I'm aware that the last couple of chapters may not have been that interesting for you guys, due to Maethoriel closing herself off and the lack of action in these points of the movie. Turns out I'm not that great at spicing up scenes where the characters are just travelling places like the way this little group run/ride to places. BUT please don't lose hope or interest! Shit's about to go down with the Warg attack, and Maethoriel's got big things coming her way! It'll be worth it I promise!

Chapter 17 – Edoras

"One stage of your journey is over, another begins," Gandalf the White announced as he led the four of them through the forest. "We must travel to Edoras with all speed."

Maethoriel was still reeling from all the new information, but she had been determined to become more adaptable with their mission developments, and so she continued on, focusing in on Gandalf's new plan. He had assured them that Merry and Pippin were in safe hands and no longer in danger, so Maethoriel felt comfortable moving on without catching up to them.

"Edoras?" Gimli repeated gruffly. "That is no short distance!"

"We hear of trouble in Rohan," Aragorn said quietly to Gandalf. "It goes ill with the king."

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured," Gandalf replied.

"Then we have run all this way for nothing? Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested-" Gimli complained, making Maethoriel flinch a little with each passing insult until the trees around them began to groan and creak in protest, and he changed his tune. "I mean, charming! Quite charming forest!"

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains," Gandalf told them, stopping to look at Gimli. He seemed amused by the prospect, his mouth twitching into an almost-smile every so often. Maethoriel found herself smiling with him, beyond glad to have him back with them.

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend," Aragorn replied, amused. "You still speak in riddles."

That made Gandalf chuckle. "A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong." Maethoriel felt goose bumps along her arms at that.

"Strong?" Gimli repeated, concerned. "Oh, that's good."

"So, stop your fretting, Master Dwarf," Gandalf admonished, turning to continue his path through the trees. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!"

Maethoriel smiled at the wizard's white back and followed after him, adjusting the straps of her quiver. She watched the bottom of his robes, entertained by the fact that despite all the mud and dirt on the forest floor, they remained purely white and unstained. She felt a lot calmer with their wizard back from the dead and among them again, and even let a sliver of hope poke through her wall.

"You knew it was Gandalf," Legolas said from behind her, his voice lifted by wonder.

Maethoriel was not sure how she could explain it. "Not at first," she replied. "I just felt… safe. Once he began to speak, that was when I knew."

"It seems there is a lot more to Emberlings than meets the eye," he said.

Maethoriel felt her smile falter. "Yes, and even I do not know it all." She remembered the way Galadriel had treated her, the words she had spoken. Maethoriel had been so confused, and she still was now. Why had Galadriel known more about Emberlings and Stars than Maethoriel did? If her father also knew what Galadriel would not tell her, then why had he not told her about it? Why was it not common knowledge amongst their race? What was the purpose of hiding the information?

Maethoriel tried not to dwell on it and instead focused on following Gandalf and Aragorn ahead of her. They navigated the forest quickly, winding through the creaking trees until they finally came out near the burned Uruk corpses. Aragorn and Legolas went to retrieve their horses, while Gandalf, Gimli, and Maethoriel stood at the edge of the forest, waiting. Gimli took the opportunity to sit himself down on a tree stump, huffing about it being the first decent break he'd had in days.

Maethoriel stood back a little, her gaze shifting between Aragorn and Gandalf. She wanted to speak to their newly returned wizard, but she also did not want to be distracted from keeping an eye on Aragorn. For all they knew, Saruman had sent out another party of orcs to meet the Uruk-hai here with their little hostages.

Gandalf made the decision for her when he turned away from the views of Rohan to approach her. "It seems some things have changed since I was last with the Fellowship," he remarked.

"We broke without you," Maethoriel replied, looking at him for a moment before returning her gaze to the potential king of Gondor.

"With such an evil burden, Frodo was doomed to eventually separate from the Fellowship," he said. "It would have corrupted us all."

Maethoriel frowned into the distance. "He was always going to be walking into the most dangerous place in Middle Earth alone? Without warriors?"

"With luck, he will not need them. A Hobbit can sneak into Mordor and approach Mount Doom without Sauron ever realising."

Maethoriel relented, nodding. She could not afford to worry about Frodo when she was so far from being able to help him. She had to keep her concerns closer.

"Do not think I have not noticed the change in you, my friend," Gandalf said quietly.

"I have made a decision, Gandalf," she began, so to warn him off an attempt to dissuade her. "My compassion was useful in the beginning, when I was learning to hold people other than my family dear. However, I have decided to let it go no further, lest it distract me from the purpose my father bestowed upon me. All the death and separation," she frowned, shaking her head, "It threatened to consume me. I decided that I would not let it."

He observed her for a moment. "You fear that your compassion would lead you down a path ending in mistakes and resentment. We all are plagued by compassion, Maethoriel, and sometimes, yes, it makes us weak. We are all familiar with this, which is why no one would resent you for a mistake made in the blindness of love."

"Perhaps no one here would hold it against me," she conceded. "However, the same cannot be said with certainty about those watching over us. My father asked me to do this for him and for Middle Earth. It is not often that an Emberling is given a task with such personal importance. I must succeed."

Gandalf hummed an ambiguous answer and said nothing more of the matter. Aragorn and Legolas were cantering the horses back to them, growing closer by the second. Maethoriel was glad that the wizard let the conversation die out before they returned.

"Gandalf," Aragorn called out as they approached, dismounting. "If we are to ride to Edoras, must one of us remain behind?"

Gandalf merely smiled secretively at him, before he walked forward a few paces. Aragorn and Legolas led the horses behind the wizard to where Maethoriel and Gimli stood waiting. They watched him, curious to see how he would solve this riddle.

The answer was a long, loud whistle, followed by another. It was quiet for a moment, and then, in the distance, came the sound of a whinny. They looked left and stood in awe of the white stallion, wild in appearance, cantering up the hill towards Gandalf.

"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell," Legolas spoke.

The stallion was beautiful and graceful, following the hills up before he came to a stop at Gandalf, as white as the wizard's robes.

"Shadowfax. He is the lord of all horses," Gandalf said, nodding respectfully to the stallion. "And has been my friend through many dangers."

"It appears he brought another friend," Legolas commented, drawing Maethoriel's attention away from the stallion.

She could not stop the smile that spread across her face as she walked out into the field, hands outstretched to catch the muzzle of Sadron, the black stallion who had accompanied her in her search for the Black Riders after her arrival in Rivendell.

"It seems I must give my thanks to your master once more," she told the horse as he nudged her head with his muzzle. She looked upwards towards the sky and sent the Star responsible a grateful nod. At least she knew someone was still rooting for her back home.

"Come, my friends," Gandalf said as he mounted Shadowfax. "There is no time to waste."

Maethoriel pulled herself onto Sadron's back as Aragorn mounted Hasufel, while Legolas mounted Arod before helping Gimli up. They urged the horses forward into a gallop, racing over the lands of Rohan towards Edoras. With the wind whipping through her hair, and the ground falling away beneath Sadron's hooves, Maethoriel felt alive. There was nothing in the worlds like riding a horse, she felt. They were such magnificent creatures, strong and elegant and loyal. And while she could go faster travelling from world to world and to the Night Sky, it was not as tangible as sitting upon the back of a horse. Here, she could feel the muscles of Sadron moving quickly underneath her legs, she could feel the air rushing past her skin, and it made adrenaline course through her body.

They rode for the rest of the day, thankfully without coming across any enemies along the way. As the sun began to set, Gandalf called to them that they should find a place to rest for the night. Gimli looked like he could cry with happiness that they were getting the opportunity to sleep again. Maethoriel, on the other hand, still found sleep to be unnatural to her, and so hadn't particularly suffered from the lack of it. However, she would be glad for a moment to breathe and think over all that had happened since their battle with the Uruks.

When they chose their spot, Maethoriel dismounted and removed Sadron's tack, knowing the stallion would come back to her when she needed him if he went away for the night. Aragorn started up a fire, beside which Gimli promptly lay down and went to sleep. Gandalf, Legolas, and Maethoriel sat around it, watching Aragorn as he saw to the other horses.

"We haven't eaten in days," the ranger commented. "I will hunt for us."

Maethoriel sat up straighter, concerned. "Would you like company?" she asked.

Aragorn smiled at her, but there was a hint of discomfort that told her he knew she only asked because she was to keep him safe. "No, but thank you," he replied, before fading into the shadows.

"Aragorn has survived this long without you, Maethoriel," Gandalf smiled at her over the fire. "It is very unlikely that he will come to harm."

She nodded reluctantly. "I have already let one of my tasks slip through my hands. I do not wish for it to happen again."

"Frodo made a choice," Legolas said in his soft voice. "Your father will surely not blame you for that."

Maethoriel looked up at the stars above them. "He might say I could have kept a closer eye on the hobbit."

"And he might be right," Gandalf replied. "But Frodo is a private person and would not have trusted your intention, given the influence of the Ring."

Maethoriel watched the fire for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you are right, Mithrandir."

Gimli snored in the background as the three of them enjoyed the warmth of the fire together. The horses stood nearby, grazing on the overabundance of grass around them and whickering softly to each other. Eventually, the horses lay down for the night. Aragorn returned with a few rabbits not long after and sat down to skin them before cooking them over the fire. The smell of cooking meat woke Gimli, and the five of them ate gratefully in silence.

After a while, Gimli returned to his slumber and Gandalf moved to watch Mordor away from the fire. When Aragorn rose to go speak with the wizard, Legolas sat himself down next to Maethoriel.

"You seem happier with Gandalf here," he observed.

"He has a comforting presence. It is good also to know that Merry and Pippin are safe," Maethoriel replied, watching the wizard and the ranger speak.

"And your decision?" he prompted gently.

Maethoriel frowned and turned to look at him. "Remains solid. Why does it bother you so? We are still friends."

He looked skyward for a moment before he returned his blue gaze to her. "You are an exquisite individual," he replied simply, smiling sadly. "It pains me to think I will not know you better."

Maethoriel ducked her head to avoid exposing the range of emotions she was experiencing. She tried to calm them, closing her eyes against them. "Here, I am an Elf, like you. Nothing more, and no better than any other here."

He leaned in closer to her, murmuring softly. "Maethoriel, after all you have learned about yourself through this journey, and all you have yet to learn, you are underestimating your value."

His proximity made her nervous, and she realised she did not want to put distance between them, which irritated her. He was not respecting her decision to avoid emotional intimacy. "My capabilities do not define me nor my value," she replied, quiet but sharp. Shuffling sideways, she moved away from him. "I am an Elf. You must treat me as such. And you must respect my decision."

The look in his eyes was pained and sorrowful, and it hurt Maethoriel to look at him. "I have offended you," he acknowledged. "For that, words cannot convey my regret. However, I fear I cannot apologise in kind for the wishes of my heart." And with that, he lay down with his back to her and said no more.

Maethoriel lowered her own head to the soft soil and breathed deeply, her face marred by a confused but unhappy frown. She was confident she was doing the right thing by closing herself off from further emotional investments; but if it was right, why did it pain her heart?

They were well into the early afternoon the next day when they slowed the horses to a stop and gazed up at the hill before them.

"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf announced.

It was a simple looking city, with tall walls surrounding the base of the hill and wooden houses dotted all over it, leading up to the largest building on the hill's peak. It was beautiful in its simplicity, however, and would likely hold a community where everyone knew each other's names – the notion of which appealed to Maethoriel for a moment, before she remembered that Saruman had power here and that Edoras was not going to be as friendly a place as she hoped.

"There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown," Gandalf continued. "Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here."

When Gandalf urged Shadowfax forward, the rest of them followed suit, cantering up towards the city gates. As they neared them, Maethoriel pulled Sadron in close to Hasufel, while Arod and Shadowfax rode forward together. Aragorn slowed when a wayward flag of Rohan came billowing down to the ground, twisting and curling into and over itself before laying out on the grass. Maethoriel looked at it for a moment, feeling dread.

"Aragorn," she said, getting the ranger's attention. "I know my quest to protect you makes you uneasy and uncomfortable. For that I am sorry. But it must be done."

Aragorn smiled sadly at her. "Though I do not feel worthy of your protection, Maethoriel, it humbles me. I am honoured to have such a guardian as you."

She smiled back at him, and together they rode through the gates of Edoras and onto the hill the city stood upon. Their horses took them up the hill, past the stables and homes and a miserable people. Edoras was an impressive city, but the effect of Saruman's corruption was clear to them in the way the people watched them, suspicious and weary. The city felt grey and hopeless, but Maethoriel knew that if anyone was to fix such a plague, it was Gandalf. He was the one beacon of light that seemed to exist in the city; however, Maethoriel did not fail to notice the radiant woman in white at the Great Hall, looking down at the strangers. There was something about that woman that made Maethoriel's gaze linger.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli said. Maethoriel wondered grimly at his ability to speak such offensive words so loudly no matter where they were. Surely someday it would prove ill for him.

When they reached the Hall, they dismounted and allowed their horses to be led away. Gandalf was the first to ascend the steps, but was abruptly halted when a handful of guards stood in his way.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," the lead guard told the wizard. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue." The guard tried to hide his distaste for the Gríma person, but Maethoriel saw it in his subtle movements.

When Gandalf nodded to the four of them, they started to strip themselves of their weapons. Maethoriel first removed her bow and quiver of arrows, handing them to the man in front of her, who watched her with strange eyes. It was as if he knew she was not all that she was, and he was trying to work out what it is that she hid from the world. She then reluctantly unsheathed her tomahawk and dagger, piling those into his arms as well. When all of the weapons were collected, Gandalf smiled tiredly at the guard.

"Your staff," the guard said.

"Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick," Gandalf replied, leaning on the staff and looking sorry for himself.

The guard relented and turned towards the Hall, at which point Gandalf sent Aragorn and Maethoriel a wink. Biting his smile back, Aragorn followed the others through the big doors, with Maethoriel close at his shoulder. Gandalf even went so far as to link arms with Legolas to emphasise his so-called weakness.

Soldiers and other men occupied the Hall, watching the strangers with curious and suspicious eyes. At the head of the room sat an old, withering man with wispy, white hair. A modest crown sat upon his forehead, above a pair of milky-grey eyes. Next to the King sat a greasy looking man, with as pale a face as Maethoriel had ever seen, cold eyes, and black hair. The five of them walked the Hall towards the two men, keeping their eyes and ears open in case of an ambush. Maethoriel had noticed a group of particularly suspicious men advancing menacingly along the side of the Hall with their group.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf called out sharply, no longer leaning on Legolas or his staff. He kept his grey robes close to him however, his hair and beard being the only visible indication of his change.

As they walked around a cauldron in the centre of the Hall, Théoden replied in a tired, raspy voice, "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"

They were close enough now to hear the greasy man's voice too. "A just question, my liege," he told the King, who had appeared to look to him for approval of his words. The greasy man Maethoriel assumed to be Gríma then looked to her company. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he said loudly. "Láthspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent," Gandalf snapped. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth." Maethoriel glanced to their right side, watching the menacing group of men continue to follow them. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." Gandalf lifted his staff threateningly to emphasise his point, and Gríma noticed.

"His staff," the pale man muttered. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

The suspicious men ran at the group, and Maethoriel readied herself for a fight. She was not much concerned for Aragorn in this instance, as she had seen that the men were unarmed. Their priority was to keep the attackers away from Gandalf while he did his work. While they seemed reluctant to attack Maethoriel, she had no issue at all attacking them. With a smirk, she leapt at them, punching, ducking, and kicking her way through each one, breaking a few noses and fingers and possibly a rib.

The four of them danced around Gandalf as they selected their next targets, making sure none of the enemies got in his way.

"Théoden," Gandalf called out, lifting a hand into the air, "Son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the shadows."

Maethoriel sent a punch into her last target's throat and he dropped to the ground, spluttering and coughing and crawling away from her. Gimli hurried after Gríma and dropped a heavy boot on the weaselly man's chest.

"I would stay still if I were you," the dwarf threatened.

The rest turned to watch Gandalf.

"Hearken to me," he barked at the King.

Maethoriel looked over her shoulder at the soldiers closing in around them. They seemed as if they were waiting for something, rather than wanting to harm the company, and she knew they were aware of what Gandalf wanted to do.

"I release you from the spell," Gandalf said quietly, flexing his palm at the King. Mikaela felt the air shift around her and her arm hairs stood on end.

And then an awful sound started to come out of the King. A rough, raspy laughter. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey," he gloated.

His next burst of laughter turned into a pained exclamation when Gandalf let his grey robes fall from his body to the floor, exposing the bright white of his new self underneath. Maethoriel watched in awe as light seemed to emanate from the wizard's body, the same way that it would from a Star.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf said, advancing on the King with his staff.

Théoden squirmed in his seat as if in great pain, grunting loudly. Maethoriel heard sudden soft footfalls, and turned in time to see Aragorn grab a hold of the woman in white she had seen earlier. The woman was young and pale and beautiful, but her face was riddled with concern for her king.

"Wait," Aragorn urged her, holding on.

"If I go, Théoden dies," Saruman said through the King.

Gandalf thrust his staff forward and the withered man slammed against the back of his throne. "You did not kill me, you will not kill him," the wizard said.

Maethoriel shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the way the air felt like it was tightening around her. The King was pushing back against the invisible force of Gandalf's power, his face an awful grimace.

"Rohan is mine," Saruman hissed.

Gandalf pushed him against the throne again. "Be gone," he snapped.

Saruman leapt the King out of his throne with a yell and Gandalf threw him backwards with his staff, sending a wave of power through the air that made Maethoriel take a step back. When the King slumped in his seat, groaning, the young woman broke free of Aragorn's grasp and rushed to Théoden's side, catching him before he fell.

Before their eyes, Théoden began to change. His eyes became clearer, his hair shorter and less wispy, developing colour to combat the unhealthy white that had once fell upon his shoulders. Even his skin changed, smoothing and tightening again so that his face was that of a King than an old, ill man. It was an incredible transition, and one that relieved all the tension in the air.

He looked to the young woman at his side, who was smiling with tears in his eyes. "I know your face," Théoden whispered. "Éowen." She laughed softly and held his face as he whispered her name again. When Gandalf stepped away from the two of them, the King turned to look at him. "Gandalf?" he asked, confused by his appearance and presence.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf said to him.

Théoden struggled to his feet, standing tall on the steps to his throne. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he said. He held out his hands and looked at them, running his fingers over each other.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf told him.

One of the King's men came to the throne and held the King's sword out to him. Théoden reached forward and grasped the hilt, pulling it from its sheath to hold it in front of him. His gaze turned hard then, and he looked to Gríma. "Remove him from this hall," he ground out.

His guards came forward to grab Gríma from Gimli and dragged him noisily out through the big wooden doors. They threw him down onto the stairs, where he cowered from the King as Théoden descended threateningly towards him.

"I've only ever served you, my lord," the greasy man tried as he crawled backwards down the steps.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden snapped angrily.

"Send me not from your sight," Gríma begged.

Théoden lifted his sword behind his head to bring it down upon the creature, but Aragorn rushed in and stopped him. "No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

Aragorn leant towards the man, a helping hand extended, but Gríma leaned in as if to spit on it. Maethoriel moved forward then to stand beside Aragorn, giving the man a look that told him she would kill him where he lay if he did. Humiliated, Gríma spat on the ground instead and rushed to his feet, hurrying down the rest of the stairs and through the crowd that had gathered, shouting at the people in his way.

"Hail, Théoden King!" Aragorn shouted to the people, who all looked more than awed as they knelt before the restored image of the man they called King. Aragorn knelt too, while Maethoriel merely took a step back and bowed her head in respect.

Théoden turned back to look at his men, a lost expression on his face. "Where is Théodred? Where is my son?"