Sword and Arrow

Chapter 49

Their small party wound their way through the dense forest of Fangorn, the King's guard riding in the front. The woods were lovely, dark and deep, and Beruthiel would have loved to stop here and explore the ages-old forest. After her initial shock in Fangorn she had been fascinated by the sheer ancientness of the forest, the feeling it gave her to be in the dark green light. But she had promises to keep - promises to Aragorn, promises to Théoden, promises to the hobbits. And she had miles to go before she could rest. Miles and miles and miles.

Soon enough, the end of the forest came in view, light coming with it. The company emerged, blinking in the sudden light. With the brightness and the grey of the walls of Isengard came the laughter and chatter of... hobbits.

"It's good," one voice floated with the wind. "Definitely from the Shire. Longbottom Leaf, eh?"

"I feel like I'm back at the Green Dragon," another said. Gandalf scowled at this.

"Hmm... the Green Dragon..."

The Riders came up to the dark walls ringing the tower of Orthanc and saw Merry and Pippin themselves, sitting pretty on the ruins of the gate. The remains of a hearty meal - more like a feast - were strewn between them and there was an open crate lying at their feet. Both of them held a pipe between their lips.

"A mug of ale in my hand, putting my feet up on a settle after a hard days' work..." Pippin said, looking off into the distance with a smile.

"Only, you've never done a hard days' work," Merry pointed out. Both of them laughed raucously.

"They're stoned out of their minds," Beruthiel whispered to Aragorn, drawing her horse up beside Brego.

The tall Ranger laughed under his breath. "When aren't they?"

For the first time, the two hobbits noticed the company of riders stopped outside the crumbling walls. Merry jumped up to his feet, a mug of ale or beer in one hand and a pipe in the other. He gestured towards the company with the pipe, beaming broadly. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" he proclaimed.

Aragorn was still laughing, and now he looked up at the hobbits with a broad grin. "You- you young rascals!" Gimli growled from behind Legolas. "A merry chase you've led us on, and now we find you feasting, and... and smoking!"

"We are sitting on a field of victory," Pippin enunciated, more than a little drunk and definitely touched by the leaf, "enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork?" Gimli exclaimed.

"Hobbits," Gandalf muttered, already exasperated after spending a few seconds with the hobbits after at least a week without them.

"We're under orders from Treebeard," Merry explained. He was much more sober than Pippin, though he did slightly slur his words. "He's taken over management of Isengard."

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With the hobbits, the company went past the broken walls and into the ring of Isengard. The once-green compound was now flooded with dirty water. Objects floated in the water - crates, logs, clothes. Where the water was deeper and almost wetted Beruthiel's stirrups, she stretched out her leg and tipped her toe in the water, pulling out something that looked like a string with a small object attached to it.

She bent down and freed it from her shoe, holding it up as their horses waded through to the shallower water. Beruthiel cleaned off the dirt and grime to see a crudely carved amulet - no, a locket or a pendant. It was a necklace, she realized, crudely - but lovingly - made with twine and carved wood.

With the edge of her shirt, she cleaned the pendant, rubbing off the dirt that had collected on it. What she found was a careful rendering of a face - not a well-made drawing, but it was made with care and it was obvious that this person had loved them. A script that looked familiar to Beruthiel but she couldn't quite read stretched across the top. It looked like the initials of two people.