Ooh, hey, new chapter. Surprise-surprise. Right now I'm writing this rather than attend to my metric buttload of homework. Yay for priorities! So before we get into it, a couple things. First off, about two weeks ago I wrote a short one-shot commemorating 9/11一if you guys (especially my fellow Americans) wanted to check that out, that'd be great! Also, thanks for the crazy support! Whenever those reviews come in as the months drag on, it really motivates me to write. So thanks for everything, and read on!

Percy was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Granted, just recently emerging from a massive to-the-death battle and then subsequently consulting with an evil-sorcerer-necromancer dark lord is usually an acceptable excuse for missing work on account of being "sick".

And he could really use a sick day… or week.

In that spirit he continued to trudge forth through the vale that laid before Helm's Deep, helping the wounded find aid and dragging bodies of those who had fallen. It was grim work and left Percy with nothing but a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Straightening his back from the labor, he eyed the wide vale. Helm's Deep stood peacefully behind him, giving little reminder of the bloody struggle that raged the night before. Only the gaping break in the wall and the shattered gates gave indication of it.

He rolled his eyes at the thought. Yeah, okay… Only the massive explosions disturb the peacefulness of the scene. That's like saying you're perfectly healthy except for the massive axe lodged in your gut. 'But hey, can I keep it or do you want it back?'

Even now, the sun that Percy's sweat-soaked hair absorbed and the breeze that carried the pungent odor of orc flesh and blood gave a far more peaceful feel to the air than was deserved.

The dead deserve better.

With a sigh, he returned to his work. He grunted as he began to drag a fallen soldier by his pale, clammy wrist. Percy gazed down at the man whose chest was pierced by three crossbow bolts. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth, staining his once-noble beard and blending in with his crimson torso.

This man had a story, a history. For some, he was the world. He probably had a family, a livelihood that now lies dormant. His epic tale of life ended here last night.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he drew in his breath and set to work again, trying not to think about that which he did. Soon, two mounds began to form on the plain between the mountains' arms, two mounds which housed the fallen of Rohan's finest.

As he continued his toil, a familiar blond head made its way towards him.

"You are not well," remarked Legolas.

"Well gee, Sherlock, what gave it away?" Percy asked sarcastically, staring with drooping eyelids, dark shadows under his eyes and an almost-gaunt expression. "I was thinking about making a sign proclaiming 'I am not well' because I thought my disposition was far too sunny to reflect how 'not well' I am."

In retrospect, Percy realized how crappy of a comeback that was.

The elf nodded slowly and raised an eyebrow. "Well, greetings to you as well. You look terrible."

In truth, Percy felt far worse than "terrible". The palantír was now safely stowed away in Tempest's saddlebags, but its effects still deeply troubled Percy's soul.

Something was gnawing at him.

"So it was you, the boy from the West, who interfered," sounded the voice in his mind, the memory of his mental battle with Sauron. The dark laugh was still present, haunting his every thought, as was the simple scorn he felt directed at him. "When Orthanc lost its palantír, I was unsure if it was due to Saruman's incompetence or his cunning. Perhaps I should have suspected otherwise."

He shook his head and snorted. "That's like twice now in the past two days that you've greeted me so nicely. Glad to know I look like Hades itself."

"Something troubles you."

Percy stopped what he was doing and clasped his hands around the back of his head. "Such confidence after a meaningless victory," echoed Sauron in his memory, "is most amusing."

"Legolas, dude, I'm freaking dragging dead bodies through a muddy field after fighting for my life for days straight. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this is what is bothering me!"

Except it wasn't.

The elf narrowed his eyes, as though attempting to pierce Percy's mind. Percy could tell that Legolas didn't completely believe the excuse, but the elf politely acquiesced and returned to the labor with him.

Time passed, yet amid the depressing toil, one moment of light brightened Percy's demeanor: as the wild men of Dunland that had fought with the Uruk-Hai the previous night were rounded up and disarmed, they cried for mercy with despair on their faces.

And the king gave it.

The wild men were shocked, having heard from Saruman that the men of Rohan were vicious, merciless animals that would kill any who stood before them. Tears of relief and gratitude traced their way down those scarred faces of the strongest of men at the king's verdict of mercy. Instead, the men were put to work there and swore an oath to return west afterwards and never cross the Fords of Isen again.

As the day wore on, the mounds grew higher and larger to accommodate the dead. The men of the East Dales were buried in one mound, the men of the Westfold in the other. The countless bodies of orcs were piled out of the valley; it was not known at that moment what was to be done with them.

Percy continued to work, but his mind was set only on the dark, poisonous voice of Sauron, his words echoing ever in his head.

"An exchange?" mused the Dark Lord with amusement in his voice, "What can you offer me that I do not already possess?"

"I have the Ring," he had lied smoothly, fighting to keep his internal tremors and desperation from disrupting his silky voice. "What is to prevent me from bending it to my will?"

"Why have you not yet done so, if that is true?" the Dark Lord had inquired, and Percy had felt the smugness emanating from the stone.

He had been backed into a corner, and he knew it. But if Sauron had any inclination that the Ring was not with him, or that Frodo and Sam were already within Sauron's grasp…

"Perhaps I fear the power it would give me," the demigod had responded softly, turning his gaze from the stone. It wasn't long before those fiery sea-green eyes had glared back into the stone in full force. "But push me, and I will have not hesitate to use it to grind you to dust."

His mood darkened even as the sun rose and began to sink along with it. The other members of the Fellowship were separated for the most part, seeing to different tasks, and this left Percy dangerously alone with his thoughts. It was not until a messenger sent from Théoden called to him that he was stirred from his thoughts.

"Perseus, Sir! King Théoden requests your presence in the innermost keep!" called the young man from atop his bay stallion.

Surprise was evident on the face of the son of Poseidon, who straightened and turned to meet the rider's eyes. "The King? Did he say why he wants me?"

The rider frowned momentarily, obviously not used to the king's orders being questioned (especially by a youngling such as Percy). "Nay, only that you were to be brought to the keep at once upon your agreement."

At least Théoden doesn't want to force me to do anything.

He nodded and motioned to follow the rider, and soon they passed once more through the shattered gates of Helm's Deep and into the area behind the walls. He was led through the castle to the inner keep, in which Théoden, Aragorn, and the others had barricaded themselves before the final charge of the previous day's battle.

"Interesting," Sauron had responded after a brief pause, though Percy had felt a dark wave of anger in that brief moment. "Perhaps the child has slightly more intelligence than it appears." But soon followed a sinister chuckle. "A fine move, boy—I will play along to your little game, for it amuses me."

"The King awaits you inside," the rider said with a nod, standing outside a set of heavy oak doors.

"Young fool, how naïve you are," echoed the malicious voice.

With a nod, he thanked the soldier, who now turned and marched away to attend to other duties.

"Perhaps I shall keep you alive yet, so that you may see how grandly you have failed."

He shook his head, trying to clear the poisonous voice and the rage it brought.

"How rich it will feel to show the Valar how weak was he whom they sent."

Something deep inside him cracked, and Percy cried out in anger, sending his fist into the stone wall next to the oaken gate. With continued grunts and shouts he hit the wall, trying simply to get the toxic words of Sauron out of his mind.

For several moments he stayed there, breathing heavily and observing his throbbing, now-swelling fist. It was almost numb, but fiery pain still pulsed through his hand. Words fell from his lips as he tried to inspect the damage he had done to his hand, words that would have earned a heavy scolding had he been with his mom or Chiron.

At last, Percy simply leaned into the wall, resting his hands and head on it as he tried to find some sort of peace deep within.

Deep breaths. In and out. Try as he may, however, the words of Sauron yet permeated every ounce of his being. He had always known he was no genius, no child of Athena… but having endured the taunts of bullies since his youngest days, he was sick and tired of hearing it.

I can do this… Come on, Percy; Sauron's just trying to get to you.

But he couldn't ignore the words. He always knew his task in Middle Earth was difficult, but he was good enough to accomplish it.

Right? I'm good enough for it, smart enough for it… right?

Cursing once more, he stood up straight and knocked on the oaken gate (with his non-mangled hand) to announce his entry before opening the gate and striding forward to meet the King.

Théoden stood where he had afore been positioned一leaning over a table whilst poring through maps or diagrams of things Percy couldn't quite see. Hiding his bleeding and broken fist in the folds of his clothing, he strode towards the king. As he heard his footsteps echo loudly in the silent chamber, he realized that it was only the two of them there; Percy had not seen the king completely alone before, heightening his curiosity of the purpose of the meeting.

"Your majesty," he said, stopping and bowing slightly before the table where Théoden stood.

The king looked up briefly, and in that second Percy could see a mixture of emotions in his eyes: weariness, anger… grief. "Ah, Perseus. How fare you?"

The demigod frowned, not completely anticipating such a normal question. "Er, fine I guess? A little beat up? And you, sire?"

Théoden paused, pursing his lips for a moment before answering. "I am old, Perseus, far too old to endure the strife that is draped as a tapestry over our land." A dry chuckle followed. "Over my land, I suppose… though I suspect you are coming to feel the same way."

This isn't how I imagined this meeting starting at all. "Uh, sire?"

The king sighed. "Forgive an old man and his ramblings; it has been a trying time. For too long had I shirked in my duties, and my land suffered accordingly. Now, when they need their king most, I am not the strong leader they need nor deserve. Would that I were young and able, that I could lead my men as they need and purge this shadow that clings to our land… But I am not. And my people suffer."

It was at that moment that Percy saw so much of himself in the old king一trying so hard to protect all those that he could, even though he knew he was simply not able to do so. Trying again and again to help, yet enduring hardship and loss.

He saw something on the king's face; he heard something in the king's voice that made him pause in realization, for it was the same things he recognized in his friends throughout the wars they fought.

"Who have you lost, sire?"

"Háma, the captain of my guard," the king forced out in a gruff voice after a pause; his eyes seemed to glisten though his weathered cheeks were dry. "A friend."

He straightened and held Percy in his gaze, a piercing gaze in which Percy saw determination and vigor. "Great injury indeed has Saruman done to me and all this land, and I will remember it when we meet."

"'When we meet'?"

A pause. "I am tired, Perseus, weary beyond measure. Not a tiredness due solely to Saruman's meddling, but rather to the age that clings to these bones. I feel stronger than I have for many years, but the evil Saruman has wrought on my land has also been wrought on me. The White Wizard has wronged Rohan, and for that he shall answer."

A lump arose in Percy's throat. "I think Gandalf may have fallen prey to Saruman, or is there now fighting him. He wasn't here for the battle, and Gandalf is never one to be late unless there's trouble."

The lines in the king's face seemed to deepen. "That is as I feared. Invaluable is Mithrandir in this struggle, so we must hope against all hope that he awaits us at Isengard, free from harm."

Percy nodded and grunted his agreement as he looked over a map of Rohan that laid on the table before him.

"And that is why I called you here."

Percy's head shot up in surprise. "Why?"

"It is true you are neither a native of this land nor affiliated to any of its rulers," Théoden began, earning a raised eyebrow from the demigod, "but I see in you the same blood that runs through my people. You are hearty, a warrior throughout, though not cruel. And the horses we respect and claim as near-family sometimes revere you as a lord, it seems."

This is definitely not how I expected this conversation to go.

"I hold no authority over you, Perseus, for you are no countryman of mine, but the hope you bring to men in or before battle, whether with your tongue or your sword, is something I have not seen before. If you will it, I would give you command of my men."

The son of Poseidon made a strangled choking sound, a sound of disbelief and surprise that ranked fairly low on his list of dignified noises. "Excu一erm, what?"

He was regarded with slight amusement by the king. "You led the charge out of the caves that turned the tide of battle, and at your command then was almost a full éored of soldiers. I will give you them and more, for you to command as long as you ride with the army of Rohan. You would be of Rohan in all but blood, and with you would be the power of rank, so that none may doubt you any longer."

His nose twitched. I-I… what? What is happening?

"But… surely you've heard the stories. You've heard the stuff I've done; you've heard what I can do. You must know that I'm not—" he paused, catching himself before he said anything unwise. "—That I'm not… normal."

Théoden snorted. "That seems to be an understatement." Then he held Percy in his gaze. "I know you are not from here; I know you are not like us… I don't know from where you come, nor does it concern me. I worry for my people, and you can help them more than I can."

"How often has this been done before?"

The king eyed him oddly. "Never, nor do I believe it will be done again. But you have proven your worth time and time again, and I do not believe the need for such a leader has arisen before in Rohan's history. What say you?"

Percy took a moment to consider, weighing fully the gravity of the situation. It seemed he had not been making ripples in the water of Middle Earth, but tsunamis of change. But if this helped him to do what he thought was necessary more easily, then it had to be done.

An heavy slap on his shoulder snapped him out of his thinking and nearly sent him jumping in the air. "It'd make me look bad if you turned down the offer," joked the owner of the hand that now rested on his shoulder.

Whipping around, Percy found Théodred standing there with half a smile on his face. He raised an eyebrow at the prince. "What?"

"I saw how the men around you reacted during the battle," Théodred answered, "and I have never seen a sight like it. That's why I recommended you as a captain. I believe you should accept."

"But this—this is crazy! Think of all the veterans who've been fighting for decades, how they would react to obeying a kid who's been in Rohan for a few weeks!"

"It is their duty to obey their commanders and obey the throne," replied the king calmly. "Whether they like it or not, they will listen."

"They want what's best for Rohan," Théodred added. "I believe it is best for Rohan for you to bear rank."

"I-I…" he stammered, unable to finish the thought. Abandoning the effort, he simply fell into silent consideration once more.

I have to do whatever it takes to beat Sauron, no matter how ridiculous.

Percy swallowed, thinking back to Galadriel's mirror, but then the pit settled (if only a little) as the words of Ulmo came back to him from his first day in Middle Earth.

"Do not be afraid to be the leader."

He took in a deep breath. Fair enough, Ulmo; I can work with that… Even if I won't be the leader of anyone very long…

He nodded, feeling on his shoulders a heavy weight. Then he drew Riptide from its cobalt sheath, taking a knee before the King and offering the blade to him. "I offer my service to Théoden King, to lead his men as a captain of Rohan and to seek the safety of Rohan and Middle Earth."

Théodred smiled from the side as Théoden grasped the sword by the hilt and took it. "And I accept the blade of Perseus Sea-sprung in my service as a captain, for whatever period of time he deems it necessary to maintain the position. I give him freedom to abandon the position, should a greater need arise. Rise, Captain Perseus, and take your blade."

He arose then and grasped Riptide once more.

"All of Edoras shall be informed when we return there once more, and from there all of Rohan will learn of it," the king said, pausing at the end, as if to consider his words.

Then he grasped Percy firmly by the shoulder and stared deep into his eyes. "Tomorrow we ride for Isengard at break of morn—ready your men, Captain, for the White Wizard's day of reckoning awaits. Weary are our men and broken is our land, yet our resolution is of iron. Isengard will fall, and I shall not be surprised if it is to your sword. Prepare for a siege."

He held the king's gaze, echoing those words in his head. Already the weight on his shoulders grew heavier, but with it came a strong determination that he would not be stopped. "Let's get that bastard."

ΩΩΩ

He all but stumbled back into a different part of the keep, hoping that Aragorn or Boromir or anyone of the Fellowship waited there as they had before. Théodred had remained with the king in the keep, leaving him alone as he looked for his friends. He was not disappointed in that endeavor, finding all four of them leaning against a wall, tearing at hunks of bread and other foodstuffs.

Dazedly striding over to them, Percy was met with an assortment of odd looks, all of which he didn't really register. When he reached them his feet fell away from under him and he plopped to the stone floor. Upon their questions, he lazily raised a finger as he kneaded his forehead with his other hand (still his non-mangled hand). The questions halted until his finger dramatically dropped back to his fist which then fell to his lap.

"Yes, my hand is seriously fu一uh, it's pretty messed up. Yes, I am aware of said messed-up-hand. And yes, I realize that I look as if my mind has jumped off a very tall cliff."

The others waited moments, frowning when they realized more answers were not forthcoming. Rolling his eyes, Boromir asked, "Would you care to share why your hand looks as if a warg chewed on it? Or explain your general… look… at the moment?"

Percy inspected his throbbing hand. "Ah, yeah. I was mad. And I think… I think I just got promoted to a Captain of Rohan."

Gimli chuckled until Aragorn's elbow abruptly found his side.

The laughter abruptly ceased.

As the dwarf looked up, he noticed the varying looks of Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir一none of which held any mirth as they did when jokes were shared.

"Percy," Aragorn started slowly. "Would you be so kind as to explain to us exactly why you think you've been made a captain of Rohan."

Legolas frowned as well. "I do not believe I had ever expected to hear those words in such a context."

The demigod chuckled humorlessly and scratched the back of his neck. "Erm, yeah… Not sure how it all happened. I was talking to Théoden and Théodred about Saruman and Gandalf and the death of his friend and how he might not be here much longer and the next thing I knew I was offering my sword in service to the king and he was giving me control over soldiers as long as I was around to help Rohan and not like directly bashing Sauron in the face or whatever."

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and rested his head in his hands. After a moment he looked up and his eyes drifted over everyone in the group, only to see that they had no more understanding of the situation than he did.

Percy coughed. "Also we're leaving for Isengard tomorrow to besiege and attack it. Just thought I should mention that. You know, F-Y-I."

Tempest's hooves plodded softly through the damp grass, one of many horses to traverse the same route at that moment. Each rider glanced warily about the newly-appeared trees, neither sure of what they were nor from whence they came.

Though guards had stood watch throughout the previous night, the darkness that fell upon the valley was like a inky curtain draped over them, and nothing could be seen. That did nothing to nullify the feeling that something was coming.

And something did.

As scarlet light broke through the mountains in the east, there was a shadow at the end of the vale. Whispers of confusion transformed into shouts of disbelief, and all who slept in the stronghold were awakened to cries of wonder.

Percy awoke to those cries with sword drawn and senses dialed in—ready to fight the enemies that he thought were attacking. Instead, he stumbled up to the battlements to find a vast forest at the feet of the mountains and all of the orcs' corpses disappeared. One by one the soldiers joined him on the walls, each sharing the same thoughts at the same time.

Yet none knew how the forest came to be, and now they passed through the old wood reluctantly, forced through by the speed of their mission only.

King Théoden rode at the front of the trail of hundreds of soldiers, alongside Éomer, Théodred, and the members of the Fellowship. Captains rode behind with their own éoreds, just as nearly a hundred soldiers rode behind Percy at that moment一his men.

I am never getting used to that.

Shortly after the men had gotten over most of the wonder of seeing the forest that appeared on their doorstep, Percy had made his way down from the keep with Théodred, where the prince had informed the squad of men who their new leader was. The news was met with several old grins and raised eyebrows, a few frowns, and many respectful murmurs of "Stormbringer."

"I don't know how to lead calvary," he had admitted to the men, "but I know how to keep you alive, and that's what I aim to do."

When the riders came to the wood they halted, for the trees were dark and ominous and both rider and horse were unwilling to pass. Long drooping branches hung like swaying claws into the shadow that bathed the trees and their gnarled roots. The horses whinnied nervously and stamped their hooves, and even Théoden glanced back at his officers unsurely at the dark caverns awaiting them beneath the eaves of the twisted forest.

"Forward," urged Tempest.

What? That forest is creepy as Hades, and trust me: I've seen 'creepy'.

"Forward," the stallion repeated in a daze, "We are called forward."

Weighing the odds for but a moment, he let Tempest trot around those in front of him to the front. They passed the king and came to the dark wall of trees, where now there appeared an arched gate under latticed, leafed rafters. It may have simply been his imagination, but it seemed as though the trees moved ever so subtly to part for him, making then a road that led on under mighty boughs. Creaks and groans echoed throughout the wood, but there was no mistaking the roofed path that now rested before them.

The soldiers had looked upon him with wonder in that moment, and he knew not neither why the trees parted for him nor how Tempest knew they would. Either way, he led on as the road passed in sunshine; for though the forest was cloaked in twilight, the branches parted above them to allow golden light to shine on them unfiltered even as a cool breeze swept through the hot, stifling wood.

Percy had gradually fallen back to the Fellowship and his men as they passed on through the forest, for the road was clear before them even though a hostility seemed to burn in the air. Not aimed towards them, but an anger aimed as if towards an enemy one has vanquished in revenge.

Now he rode with his gaze aimed at the back of Tempest's neck, not glancing around in wonder as those with him did. Though the forest was astounding, he knew that they rode towards battle once more with many more lives for which to be responsible. Each one that ended would feel as a personal failure on his part.

"For defeat is inevitable. The time will come when you can do naught but watch helplessly as all your deeds turn to glorious failure," resounded the voice of Sauron in his head. "Your friends will die as you watch, and only then shall your turn arise."

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fist (now more healed after a long soaking in the water of the Deeping Stream), he tried to purge that malicious, poisonous voice from his mind.

They continued on, the weight in his stomach seeming to grow with every step towards battle. Every step, every hoof that met the ground resulted in a slight squelch as the damp ground gave way beneath it, and that monotonous, unceasing sound gave Percy nothing but a hatred for the moisture in the forest.

Gods, I'd probably be disowned by Dad for hating this stupid water here.

Each soldier who had a horse at Helm's Deep now rode with them, part of the hundreds, while those hundreds who were on foot were sent back to Edoras with the civilians of Rohan. Ahead of them rode several scouts (who had went around the forest) to be sure of the safety of the return, as well as several more messengers on horses to search for more men to send to Isengard. Boromir, even, had written a message addressed to his father in Minas Tirith that was now being carried by horsemen on a lengthy journey eastward.

However, the weight that rested with Percy seemingly left many unaffected: Legolas looked on with wonder at the trees around them while Gimli bemoaned the dangerous nature of the wood.

"It is hot in here," started Legolas suddenly, finally looking away from the trees to regard the Fellowship. "I feel a great wrath about me."

"The very air is throbbing," murmured Boromir as he glanced suspiciously at the trees around them. "A wonder the trees don't come to life and strike us down."

"Well, you know what they say. Let's not tempt fate too much, how about?" Percy responded.

"But there is much to learn from them," reasoned the elf in something of a daze, so enraptured was he by the forest. "Many an acorn have I seen grow to towering oak and then to withered husk, but never have I witnessed trees such as these. Had I time to walk in leisure here, I might learn their thought."

"No!" Gimli shouted from his side, "I have already guessed their thoughts—hatred for all those that go about on two legs and a desire to crush and smother." Then the dwarf's eyes fell upon the numerous axes strapped to his body at that moment and his breathing grew slightly quicker. "We are no more safer in this wood than we would be at the gates of Isengard."

Then it was Aragorn's turn to frown. "Their hatred is not for all that go upon two legs, I think, but for the orcs only. For they have felt the bite of the orcs' axes for many a year, but men and elves are new to them."

Legolas nodded. "From far away have they stalked, I feel. It would not surprise me if they are from Fangorn."

"The creepy forest that we didn't want to go into before I left?" Percy asked, looking around and seeing similarities between Fangorn and the trees around him then.

"But we did go into that forest," Boromir answered, "after you departed. And yes, the comparison is apt."

Legolas was not to be deterred in his thought, however. "I feel young walking through this wood, my friends; I feel as young as you children. I feel as though the trees were stretching upwards into aged darkness when the stars first shone upon me."

Gimli snorted. "Strange are the ways of men and elves, Legolas! For I too have seen true beauty and now feel the pain of its loss. I have seen a true marvel of this world, and do you know what men say of it? Caves, they say! Caves! But these caverns of Helm's Deep are not dark holes in the ground nor places to store pack animals, no! They are vast and lofty and beautiful beyond belief!"

Percy shared a gaze with Boromir, who looked as skeptical as he did. "Gimli, between my time spent in the Labyrin—er, this underground maze thing back home—and Moria, I'm not too fond of caves. And I was in there during the battle too; I didn't see anything special."

"Aye, the Mines of Moria have soured my mind as well," added the Gondorian.

"Do you not listen?" the dwarf cried with heavy, set brows. "These are not ghastly caves, but ornate palaces cut from the mountain's heart! And you, Percy, have but begun to delve into them—their glory laid further up and further in than you tread! For therein rests majestic spires and twisting arches of polished marble, set with veins of glinting ore, casting their own light to join the ripple of light shining off the gentle river that flows through the caverns! Dwarves would pay pure gold for the briefest of glances, for endless pilgrimages of dwarves would venture to the caverns if they knew the wonders that rested in the mountains of Helm's Deep!"

"And I would pay that same gold to leave, and more to be let out should I wander in," Legolas answered.

"Your elven eyes have not cast sight on the beauty, so I forgive your jest, but be aware that you sound as a fool! You think your dwellings in Mirkwood fair, those same dwellings where my father Gloin and his twelve brethren were imprisoned by your father. Those dwellings which were made with the help of dwarves long ago, and which compare to the caverns I have seen as gravel compares with a diamond.

"I have seen immeasurable halls, Legolas, halls filled with everlasting music as water tinkles into unlit pools. And when men with torches stride through, only then does man see the majesty that the earth has shaped around them. The torchlight glints off the wall, off strands of crystal that twist above you as the dirty vines of your forests do. Columns of white and saffron, of the colors of the dawn sky, fluted into ethereal forms, twist upwards into the gloom, but even there the light shines forth as a tapestry of stars shining down upon you! They spring from the floor and are draped above you as pendants, wings, ropes, curtains, fine as frozen clouds! The light glows through folded marble, pale as the hands of Lady Galadriel herself, and the still lakes reflect them as a sapphire mirror, creating another world that one could look into and lose himself entirely, so precious is the beauty of those caverns! And plink! A silver drop falls and the face of the pool ripples, changing towers of stone and lofty spires into rippling weeds, corals in the grotto of an ancient sea… "

And with that, the dwarf grew silent once more and his gaze turned downwards. "And they call them caves," he muttered. "Twice now have I seen true beauty: in Lothlorien gazing upon Lady Galadriel and now, having seen the Glittering Caves. And twice now have I left behind that beauty to face a world that rests grey and dreary by comparison."

Percy felt something stir in his heart as he heard the dwarf recount the glory of the Glittering Caves and his comparison to the sea in the pools. Swallowing hard, he realized that for the first time in his life, he had been completely isolated from the sea for such a long time. He was on the shore of Long Island Sound each summer at camp, and even when he was home in Manhattan he wasn't too far from the Atlantic or the Sound. Hades, even the boarding schools he had attended were either close to extensions of the sea as well or would take field trips to places that were from time to time. But since he'd been here…

Aside from those few dreams, he reasoned.

And he missed it, like he hadn't seen a part of himself. Part of him was the sea, and not being near it for so long was tough.

"You move me, Gimli," spoke Legolas. "Almost you make me wish that I had seen these caverns, for I have not heard you speak this way before."

"Quite the poet you've become," Aragorn nudged with a smile.

"Let us make this bargain—" Legolas began, though Percy was almost too zoned out to hear him. "Should we both return safe from these perils that lie before us, we will venture together. You will come with me to Fangorn, and I will go with you to the Glittering Caves."

"That is not the path I would choose for myself, but I will endure Fangorn if it means you will see the glory of Aglarond."

"Have you ever seen the sea just as the sun is setting?" Percy interrupted, still stirred by Gimli's longing for the caverns. "Where the sky is every shade of gold and purple and rose… but the sea is too and you can't tell where the sea ends and the sky begins, where the horizon isn't a line but like a blurred smudge and everything is perfect. Have you heard the seagulls cry as the sand crunches between your curled toes and the grasses wave lightly in the salty breeze coming off the water?"

He glanced over at the other four who were gazing at him intently, as were the soldiers riding close enough to hear Gimli's and Percy's pining. Legolas had the strongest look of all, a deep yearning that stretched deep into his eyes and a unsatisfied frown to match, though Percy didn't know from where or why the yearning came.

"Or at sunrise," he continued, "when you're looking eastwards, where the sun hasn't quite risen yet but it's so close to rising over the sea. The sky is a pale gold at the horizon, darkening to blue and purple higher up, and you can't see the sun but the clouds do, and they're a fiery orange. And you blink and suddenly there it is—this radiant, glowing flicker of scarlet; soon this fiery orb is rising into the sky, mirrored right below the horizon.

"Have you seen the ocean during a storm? When the very ocean is at war with the sky, like two brothers would compete to see who's better. The sky pelts the tumultuous waves with lightning, trying to force it into submission, but the ocean seems to laugh and rise up in waves that scrape the underside of the sky. The water is like its own being, reaching up to stab the storm that attacks it and crashing down again in a cycle that threatens to shake the very earth to the core. The sky is nearly black in the battle between the two forces, yet when the smell of ozone enters the air you see nothing but pure, blinding white that illuminates everything under the sky. Towering thunderheads rage miles above this navy blue sea that's streaked with spiderwebs of white foaming, cresting waves, but sometimes the waves aren't a dark steely blue; sometimes they're this transparent, ghostly green that rises from dark seas like jade, ready to tear ships apart as easily as a hammer crumples tin. And you stand amid the most powerful forces on Earth, knowing you'll be fine because someone more powerful than you is looking out for you."

It took a moment to sink in, but soon the eyes of Boromir grew wide. "Your f—" he paused, glancing around at the soldiers of Rohan that road with them, who didn't know about the whole "son-of-a-god" thing. His voice lowered until it was barely registered by the Fellowship. "Your father?"

Percy swallowed and nodded. "You talk about the mirrored ponds in the caves that look almost like grottos of coral in ancient seas, Gimli. I've seen these ancient grottos. My father's palace is—"

He broke off as he remembered the sprawling undersea metropolis. Memories flooded back and he laughed dryly. "It's incredible." He gazed at Legolas, whom he knew would appreciate the next part more than the others. "I've seen Valmar of Many Bells; I've seen Tirion upon Tuna… and my father's realm rivals them, if not surpasses them."

"I'd like to see that," murmured Boromir.

The elf turned to admire the trees around him once more; but when he turned back to face the others, his brow was furrowed unlike the dreamlike expression he wore earlier. "Legends have been passed down of the works of the Ñoldor, but never have I witnessed their glory. Rivendell I have seen and its beauty; my own realm is of a grandeur I much prefer… but ever has my heart yearned for the West. There is something in myself, and in all elves, that calls us home. Even though my kind has never seen the light of the two trees, even though we did not cross the Great Sea in those days of dusk after our awakening… still we are called there."

Percy smiled as the memory of his first day in this world flooded back, memories that seemed to wipe away the shadow of Sauron from his mind for that time being. "You are called home, just as I am. But the home that calls me is not made of white marble with a silver lamp shining out to the sea that separates Tirion from us. My home doesn't have roads that sparkle like ground-up diamond or cypress trees that make the city blend in with the nature around it or the ivy that clings to the walls as a baby clings to its mom.

"I'm called home to sea-stone walls that rise from the ocean floor. The roads aren't diamond, but are rather cobbled with pearls. I'm called home to spires and arches that rise cobalt in the night waves around them, to domes of abalone and gold that gleam with the colors of the rainbow, to towers that pierce through the currents."

His voice faltered. "And you stride through columns of marble that look as though puddles of the deepest blue melted and are swirled and muddled with sapphire and streaked with white… as if the entire sea rages in each stone. You enter courtyards and villas, and the trees are replaced with strange plants of every vibrant color that glow like undersea fireflies in the darkness. Anemones and corals replace the gardens, and strings of urchins climb up the wall like ivy.

"And as you walk through a magnificent hall on a floor cobbled with pearls, with gossamer tapestries gently flowing in the current on either side of you, you see a throne of coral at the end. And there he is, with a trident in his fist and a proud smile on his face as he rises to greet you."

Percy blinked a couple times, seemingly surprised by what had just transpired. Clearing his throat, he said, "Erm, I'm not sure why—" He coughed and looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, that was—that was just stuck on my mind…I'm not as poetic as Gimli and…"

He trailed off and gazed ahead, whereas a grin broke out on Boromir's face. "Never did I think the boy could speak so properly."

Percy snorted and turned around to show the Gondorian his favorite finger, causing for chuckles to break out. That was an insult that wasn't found in Middle Earth, Percy had learned, causing for some confusion the first few times he did it.

Now, for better or for worse—

Probably for the worse. No, definitely for the worse.

—the members of the Fellowship were starting to pick up on many of Percy's cruder habits and insults.

But the elf was silent amid the laughs around him, for all this talk of the sea stayed in his mind.

"I can speak like a civilized, mature human being, in case you didn't know," retorted Percy. "I just don't do it, like, ever; it takes way too much effort when I can just sound normal like the people I talk to."

The lighthearted banter between friends continued on as they tried to push away the dark thoughts of both the previous battle and the battle that now loomed before them. Percy's mind seemed to clear and his mood brightened, to his pleasant surprise; but whenever his eyes fell upon Legolas, he saw the same downcast, contemplative look on the elf's face.

"Dude, what's bothering you?"

The elf's eyes flicked upwards towards the sun for a moment. "The words of Lady Galadriel now strike me deeply, for at first I did not understand how they could be true."

Percy paused, waiting for an answer that didn't seem to be coming. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute; when did Galadriel talk to you? I didn't think she said anything that troubling to you in Lothlorien."

It was Boromir who answered, though even his eyes seemed far-away as well. "Nay, when we met Gandalf in the depths of Fangorn, he bore with him messages from the Lady of the Golden Wood. To each of us, did she speak, and harrowing words did we all receive—words of warning, or guidance through dark times."

Percy frowned and turned back to the elf. "So what did she say to you?"

Legolas inclined his head as he stared back. "To me she warned, 'Legolas Greenleaf, long under tree in joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.'"

Pieces fell into place in Percy's mind as he realized why this was so troubling. "So when I spoke of the sea and why it's literally the best thing ever…"

"You have stoked the flame of desire for the vast ocean that has laid dormant in my heart," the elf finished. "Yes, but do not feel guilt. For if the sea will steal my heart from the trees of my home, then gladly will I trade one beauty for another. But fate has not allowed me to lay my eyes upon that beauty yet, and for that I mourn."

The demigod nodded in silence for a moment. "When you first see the ocean, I want to be there. Because—not to brag—I could give you pretty much the greatest tour ever of the sea."

A warm smile found Legolas's face. "You hearten me."

"I have seen the ocean and sailed upon it," said Boromir, "Our forefathers were the greatest of Mariners ever to sail the seas, were they not, Aragorn?"

The ranger nodded slowly. "They were."

"Those salty waters may run through our blood, but it is not the ocean that calls me like you. Were I asea, I would sail up the Great River until Osgiliath and the White City lay before me." He exhaled through his nose: a silent laugh to himself. "I will not argue that the sea is beautiful at sunrise," he murmured, glancing at Percy, "but when the setting sun hits the walls of Minas Tirith, the White City shines as a beacon."

Percy glanced at Aragorn, knowing that the two had talked several times in the past about their desire for Minas Tirith. The ranger's face was a mask… but his eyes betrayed the feelings he felt, the same feelings as Boromir held. Turning back to Boromir, Percy asked, "What did Galadriel say to you?"

Akin to Legolas, Boromir's face fell as he thought back to the words.

"All is not well in my home, it seems. Though the war has plagued us for many years, I fear now our defeat may rise from the inside."

"What were her exact words, Boromir?" Percy pressed.

Boromir paused a moment before speaking in a low voice. "The Lady warned thus: 'Son of Gondor, Lion of the White Tree; two messages have I for thee; for should this land find peace and pride, thy nation on thy shoulders must ride.

"'Son of Gondor beware thy plight, should thy father catch the Shadow's sight. For if the Tower of Guard is lost to despair, only can it be saved by the mad one's heir.

"'Son of Gondor, close to thy heart thy city lies, but more than love doth it take to be wise. Should duty to city outweigh duty to land, Gondor will be lost to the Shadow's hand.'"

Percy snorted at the ominous words. "Gods, I hate prophecies."

"I do not believe I would call this a prophecy," Aragorn responded with a hint of a smile. "'Words of guidance' might be more fitting."

"How about 'An Idiot's Guide to not getting Middle Earth obliterated'?" Percy asked innocently.

Gimli chuckled. "That'll do."

"Prophecy or not," Boromir muttered, "Gondor is walking on the edge of a knife. I should be there defending it, as is my duty. My father..." He faltered then, falling silent for a moment. "I fear for my father after hearing those words. I do not know what I shall find when I return."

His words unnerved Percy. He thought back to their journey down the Anduin, how eager Boromir was to return to his home to fight for it. Now, weeks had passed and he was no closer to Gondor, instead embroiled in the battles of another nation. Part of him felt guilty, that he wasn't able to help Boromir in any way with that, but another part of him felt the loyalty to Rohan, as the nation that had done much for him.

"You'll be back at Minas Tirith soon," he tried to reassure the man. "It is strong; it will last much longer. Your father will hold out."

Boromir nodded. "Strong it may be, but the words of the Lady has only strengthened in me my resolve to return. When we find the halflings, then must I depart."

A pit formed suddenly in his stomach and his head whipped around to face his friend. "What?" he asked in disbelief.

His face was as a stone wall. "My duty now is to find Meriadoc and Peregrin unharmed and be reunited with them… but as soon as we find them, my duty is then to protect my home."

"But what about the Fellowship?" Percy protested.

"The Fellowship is broken!" Boromir shouted, some of the frustration he had felt for months showing in that moment. The outburst startled those riding closest to them. "It was broken when we failed at Amon Hen!" He paused. "Broken when I failed at Amon Hen," he finished silently, looking down.

Percy opened his mouth to say something then shut it, biting back the harsh response he planned on saying. Looking around, he noticed that Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn didn't seem surprised or upset by the revelation. "Did you guys know about this?" he asked, feeling somewhat hurt, though he knew he was personally acting unfairly.

There were several nods. "In Fangorn," Aragorn responded. "We talked about this, planned even. We all believe it is the right course of action."

"But—but the Fellowship."

"Think about it, Percy," Aragorn started. "Boromir can even do more for Frodo and Sam as a commander in Gondor than he can on the battlefields of Rohan. He is bound to none but his Father."

"What would you do, if your home was on the brink of destruction?" Boromir asked weakly. "Would you continue on your path when you know you could help it?"

Percy didn't answer: he knew he was being unreasonable, and Boromir was right. "I'm sorry, it's just been a rough couple… months."

A small smile stretched the Gondorian's lips, and he managed a small nod as he clapped Percy on the shoulder. "No worries, Percy. I still long for the day we fight side-by-side for Gondor, but I must make sure Gondor lasts until that day."

The demigod chuckled. "Fair enough, but I guess we should worry about Isengard first. You know, don't want to screw up too badly there."

Aragorn grinned. "Always the optimist, aren't you?"

He grinned back. "You know it."

Then came a pause. "Wait; while the topic of not absolutely screwing Middle Earth," Percy began, "did Galadriel have any words for me?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Gandalf bore only the messages for us. It would not surprise me if she has words for you, but Gandalf did not relate them to us."

Percy scrunched his nose. "That wizard better be alive then," he muttered, if only as an attempt to lift their spirits as they trudged to an unknown fate. "Did she have any words for you?" he asked Aragorn.

Aragorn exchanged glances with the other three, and Percy wasn't particularly thrilled to see their respective faces darken. It almost seemed as if a silent conversation passed between them, all conveying their messages through their eyes and leaving Percy thoroughly confused and concerned. At last, after a barely-perceptible nod from Legolas, Aragorn drew in a breath and looked up.

Just as with Boromir and Legolas, the ranger's face grew grim and he nodded slowly. When he spoke, his voice was deep and coarse, yet little louder than a whisper. "Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar? Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar? Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth, and the Grey Company ride from the North. But grim is the path appointed for thee, as you ride from destruction without the Son of the Sea."

Percy went still, and all the air seemed to leave his lungs. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose and attempted to calm himself. Relax, man. It's not like that's new information… you've known it's been coming since Lothlorien.

He looked up with a weak smile. "Relax. I've had lots of experience with prophecies and stuff; they usually have double meanings. Don't worry about it."

Gimli's bushy brows drew together beneath his helm. "We've had a hard enough time keeping you out of trouble before the Lady gave us that message; we have good reason to worry!"

"Guys. It's fine. I've survived more than I care to tell you. I'll be fine."

Boromir rolled his eyes as Aragorn shook his head, but they subsided slightly. "If you do anything stupid at Isengard, we'll have to keep you on a leash," the Gondorian joked dryly.

Or at least Percy liked to think it was a joke.

"The finest elven leash that can be found," supplied Legolas glibly, "but look! The end of the wood draws near!

"About time," huffed Gimli. "These trees may brighten your mind, but I shall be glad to leave these haunted groves behind!"

Gazing around at the ominous forest a final time, Aragorn spoke. "I feel as though we may wish for their company ere our business with Isengard is finished."

As that thought sunk in, the group again grew silent as the weight of the next step in their quest fell upon them once more. They were weakened from a battle they barely won and already were sent out to bring to justice the Wizard who brought about the battle.

When the force of nearly a thousand riders exited the woods, the sun was setting in the sky. They continued to ride, traversing the plains of Rohan near the foothills of the White Mountains as they pushed northward towards Isengard.

It was not long before the shadows lengthened and a dusk fell upon the land as the sun dropped below the western sky. Percy thought they would call it a day then and set up camp, but Théoden led them on and on. Under the silver glow of the pale moon, the forces of Rohan under the king made their way across grasses that waved in the night as a grey sea.

The moon continued to rise and the stars turned in the sky and still they rode on.

It was at the midnight hour when the company reached the Fords of Isen, but something was amiss. The river that was supposed to flow there was little more than a trickle, and Percy could hear many mutterings of "some devilry of Isengard" from the soldiers around him.

They kept on and were soon greeted with the sight of a large mound that had been erected not far from the river, of which there stuck out hundreds of spears. As Tempest slowed from a trot to a walk, Percy's mouth fell slightly at the nearing mound.

The horse paused near the mound sniffing it for a moment before snorting loudly and tossing his mane anxiously.

"The ground is painted in blood; the fallen guard this pass."

Percy started at the ominous words, but he couldn't even comment on them because his brain was caught up too firmly in the sight before him. He tried to move his head to look around, but he found that his eyes wouldn't move anywhere else. Instead, he was taking in naught but the grave of hundreds of men.

How can this be? How did this come to pass?

Finally looking around, he saw the grave faces of the men around him… but none bore the look of surprise that adorned his features at that moment.

Tempest, what happened here?

The horse whinnied uncomfortably. "Don't you remember? You were here."

Yeah, but… He couldn't even finish the thoughts. He had been here with Tempest; he had found Théodred here, but he didn't realize that the battle had been this grievous for the men of Rohan. But I saw maybe thirty or forty soldiers… there are hundreds who have died here; almost a thousand.

The horse was quiet for a moment. "The spears you see all belonged to a man who has fallen; that is no lie. The dead are no more, and here they fell."

He shook his head, still in a daze. Those around him continued to ride, but he was able to catch Théodred's gaze at last. The prince spurred his horse over to Percy so that they were able to talk easily.

"What happened here? I know you were wounded here… but I only saw a few dozen soldiers around you when I found you. Not all… this."

The prince grimaced and surveyed the battlefield once more. "The battles for the Fords of Isen: many fell those days. You found me with few men because Saruman sought to kill myself and Éomer, for he saw us as the greatest threats to his rule."

Percy's gaze flicked momentarily to Éomer who rode nearby; that the tall man was strong-willed and powerful, there was no doubt. Théodred was an inspiring leader and deadly soldier; that much was certain… but if Percy was an enemy of Rohan, Éomer was the last person he would ever want to face.

"If Saruman simply wanted to crush our forces, he could have done it with ease," Théodred continued. "But he fears me and my cousin, and so he ordered that our deaths be attained at all costs. Because of this, they attacked me and my men most viciously, and the other forces under Grimbold and Elfhelm were able best them in their battles.

"There were many battles that occurred around the Fords; you found only the remains of a smaller battle: the one in which I was struck down by a large orc. The deaths there were light for Rohan simply because I had few of my men left at that point."

He fell silent for another moment before gesturing back to the mound of spears. "Even these are not all the men we lost at these Fords. Do not take it lightly when I say I would see Isengard torn down and the wizard strung up and hung from his own gibbet."

Damn, son; somebody's been eating red meat.

He weakly nodded and motioned Tempest back towards the Fellowship after several scattered words. They all dismounted at the Fords and set up camp for the night, for midnight had passed by that point.

As he unrolled his bedroll, his eyes fell once more upon the trickle of water where the mighty River Isen should be. He knew it was a fords… but this wasn't as it should be, and he wasn't particularly excited about finding what Saruman had cooked up in Isengard that led to this.

"Does the river remind you guys of Moria at all?" he murmured into the night air.

Boromir stirred. "Moria is not where I wish my thoughts to be at this hour."

Disregarding the previous remark, Aragorn spoke from where he sat seated, eyes turned up towards the stars. "The Sirannon was dammed, forming the foul lake where creeped the Watcher in the Water… if Saruman has likewise dammed the Isen, I do not wish to find what lurks in Isengard."

"The creature that lurks in Isengard is the Wizard, and he is deadlier than any beast that would tread beneath the water's surface," Legolas added. He laid on his back, eyes fixed upwards. Percy was amazed at how the elf never seemed to need to sleep; even now, having finished a battle and been in a saddle all day, the light of the stars seemed to invigorate and revitalize the mighty prince. "He is as a viper: poised and ready to strike in an instant, and he is backed into a corner now."

"Loath am I to find what lies in wait for us tomorrow," Boromir said. "But I am eager to complete this stage in our journey and find the halflings. Soon the trumpets shall ring out, announcing our arrival in Minas Tirith. Soon shall Sauron feel fear for the first time in many ages."

Percy laid back with his hands under his head. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, the last things he perceived were the cool breeze on his face, the millions of pinpricks of light that shone down upon him, and the thoughts of glory that fell from Boromir's mouth.

His mind was fixed on silver swords and unfurled banners as his eyes closed to darkness.

Percy could hear Isengard before he saw it. Impressive, given that it was literally a spear of stone that jutted upwards hundreds of feet like the a gargantuan onyx toothpick.

In other words, Orthanc is something which tends to be filed under the category of "hard to miss".

"Then again, it took you hours to find that tower last time… Tempest said, so maybe the inability to see it really isn't that impressive."

Woah, hold on, horse. What do you mean "I" couldn't find it? I seem to recall you being the one riding to all the wrong places.

"Yeah, those wrong places being the places you led me. That one's on you."

The sound that reached Percy's ears was that of turmoil and battle, the same sounds he had heard more than he desired over the past few weeks: the clash of iron on iron, shouts of bloodlust and cries of pain, the crumbling of stone… but these sounds were pierced by the same ear-splitting shrieks that plagued his nightmares.

Di immortales, he thought, those damn dragons.

As winged shadows and icy blades romped across his mind, he couldn't think about anything but those spectres. At first he was confused: if Saruman had sent all his forces to Helm's Deep, who could possibly be fighting? Or why were the Nazgûl here anyway? Didn't they take a few of them out at Helm's Deep? Regardless, whenever they were around, he knew lots of trouble was coming his way.

Well, more than usual, that is.

He had dealt with the Nazgûl and their mounts several times, but never quite like this. As the company crested a hill, he saw the Wizard's dwelling, but it was not as he had seen it before: the inside of the ring looked much the same as before, filled with many gaping holes and crevasses, although now (in daylight) he could see that the ring was also filled with countless buildings.

I guess Saruman provides four-star motel rooms for his employees, he mused.

What boggled his mind wasn't the setting he saw so much as the moving parts. The inside of the ring was a flurry of activity as seemingly a few thousand beings (wild men, orcs, Uruk-Hai… he couldn't really tell) were rushing along the wall or to the wall with supplies.

Outside the wall was an entirely different matter.

As he watched, thousands of other beings carried on in their attempt to lay siege to the wall of Isengard: throwing up giant ladders and trying to pierce through the stony barrier. As Percy reined in Tempest, he couldn't but feel shock at the scene in front of him. He had expected a fight to be going on when he got here, maybe Gandalf and some of the Rohirrim against the few orcs left in Isengard. Hopefully Gandalf and some others, unharmed.

But this… this was not what he expected.

Because freaking everything has been the opposite of what I expected the past few months.

He continued to stare in shock at the scene in front of him, not able to pay attention to anything else.

"Gods, I hate this place," Percy muttered, staring at Orthanc. All that came to mind were its dark, twisting hallways and the mad power of the wizard who wandered its halls. The wind still seemed to blow in his ears and the ground grew closer and closer as his mind remembered his plummet from the pinnacle. He shivered at the terrifying memory.

Aragorn looked back over his shoulder with suspicious eyebrows. "When you say 'this place', you are speaking of the entirety of Isengard and not the tower itself, correct? Or, namely, the inside of the tower?"

The demigod coughed, aiming his gaze away from the ranger, but he couldn't prevent the mischievous smile that flashed into existence on his face for a moment. "Let me just say, dude, you're one of the worst guessers I've ever met if you keep expecting me to stay away from danger."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and cursed good-naturedly. "As long as you keep surviving, I suppose I can't find too much fault with it."

"Although it is a little different than I remember. Namely, the extra army."

Funny, I don't remember there being this massive forest around Isengard. That's new, too.

It took all of four seconds before Percy's mind realized what it had just thought, and his eyes now shot back to the leafy carpet that now rested heavily around Isengard's eastern side, stretching all the way back to where they stood at that moment. In fact, as Percy's head wildly whipped around, he realized that they stood in a thinner part of the forest now; their army had marched through trees for several hundred yards by that point and now stood in a small clearing atop a ridge.

Tempest, please tell me I'm not crazy when I say that those trees were definitely not there before.

The horse whinnied. "There were stumps everywhere, not that you noticed those obstacles I so masterfully navigated through when we first came here. I mean, any other horse would've tripped on those in the dark and injured a hoof or broken a leg but I—"

Tempest… he warned.

"Ah, no. Those were not there before, no."

Percy sighed. A simple "nope, they weren't there, boss" would've worked just fine.

The stallion stomped its hooves. "Whoops. And when have I ever called you 'boss'?"

Percy didn't respond, feeling slightly foolish. Eyeing the forest once more, a glimmer of hope rose up in him. If that was the same kind of forest that sprung up at Helm's Deep, that did something with all the bodies of the Uruk-Hai... If that's what I think it is, we may just have some help.

Help with what, though? He wasn't exactly sure what was going on, and he certainly didn't know how to… fix… whatever was happening. Everything was off. He didn't expect there to be an army of ten thousand Mordor orcs at Isengard. He didn't expect Isengard to still have a few thousand orcs left. He didn't expect these previously-unknown Mordor orcs to be fighting against the Isengard orcs. He didn't expect Gandalf to be—wait a minute…

"Where the hell is that wizard?" he murmured with raised eyebrows, still in shock of that which occurred in front of him.

Next to him, the King reined in his own horse, Snowmane, looking as perplexed as he himself felt. The looks of everyone in the area was quite similar.

"Do we, erm… do we attack them?" Percy asked, quite unsure what to do now that there were three armies here. "Or do we wait for one side to kill the other side? Personally I'm a huge fan of not dying, sooooo…"

"This is surely an unforeseen turn of events," Éomer remarked dryly with a scowl prominent on his face.

They were shaken from their silent, surprised observations when a familiar blond head appeared above a nearby ridge and neared them. Percy couldn't help the smile from appearing on his face at the arrival of the man, the same on he had ridden around Rohan with for the better part of a day. He wasn't sure if he could really consider Aldor a friend, given that they knew each other for less than a day and their initial meeting almost resulted in bloodshed, but there was some camaraderie there.

Regardless, as Aldor neared the newly-appeared troop led by the King, he and Percy exchanged friendly nods before Aldor bowed to the King from his mount.

"Aldor," the king noted. "Where is Gandalf?"

The captain hesitated for a moment, and his eyes flitted down towards the trees surrounding Isengard, at the foot of the Misty Mountains. "He is… away, sire."

The King glanced away from the battle. "What do you mean 'away'?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

Aldor swallowed and pointed towards a swath of the forest below, where Percy could make out a single rider standing atop a low ridge that rested before a wide swale. "He left this morning, sire, rode into the forest. He mentioned reinforcements, but none of us know what reinforcements he could possibly attain."

The King's brow scrunched. "How many men are here. Who commands them?"

It was at this that Aldor's face brightened considerably. "Three thousand riders, sire, and fifteen-hundred infantry, under the command of Elfhelm and Grimbold."

Théodred uttered a cry of surprise even gasps erupted from the men around them. Percy, too, felt shock at the numbers.

Forty-five hundred soldiers, plus us? That's over five thousand men!

"They live!" the prince cried, a wide smile forming on his face. "I heard of their retreat, but no news of them has reached us since!"

Aldor nodded. "Indeed, and I am sure they await to share their tale with you, but they have asked me to lead you to our camp, for we are yet hidden from the enemy." He glanced at the King. "With your leave, sire."

Théoden was silent for a moment, his head turning once more to overlook the chaos that was Isengard at that moment. "Strange times, these are," he murmured to himself, so quietly that Percy could barely make out what he said. Then the King regarded Aldor once more and nodded his approval.

Reining in his steed, Aldor wheeled about and began to lead the army back over the ridge they had arrived at minutes earlier. They maneuvered through the forest, once more trekking over root and under leaf.

Percy was bothered the entire time, however.

The entire situation: Mordor's presence, Saruman's secondary army that was fighting back right now, Gandalf's absence, all of it. It bothered him. He felt as though there was something he was missing, some puzzle piece he couldn't grasp yet.

Mordor shouldn't be there; that was wrong. Everything that was happening seemed so fundamentally askew, and he wished he was smart like Annabeth to figure out what in Hades was going on.

He sighed. Gazing to his left, he could make out a fraction of the black obelisk of Orthanc through a bare patch in the leafy canopy. What were they supposed to do?

Ignoring Mordor, how do we even proceed? Even if we break through the walls somehow, Saruman probably has something devious in those pits, and he's probably just waiting to unleash it on us.

They kept on, and it felt so strange—to be calmly riding, listening to every plodding step the horses took, as a battle raged a mile away. A battle that he couldn't figure out how to win.

What even would be a win? To capture the tower? To kill Saruman? To drive away or kill both armies?

Repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fist impatiently, he tried to think of what to do. He needed answers, just as he did after the Battle of Helm's Deep. And, as his eyes flicked down to Tempest's saddlebags, he realized that he had a way of attaining answers. Not a good way… but it seemed to work well enough the previous time… didn't it?

Percy, you're an idiot.

He struggled against himself internally for a moment, but the part of him that loved to make bad decisions was triumphant ultimately. He swallowed as a weight once more seemed to settle on his shoulders.

Boromir rode beside him at that time, so he nudged the Gondorian in the shoulder. "I'm gonna do some looking around, maybe figure out what to do," he said in response to Boromir's raised eyebrow. Of course, this explanation was hardly suitable to the man, whose eyes now angled downwards curiously as an almost-disbelieving laugh fell from his lips.

"What?"

Percy nodded his head in the direction of Isengard. "I'm gonna scope it out quickly, see if there's any weakness we can take advantage of, stuff like that."

"Well you're not going alone."

He glanced towards the palantír's location once again. "Yeah, I am. We don't want them seeing us, and the odds of us being seen are higher with two people."

"I can't say we trust you not to get into trouble."

"But I'm pretty amazing at getting out of it."

It was clear Boromir wanted to continue arguing, but he simply shook his head. "Go."

He gave Tempest a slap on the rump in response, and the horse shot off away from the train of soldiers. He thought he heard the prince call his name as he shot into the forest, but he couldn't be sure.

Tempest continued weaving through the dark wood for several minutes until Percy found a place he deemed suitable: a small gap where it was not so dark, and an opening in the trees around him allowed him to see most of Isengard from the darkness. Dismounting, he opened the saddlebags and and retrieved the stone. As soon as his hand made contact, he instinctively shivered once more, not just at the coolness of the stone but at the sense of foreboding that came with it.

Leaning his shoulder against a tree, he held the palantír up to eye level, as he had done several times in the past. This time, he gazed cooly into the stone as the surface shifted from a glossy black to blurs of color; there was no surprise. He stared at the sphere almost impatiently as he felt the sinister tug on his mind once more.

Once more, his consciousness, his being, was assaulted by a fiery shadow, a sinister mental spike as sharp as a needle and as powerful as a maelstrom. Bracing himself, he stared straight into the fiery eye that again adorned the stone in his hands. Already he could feel the darkness that threatened to envelope him, as if tendrils of shadow were seeping through the stone and binding him as a spider would its prey.

"Well is this not a fun little game we have started, boy?" the venomous voice taunted, already inciting anger and despair in Percy's mind. He attempted to control the anger that spiked the moment Sauron first spoke.

"What's your play here?" he forced out through grit teeth. Every muscle in his body was tensed, every limb clenched as he sought simply to resist the power of the Dark Lord who, with his cunning tongue and overpowering aura, threatened to bring him to his knees.

A dark chuckle sounded in his mind. "To what 'play' are you referring?"

"Isengard. Why attack Saruman when we're right here?"

The (albeit it dark and depraved) amusement that Percy felt emanating from the other side of the conversation vanished suddenly, replaced by what felt like a tsunami of power and rage. It lasted for but a moment before it too was replaced, its place taken by a seeping darkness.

"Perhaps I should thank you, worm. You have allowed me to see that I only need one enemy to worry about, and Saruman has outlived his usefulness as a tool. But you… you are yet useful."

His stomach clenched at the ominous words, and he motioned to throw the stone into the ground out of frustration; he found that he couldn't bring himself to do so. His eyes were yet fixed on the fiery eye, his heart urging him to shout at the Dark Lord and give into catharsis. He held back the urge for a moment, fixing the Eye in the same glare that sent monsters retreating during battles.

"I will kill you. That I promise."

The voice chuckled again, undaunted. "I look forward to us meeting. It shall be… amusing."

Letting a guttural shout tear from his throat, he threw the palantír into the ground, breathing a sigh of relief as the darkness faded from his mind and his thoughts cleared. He remained still for several moments, trying to catch his breath and process everything that had happened.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as his gaze fell once more to the stronghold, where Mordor orcs laid siege to Saruman's forces. The battle seemed to be at a standstill: Mordor had not yet been able to overtake the outer ring of Isengard. The Nazgûl and their mounts swooped down upon the orcs of Isengard, but they were usually deterred by bolts of lightning or flashes of light or fire that stemmed from the pinnacle of Orthanc.

Eyes widening in shock at the display, Percy peered at the top of the tower where, sure enough, Saruman stood in billowing white robes, staff in hand. Even from the great distance, he could make out the wizard waving his staff and chanting in a strange tongue. Percy was almost in awe, watching the power that Saruman displayed, but this awe soon turned to despair as he realized that they would have to go up against that level of power very soon.

And until Gandalf arrived with this supposed help…

But his eyes soon caught on something next: a large dam at the northern portion of the wall. Narrowing his eyes, he could see the trough where once a river flowed nearby, stemming from that dam. It seemed as though Saruman had redirected the river into Isengard initially, probably to work the machines that were in the pits, but then later dammed it entirely.

That's a lot of pressure behind that dam.

A light bulb seemed to go off in his head. If he could break the dam and release the water…

It would flood all of Isengard and drown whoever is in it at that time.

Percy's mouth fell open before morphing into a smirk. That just might work.

"If I can read your face well enough," Tempest started, "You just thought of something."

Nodding slowly, his walk changed to a sprint as he ran back to Tempest and swung onto the horse's back. "Oh yeah, and the plan might even work."

"Wow, that's too much optimism this early in the morning."

Percy didn't even feel the need to remind him it was past noon, so gripped by his idea as he was. Not needing to be spurred, Tempest kicked off the ground like a rabbit and sprung impossibly quickly through the trees and back to the others.

ΩΩΩ

Percy arrived to find a makeshift battle council taking place. A small clearing was filled with people he assumed were nobles or commanders, based on their finer armors. The King was present, as were Théodred, Éomer, Erkenbrand, Aldor, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, as well as the other commanders (he assumed Grimbold and Elfhelm were there).

They were discussing the best course of action: whether it was better to charge in soon when they were not yet noticed or to wait until one side had eradicated the other before charging in and cleaning up the rest. Most of them were eager to enter into the fray quickly, but Erkenbrand was vocal in reminding them that charging directly from one battle into another was not a wise strategy. One he assumed was Grimbold or Elfhelm reminded Erkenbrand of the losses at the Fords of Isen, and how the reminder of those who died still burned hot in the blood of their soldiers.

They continued to discuss, occasionally asking for input from Aragorn or Boromir, who had extensive experience. Gradually, Théodred made his way over to Percy.

"It would be best," the prince murmured, "to remember that your men look to you always now. It is not wise to leave them so suddenly as you did earlier."

Percy glanced at the prince, confused. "What?"

"It is new for you, and for that I understand your confusion. But a captain cannot abandon his men on a moment's notice as you did before, even if it is not during battle. It does not instill confidence in them, nor faith in you."

What he was saying hit Percy in the gut as he realized the wisdom in the prince's words. He was so used to being able to follow his instincts, whether it be to change plan in the middle of a battle or simply to leave to investigate something. To do that when there were a hundred men waiting for his orders… that could be deadly in battle.

"I didn't realize," he murmured in response, feeling like a chastised child. "I'm not cut out for this."

The prince nodded. "Don't hang your head after a single day. I recommended you for the hope you inspire in battle; do not worry."

Percy pursed his lips and nodded. They were his men now, and they were loyal to him just as he was loyal to them. He knew he had to do better.

For the sake of my men.

They continued to discuss possible plans for the upcoming battle, but Percy inputted no opinion. He sat by patiently, not because he had nothing to say, but rather because he wanted to test himself. What Théodred had told him struck him deeply. His duty may not have been to act as a noble and follow protocol, but he still felt that interrupting the King on a whim was not something a leader should do.

And so he waited, as other presented ideas of a full charge into Mordor's forces instantly or a patient siege to wait out the current battle. There were dissents to each option, such as the lack of supplies for a siege or the outnumbering forces and infantry-favoring landscape that rested about them.

At last, after one plan that Percy disagreed with so strongly, he let himself slip up and snorted. At once, everything fell silent, and all sets eyes flashed to where the Son of Poseidon stood in glittering cobalt armor, leaning against a tree with crossed arms.

Percy could see in the King's eyes a flash of relief and a flicker of amusement, as if he knew the demigod was struggling to stay so silent for such a duration of time. "Well?" he asked with an almost-hidden smile, as if daring the demigod to come forth with the most daring, outlandish plan yet. "We've been tinkering with but logical, tried-and-true plans. We haven't even delved into your realm of expertise yet, Sea-sprung."

Pushing his wild black hair up and out of his face, Percy grinned and reached up into the tree above him to snap off a thin branch. As soon as he did, the tree vibrated and an unearthly groan shook the area around him. He jumped slightly, startled, and attempted to connect the stick back to its snapped-off stump. When that failed, he simply tucked the stick in a crook between tree branches and gave an awkward, apologetic pat to the trunk.

He strode forth into the midst of the others, wielding in his hand another stick that he opted to pick up off the ground beneath his feet. "Your problem," he began confidently as he began to trace a crude diagram of Isengard into the muddy ground, "is that these plans of yours are too… smart. They're well-thought-out, defendable, strategic, and predictable."

There was a gleam in Éomer's eyes and a mischievous smile on his face. "Well, Perseus, don't keep us waiting, now that you've instilled such faith in your plan."

Percy laughed dryly and finished his diagram. He pointed his stick at a particular part and looked up, enjoying every bit of the moment. "Well, as my immortal jackass of a cousin likes to say, 'when force doesn't work, use more of it.' Here's what we're gonna do…"

Woot! Tell me what you guys think! There were parts that I weren't sure about, but I think overall it's not too shabby—some of it you might find parts mundane, but there's more importance in this chapter than you think if you look closely! Also, the part where Gimli's talking about the Glittering Caves is pretty close to what Tolkien wrote in The Two Towers—that's solely because that's one of the most beautiful pieces he's ever written, and I didn't want to deprive you guys of that.

Next chapter? Haha... we'll see. I'm so excited for what's coming, but I'm also a college student battling through midterms and homework, so you might be waiting a bit. But, like I've said several times before, I will finish this story (unless I, like, die). So thanks for reading, please leave a review, and have a great day!

~TheDragon12