Men of our band, so that they feared to enter even as did we.

There seemed to be a foreign mist surrounding the grey trunks and drooping boughs. But what struck a fearful blow to my heart were the roots, which seemed almost like the limbs of some pack hunting animal which could rise up and give chase if I turned and ran.

Gandalf seemed unaffected by it all, and even Shadowfax continued forward boldly, as though the trees had stood there for generation upon generation. A soft word from Legolas and I followed, hearing the others around us do the same, and soon our entire party had reached the edge of the seemingly endless mass of trees.

Gimli was once more mounted behind Legolas and his fear seemed to match my own and so we stayed close beside Shadowfax and his powerful rider as they led us down the path which ran through the forest. There were no branches reaching above us, which gave me some small comfort, for I could see the sun and the stream, but the constant gloom on either side made shivers run along my spine and my head throbbed with fear and the effects of the stifling heat.

Legolas also felt the intense heat and commented on it to Gandalf. But soon his mind was captured by something else in the forest and he seemed barely able to stay his curiosity. Gimli expressed his fear of the trees and began to wax eloquent on the caves he had seen during the battle the night before, possibly to distract his own terrified mind. But soon the trees came to an end and Legolas turned once more for a last look at them. "There are eyes!" he said. "Eyes looking out from the shadows of the boughs! I never saw such eyes before." He urged me back toward the trees. Cautiously I took a few steps before Gimli cried for him to stop and Gandalf called him back.

Then, even as we watched, three large beings strode forth from the trees and trumpeted loudly, calling for more of their kind. They were massive in size and their calls sounded deep as a cave; they seemed to emanate the same green life of trees, the same age, but it had a feeling of terror and lethality. They were soon joined by several others and together they all returned to the forest. In wonder Théoden conversed with Gandalf about the creatures and the wizard soothed, if did not quell, his fears.

That night we crossed the Fords of Isen and found a mound built over those who had fallen there beside out prince. But we hadn’t time to stop and pay our respects and by midnight we had left them nearly five leagues behind us. The night was eerie and without rest and the next morning the sun did not rise; but we started out yet again, our hearts clamped in dread by the hazy mists around us and the men did not speak. For our part, we horses kept our peace as well and not one of us fought our master’s hand this day. We passed a pillar tall and fell on which the White Hand of Saruman was printed, but its color was not the white of old, rather a bloodstained hue of death.

I shivered as I passed through its shadow, but close beyond it the mists cleared slightly and we arrived at the great gates of Isengard. However, the gates were crumpled and thrown down and it seemed that, indeed, Ruin had laid her hand heavily on the once beautiful grounds for they were devoid of all growing things and even the evil-looking machines that had been erected were crushed and destroyed while the entire area was flooded with a boiling, bubbling sea of grimy water. The entire place smelled strongly of orcs and other foul things, but on a slight breeze I caught a breath of a scent not so repugnant and even slightly familiar. I remembered it well, for I had caught the same scent, more strongly, near where Deorwine had fallen that awful night and again when we revisited the place with Legolas and his companions.

But before I had a chance to locate the source of the peculiar smell, a small but loud voice cried, "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" I tossed my head and caught sight of a strange being, much like a normal child, but he had an older feeling about him than the children of Rohan had. In his mouth was a long stick, shaped much like a hook, from which smoke floated and also from his mouth he sent small clouds of smoke.

As I pondered him, he continued to converse with Gandalf in a bantering tone very different from the tone of respect I had always heard used when speaking with the wizard. I feared the small man was being rude and that he would be swiftly punished, but Gandalf answered him in the same light tone and they laughed together. Gimli forced his way into their conversation with his usual coarse rudeness, yet they seemed not even to mind his bumbling ways as much as I did. At this point Legolas and Théoden King joined in, as well as another of the small men who sat beside his companion. But Gandalf soon interrupted with a desire to see one called Treebeard, so the small man directed him to the northern wall. Taking his leave of them, Gandalf turned his great mount and rode off in search of his friend, taking the rest of the company with him; but Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli seemed more concerned with the two small men than the one called Treebeard, so Hasufel and myself were left free to roam and search for grazing. And a hard search it was; but at last we did find a small patch of grass nearly a mile out from the once lush yards of Isengard.

Together we heartily fell to munching, savoring the wonderful green flavor and the feel of the moist stalks. It seemed only a short while later, although in truth it was nearer to several hours, that we heard the calls of our masters beckoning us to return. So we set out at a smart trot and soon reached our companions. Once all were mounted, we started away from Isengard, the sun sinking deep into the west once more. The two small men were mounted, one behind Gandalf and the other behind Aragorn. From the conversation they had had with our king earlier, we had discovered that they were from a race called Hobbits and that they came from the North. They were strange folk indeed, but seemed pleasant; Hasufel even ventured to say that the one mounted on his back had a good seat and rode easily enough. I could only envy him this as Gimli continued to shuffle about; one would think he would have caught the smooth rhythm of my gaits by then.

We passed again the tall pillar of the White Hand, but the hand lay now in pieces, a long finger sitting ominously in our path. I shied away from it, feeling Gimli slip as I did so; Legolas soon righted him and we continued on. But I felt a strange stirring of dread, brought about, oddly, by the sight of that bloodstained finger that had been before us. I pondered that, wondering why the sight of an inanimate object such as that should upset me so. But I soon found that it had at last driven home the presence of war on the horizon: not just any war, but a war to end all wars, if the Enemy was conquered. And it was this last that bothered me. Could we really stand up to the Enemy and even stand for five minutes? What chance did we really have?

I caught Firefoot staring sidelong at me in comradely concern just as Legolas, sensing my worry, ran his hand along my neck and through my mane. I chuckled to myself. Times were indeed changing if I, Arod, was worried about going into battle. After all, the once-White Hand, thrown down into the dirt and shattered seemed to bode ill for Saruman’s kind and all those allied with him. What had we to be frightened of?

Tossing my head high I pranced eagerly, dismissing Gimli’s flounderings impatiently. Whatever came, I was ready for it.

~*~*~*~

Whoo! That took a long time! I must admit that this chapter lay dormant for nearly six months, but a well timed review only a few days ago got my energy back up and I was pleased to find that the horses featured barely at all in the last three chapters of TT. Sorry it took so long and is so long!

Hope my readers are still out there and interested.

Yours truly.