"My home lies deep within the forest, at the foot of the mountains."
While Gandalf and his companions hurried toward the capital of Rohan, Fangorn Forest was filled with an atmosphere of peace and harmony.
Pippin and Merry sat upon Treebeard's shoulders, chatting with him.
"I promised Gandalf I would keep you safe, so I must make sure you stay somewhere secure," Treebeard said.
"Little Hobbits, you may rest easy at my home."
"Hmm... it's quite a long journey. Perhaps you'd like to hear one of my songs along the way..."
As he spoke, he began to chant in his deep, slightly hoarse voice.
Before long, the two Hobbits had fallen asleep.
"Very well then, sleep, little ones. Sleep as long as you wish. I still have some matters to attend to. I have a feeling that a great shadow is growing near Fangorn Forest. And across the river, on the Brown Lands, there seem to be new and stubborn beings taking root... but they are square-shaped and difficult to talk to..."
"I must call a meeting to discuss this."
---
"The great Eye sits upon Barad-dûr, ever watchful, never at rest. Sauron is anxious. He is afraid."
On the western lands of Rohan, Gandalf spoke his thoughts aloud.
"He fears the rising human realms, he fears their leaders, and he fears what you may yet accomplish. And so, when he confirmed that Garrett had gone missing without a trace, he immediately launched a full assault upon the world of Men, hoping for a swift and decisive victory."
"Even the Free Cities have been hard-pressed by Sauron's armies. How much more so Gondor and Rohan?"
"Lady Galadriel revealed to me Gondor's plight. Multiple armies are advancing from all directions, their numbers several times that of Gondor's defenders."
"The fierce assaults and encirclement from the north have been broken, but the noose tightening in the south grows ever stronger."
"That is why we must make haste."
At Gandalf's urging, the five of them set off at once, traveling without rest toward the capital of Rohan.
In just four days, they reached Edoras, where the golden hall gleamed brightly in the sunlight.
"Where did this ragged vagabond come from? Your robes are filthy, unfit for the King's sight!"
Outside the gates, a shifty-looking figure blocked their way, hurling insults at Gandalf.
The words stirred the group's anger.
"And who might you be?" Gandalf asked politely.
"Me?"
"Listen well. I am Gríma, counselor appointed by the great King Théoden himself. Unless your business is urgent, leave at once and do not disturb the King's peace."
At this arrogant display, Boromir was the first to frown.
He glanced around and noticed the guards standing nearby wore helpless expressions.
The captain of the guard, recognizing Boromir, the famous eldest son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, quietly approached and whispered, "This man has wormed his way into the King's favor with honeyed words and feigned loyalty. His influence is great. Even guests have been turned away. Just earlier, scouts who arrived before you were imprisoned for 'offending' him. If your business is truly urgent, you might do better to show some force, rather than waste time with him."
Hearing this, Gandalf shook his head repeatedly.
"Théoden must be blind with age, to have trusted such a wretch."
"How can you slander me to my face? Guards! Seize this ragged beggar and throw him in the dungeon!"
Without warning, Gandalf raised his staff.
Thud!
A heavy crack echoed. Gríma's eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the spot.
Swish.
At once, the guards drew their weapons, pointing them toward the five newcomers.
Though they, too, despised the man, an attack on one of their own officials could not simply be ignored. There had to be an explanation.
"What is this commotion?"
As tension peaked, a voice rang out from within the hall.
King Théoden emerged.
He looked at the unconscious Gríma on the ground, then at the five standing before him, frowning.
"Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir son of Denethor, an Elf, and a Dwarf."
"What is going on here? Why is my counselor lying on the floor?"
"Counselor? You call such a sycophant a counselor?"
Boromir couldn't contain himself. He stepped forward and said, "I have always heard that King Théoden is a brave and wise ruler. I did not expect that even you could be deceived."
"A man like him would be thrown into prison the moment he appeared in Gondor. There is no place for such vermin in the halls of counsel."
Behind him, Aragorn nodded silently in agreement.
In Gondor, a realm that had long lived under the constant shadow and crushing pressure of Mordor, someone like Gríma, even if he managed to climb to power by luck, would never last.
Sooner or later, he would expose his incompetence through some blunder, or his weakness of character would give him away.
In Gondor's current upper ranks, a man without ability simply couldn't survive. Even if the officials didn't deal with him, the orcs at the city gates would make sure to teach him a lesson.
And Denethor was not a man of gentle temper. If the iron-blooded Steward encountered such a parasite, he would crush him without hesitation.
Hearing Boromir's sharp words, Théoden's face tightened. His pride was clearly wounded. He retorted immediately, "That's not entirely fair. I know Gríma can be arrogant, yes, but he's capable. He's taken a great deal of burden off my shoulders."
"A burden off your shoulders?" Gandalf cut in, his tone sharp. "Do you mean how he locked up your frontline scouts and kept their reports from reaching you?"
"There's such a thing?" Théoden's expression darkened.
"But..."
"Do you trust him, or do you trust me?"
Gandalf snapped, cutting the king off mid-sentence.
"If you continue letting this sycophant meddle in your rule, I'll have Garrett come back and kick your backside himself! Don't tell me you've forgotten what once happened in this hall. I'm sure your father told you the story."
Théoden, seeing how unusually irritable and impatient Gandalf seemed, gave a helpless sigh.
"If you can truly bring Garrett before me, I'll gladly turn around and let him do just that," he said.
"I've heard the rumors, Gandalf. Garrett was betrayed by trickery, vanished into the Northern Waste. The people of the Free Cities are furious."
"You needn't worry about that," Gandalf replied. "I know his whereabouts. I've seen him myself. He'll be back before long."
"Is that so?"
Théoden's eyes flickered. Then he murmured, "In that case... may I take back what I just said?"
Gandalf cast him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable, but said nothing further.
There were more urgent matters at hand.
He prodded Gríma aside with his staff to clear the path, then followed Théoden to see the imprisoned scout mentioned by the guard captain.
The moment they questioned him, shocking news came to light.
"The Fords of Isen have fallen. A massive army of Dunlendings and Uruk-hai is marching toward Helm's Deep. Prince Théodred is defending it, but the situation looks grim. We have fewer than two thousand men."
"And the enemy's numbers?"
"Nearly ten times ours."
Théoden's heart sank.
Now he truly felt that Gríma deserved punishment.
Had Gandalf and the others not come, the message might have remained silenced indefinitely.
He immediately gave the order, "Throw Gríma into the dungeon. Gag that cursed mouth of his. I don't want to hear another word from him."
"A wise decision," Gandalf praised.
"So, what will you do now?"
Théoden replied, "Relying on Théodred and less than two thousand men, there's no way to stop that army. I must rally the host at once and march to reinforce Helm's Deep."
"The sooner, the better," Aragorn urged from the side.
"If what the scout says is true, the Uruk host has already crossed the Isen. Even if we march immediately and push hard, we'll only arrive a step ahead of them."
"There's no time left to prepare slowly."
---
While Théoden was urgently mustering his forces, far away upon the walls of the City of Waters, Garrett turned to look over the freshly assembled legions and nodded.
He lifted his head, but before he could speak or even make a gesture, the entire army erupted in a thunderous cheer that echoed across the sky. The citizens who weren't part of the host joined in, shouting with passion.
The miracle at Wayfort had spread through every quarter of the city. That soft, radiant light had become a symbol, a sign that the supreme leader of the Free Cities was under divine favor.
The people's spirits blazed high. Their excitement refused to settle.
Garrett raised his hand slightly, and at once, silence fell over the ranks below.
After half a day of preparation and summoning, four full legions, eight thousand soldiers, now stood assembled on the open ground.
And this wasn't even their full strength.
Part of the city's forces were still stationed far to the southwest, patrolling the coastal seas in ships.
In truth, the total population of the Free Cities was not greater than Gondor's, but their efficiency was unmatched.
With fewer people, they could still field more soldiers.
"Let's move out," Garrett said.
"The road is long. We'll have to march quickly."