Title Source: I saw this as a tag line in someone’s email. I can’t remember whom. I don’t know where it comes from, so if someone knows, please fill me in.
Stu tried vainly to find something to say to Legless. His mind spun in many different circles that he could barely think, never mind speak. His heightened sense of the surreal increased when he heard crashing and grunting in the bushes.
He and Legless exchanged frowns before sitting up. They turned in the direction of the noise and froze as they witnessed Argyle stumbling from the trees.
His clothes were disheveled. His hair was sticking up all over his head. He was green—which of late was not particularly unusual. He was obviously hung over. Stu immediately felt sympathy for the park ranger. He knew from personal experience what kind of bite El Rond’s personal vintage had.
“You okay, Argyle?” Stu started to rise and then realized he still did not have his clothes. He glanced around and realized how it would look if he got out of the bedroll wearing only his boxers and decided to stay put.
“No. Let’s get out of here. Now.” Argyle started gathering his belongings and stuffing them in his pack.
Boomer sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Why the rush?”
Argyle laced the front of his leggings. “Time’s wasting. The longer we hang around here, the longer it will take us to reach Mount Doom. We’ve been delayed long enough. In order to save Gondor and Rohan, we have to make haste.”
Stu and Legless exchanged glances that said ‘yeah right’.
Argyle went around the group, roughly waking everyone up. “Let’s go. C’mon, get a move on.”
The company scrambled to comply and within minutes they were all dressed with packs in hand. By the time they were ready to depart, the three brothers were there as well as Celeborn and Galadriel. Celeborn tried to hide his smile as he stood beside his wife, but it was obvious that his was a losing battle. Galadriel sported a nasty bruise in the middle of her forehead.
Legless walked past her and whispered. “My heart is lightened to see you have not suffered more ill effects from your disagreement with your pitcher.”
“Thank you,” Galadriel graciously inclined her head.
“Not that I thought something as soft as silver could damage your hard head,” he added as he slipped away.
Galadriel gritted her teeth and Celeborn snickered.
The Guardians led them through the woods to the Anduin River. There the Mallorn trees were more spread out and their broad leaves made a thick carpet over the water. Boats were moored among the giant roots.
“Come, you can use these.” Hal-drear said and he moved lightly over the exposed roots to the farthest boats.
“Hobbits do not like boats,” whined Pip.
“Neither do rangers,” sighed Argyle. “We have no choice, though.”
“No worries,” called Stu cheerfully as he bounced among the boats. “I like water enough for all of us.”
As the party stood among the rolling hills of Rohan, Stu reflected that liking water enough for everyone was not always a winning proposition. The swift current of the Anduin had caused one boat to capsize when Mary had leaned over the gunwale and rocked the low riding vessel. Boomer had tried vainly to save the hobbit from falling in head first in to the cold waters, but had failed. When Pip panicked, the boat began to take on water. Then next thing everyone knew, the boat was upside down and Boomer was struggling to hold on to two panicked Half-Lings. Stu dove in to help with the Half-Lings while Argyle struggled to rescue the boat. In the end, they’d lost one boat and all the gear stowed on it and everyone, including Glimmergroin got a bath.
Stu stared in dismay at the rolling hills that seemed to spread for endless miles in every direction. “Where the hell is the Gap?”
“You are looking at it.” Grandlaff’s placid gaze roamed the hills.
“Where?”
“Here,” Argyle said.
“I don’t see any Gap.”
“We’re standing on it,” Boomer yelled in exasperation.
Stu glanced down as if expecting to see a Gap store suddenly spring from the grass. “I guess an Old Navy would be too much to ask for? I am desperate for a new pair of boxers.”
“Osgiliath has a very old navy, but I doubt it will be of much use to us as we are traveling overland.” Boomer answered.
Stu slapped his forehead and said nothing else.
Legless trained his eyes and squinted into the sun. “I see a long line of people marching along the trail. There are warriors on horses, as well. Could Rohan be on the move?”
“Sorry Man may have breached their defenses. Celeborn did mention something about it, as I recall.”
Boomer shook his head. “I’m surprised you can recall anything, Argyle.”
“I can recall enough,” the park ranger moaned.
“Let us head in that direction. We’ll need news, especially if there is a war on. We don’t want to walk smack in to the middle of it.”
As the strung out in a line along the plain, a group of riders came pounding in their direction. The riders surrounded the company in seconds and the party from Rivendell was forced to form a tight ring.
“Stormcrow,” called one rider. He nudged his horse forward and removed his helm.
“Eomer,” called Grandlaff. “What news of the Riddermark?”
The warrior dismounted and the company turned to face him. One warrior lowered his spear a fraction more than he meant to and the point poked Stu in the butt.
“Hey, what the hell is it with you people and always trying to poke me in the ass?” He yelped.
Eomer raised both eyebrows at the insinuation, but chose to let the question go. “The people are fleeing to the Hornburg. Orcs and Uruk Hai have sacked many of the villages near the borders. We fear an all out assault any day now. And what of you, Stormcrow? Why have you come to the Riddermark and who are these traveling with you?”
“We are on a secret mission, Eomer, and are making for lands beyond yours. Will you let us pass?”
“Alas, Stormcrow, you know I cannot. Though our king has allowed us to assemble in the mountain stronghold, Wormtongue’s edict still remains.”
Everyone turned to look questioningly at Grandlaff. “Wormtongue is an agent of Sorry Man, Eomer, and does not have the interests of either the Riddermark or Middle Earth at heart.”
Looking confused, Eomer asked. “Who the hell is Sorry Man?”
“Long story, Eomer,” Argyle waved his hand. “I am Argy-Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Booooromir, Steward of Gondor. Here is Legs,” a swift kick in his calf corrected Argyle. “Legolas of Mirkwood. His companion is Steward of Wrangled Gorge.”
“Hey, now!”
“These are Hobbits of the Shire folk.”
“And the dwarf?” Eomer glared down at Glimmergroin.
“Glimmergroin, son of Gloin,” the dwarf proudly declared. “Fuck. I’m Gimli, son of Gloin. Now he’s got us confused.”
Brown eyes scanned the scraggly lot. Eomer had his duty to his king and though he loathed Wormtongue, he could not disobey his orders. “I am sorry, Stormcrow, but my orders are clear.” Turning to his men, he motioned to ten riders. “You will ride with these men to the Hornburg.”
“You know, Grandlaff, the last guy I knew who had so many different names was a drug dealer,” Stu observed as he was boosted aboard a large horse behind a man wearing more leather and metal than a full time Dominatrix.
“I do deal in a few herbs,” Grandlaff admitted as he hiked up his gray robes and clambered aboard a horse.
“Yeah, that explains it. This guy wasn’t welcome in a lot of places, either,” Stu blew the horsehair plume of the rider’s helmet out of his face.
Stu’s jaw dropped open as, hours later, they rode up to the fortress called the Hornburg. The monumental stone structure was straight out of the history books with ramparts and crenellated battlements. Ahead of them, hordes of women and children and very old men streamed up the ramp leading to the main gate. The people carried baskets and pushed handcarts carrying all they possessed. Stu felt a momentary loss as he stared around at their shell-shocked faces. His heart ached for them as he realized quite suddenly that for them, this war was real. In his mind, Stu had been unable to equate his strange ordeal with any sense of reality. Now, however, he had it in spades and realized that to destroy the ring was to give hope to people who were without any. He hardened his resolve. Nothing would prevent him from performing his duty and if his own precious wedding band perished in the process, so be it.
The horses made the climb through the gate and stopped just inside the courtyard. Handlers came and accepted the reins as the warriors dismounted. Stu stood among the men and observed the keep from the inside. His knowledge of ancient battle tactics and defenses was limited to movies, so he could not pass judgment on the Hornburg. He only hoped that the thick walls would hold.
“Take us to Théoden,” commanded Grandlaff.
Gamling, the King’s personal guard, shook his head. “You may not go in armed.”
Stu only grinned and shrugged as everyone looked at each other in dismay. One by one they began removing an impressive and seemingly endless array of weapons. Stu crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited.
When Gamling held out his hand, palm up, to Stu, he unfolded his arms and held them away from his body. “I don’t like sharp objects. My wife was a bit fond of throwing them.”
“Then come,” the man motioned them forward.
Grandlaff’s staff made a sharp thudding
sound on the stone flooring as they were led past half starved civilians and
warriors moving hither and yon on business of their own.
In a long corridor like room, they were brought up short. At the opposite
end sat an old man and at his side knelt a pale-faced creature that reminded
Stu of a character in a Tim Burton movie.
“Hail, King Théoden,” Grandlaff called.
The weird creature looked up with a sneer on his lips. “An ill wind has blown through the Hornburg. Its name is Stormcrow.”
“I have not come all this way to bandy words with a worm.” Growled Grandlaff. “Théoden, hear me.”
The old man muttered and his body shook. He mumbled something to his companion. Wormtongue climbed to his feet and glided towards the company. “He does not hear you, Stormcrow. You have come too late. You and your..people..cannot save the Rohirrim” Wormtongue eyeballed the men and smirked. “Even this pretty stable.” He reached out and patted Stu on the ass.
“Hey, now!” Stu spun with his fists in the air.
Before anyone else could move however, Legless had Wormtongue in a headlock and was trying to wrench the advisor’s head from his body. Boomer and Argyle rushed forward to pull Legless from Wormtongue. Frito stepped forward to defend Stu. Stu, who was torn between helping Legless kill the one called Wormtongue and prying the elf from his helpless victim, had his mind made up for him when the advisor leered at him.
“Such a pretty stable of boys.”
A red mist covered Stu’s vision and he moved forward slowly. Guards began rushing up to defend Wormtongue, and Frito drew Sting from its sheath. Sam whipped out a cook pot and stood shoulder to shoulder with Frito.
“Where I come from, calling a man a boy will get your head kicked in.” Stu said through clenched teeth.
“Steward,” Grandlaff stepped between Stu and Wormtongue. “Enough.”
“Enough? I’m a ring bearer, Grandlaff. I’ve come through Moira and been chased by orcs and goblins. I’ve been hungry, cold, tired. I’ve had ..Never mind. I do not know who or what this one is, but he can apologize or die. I’ve had enough of the arrogance of the rulers of this place.”
“Hold him.” Grandlaff turned from the company and faced Théoden.
“Hold who?” Boomer looked from Wormtongue to Steward. He was inclined to let the advisor go and take his chances with the strange man.
“You hold Wormtongue. I’ll hold Steward,” Legless released the advisor and wrapped his arms around Stu’s waist.
“Somehow, Master Legless, I do not think that’s what Mr. Grandlaff meant,” observed Sam.
Stu said nothing as the long arms draped loosely around his waist. He’d given up trying to explain things to Legless.
“I believe the arrangement works rather well, Samwise.” Legless gave the Half-Ling a stern glance.
They heard noises and turned to see that a much younger man had replaced the old man. Grandlaff sat by his side and spoke quietly in his ear.
“Whoa,” Stu wriggled out of Legless’ grasp. “How did he do that?”
The doors to the hall banged open and a man stumbled in. “Orcs, My Liege, ten thousand orcs are marching on us.”
The hall instantly emptied of everyone save Wormtongue, he was very nearly trampled by the stampede. He made his way from the hall with thoughts of escaping before the orcs arrived. He wasn’t sure the orcs would recognize his authority in their battle lust and he really only wanted to get back to Isenguard.
Atop the battlements, everyone strained their eyes and was rewarded for their efforts with a brief flash of metal.
“Those are not orcs,” called Legless as a horn was heard.
“Lorien elves!” Argyle whooped. “We have reinforcements!”
“Open the gates!” Théoden called as he realized that, indeed, a small army of elves was on his doorstep. Now, perhaps, the old alliance would be honored.
A thousand elven archers marched through the gates and stopped before Théoden and Argyle. “Welcome to the Hornburg, elves of Lorien.”
A tall, handsome blond stepped forward. “Thank you, King of the Riddermark. My name is Haldrear…Haldir. My lord and lady have sent me and my brothers…oomph!”
“Oh I am so glad to see you, my friend. Thank you for coming.” Argyle clasped the elf in a bone crushing embrace.
“You shouldn’t be, Argyle of the Dunedain.” Rummy stepped forward with a scowl on his face.
“We have not come to aid the men of the Riddermark,” Hal-drear spoke slowly and quietly. “We have come to take you back to Lorien.”
“What? Why?” Argyle stepped back wearing a look of utter confusion on his face.
Hal-drear flung open his cloak. “This is why!”
Argyle’s eyes grew large and round as he stared down at Hal-drear’s gently protruding belly. “You will come back and stand before the Lord and Lady to speak vows to me.”
“Fuck,” Glimmergroin muttered.
“Obviously they did,” Stu stared in shock at Hal-drear.
“So that’s where you went,” Grandlaff added.
Stu looked at Legless in sudden alarm. “Is there something I should know?”
Legless rolled his eyes. “It a Lorien thing.”
“Well, hell, that’s a relief. Just do me a favor, eh? Don’t drink the water.”
“Huh?” Boomer looked at Stu in confusion.
Frito tugged on Grandlaff’s cloak. “Is this what Stu meant by having a happy ass?”
“Not now, Frito.”
Two of the elves detached themselves from the group. They flung back their deep gray cloaks.
“Elly? Elroy?” Argyle whispered. He did not even want to think about how El Rond would take the news.
“Fear not, Argyle,” Elly shook his head. “We are here for Boomer.”
“What?” Ten sets of vocal cords all voiced the one word in unison.
“Arwen’s son has your eyes.”
“You!” Argyle rounded on Boomer with a raised fist.
“Easy, there, my King,” Boomer backed up hastily and bumped into Eomer.
Stu reached over and took Legless’ water flask from his hip and poured the contents on the ground. “Just in case.”
“Orcs!” Eomer pointed between Argyle and Boomer to the plain before the keep. “Close the gates!”
Instantly all personal issues were cancelled as men and elves scrambled to the walls. The ten thousand orcs that the scout had claimed were marching towards Helm’s Deep had finally arrived. Elves pointed their deadly bows at the front line and began firing rapid strikes in to the heart of the enemy’s ranks.
Stu stood helplessly without a weapon. For once in the last year, he lamented his decision to carry no weapons. Not that he knew anything about archery, but like the Half-Lings, he had the opportunity to learn. His stubbornness had prevented him from taking his mission seriously. Like being faced with the grim reality of the refugees streaming into the massive fortress, he now had to accept the reality that, like it or no, he was in the middle of a war.
Scrambling down from the outer wall, he made for the heart of Helm’s Deep. Somewhere there had to be an armory and where there was an armory, there were weapons. He was greeted by a host of young boys and aging men who came from the tunnels and caverns armed with ancient weapons. He followed back along their trail until he found what he sought.
By the time he found a sword, had it sharpened, and made his way back to the main wall, the orcs had begun to scale the walls. Men rushed all over the place as they tried to throw off the long ladders Stu found himself facing an orc and holding a weapon he knew nothing about. He backed up, and bumped into Hal-drear.
“ Should you be fighting in your condition?” Stu asked as he kicked the orc over the parapet?
“ Would you suggest I just sit down and wait for them to leave?”
“ Good point. Behind you.”
Hal-drear spun and hacked off the head of an orc and Stu gagged. Hal-drear turned back to Stu. “Are you alright?”
Stu glanced up and without replying leapt straight into the air. His feet flew out, missing Hal-drear’s pointed ear by a hair’s breath and connected with a large gray orc. He landed lightly on the other side of the elf and grinned.
“ Yeah, I’m—“ He gasped as something bit deep in to his back. His vision grew blurry and the sounds of battle faded in the background. He could see Hal-drear’s lips move, but no words came out.
The world spun sideways and he felt himself falling. In his line of vision he could see the bodies of dead orcs and elves and men. He blinked in confusion as his limbs refused to obey him.
Then darkness engulfed him and he knew no more.
A small portion of this fic was inspired by the incident related by Orlando Bloom when he discusses an accident with the boats during the filming of LoTR. I do not intend to make fun of what was a potentially dangerous situation. But when I saws the clip of Mr. Bloom relating the tale, I just knew I had to use it. The idea just seemed appropriate to this fic. Therefore, with all due respect to Mr. Bloom and the other actors, thanks for the inspiration.
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