"The White Wizard approaches."
Legolas' words seemed to resonate within Korra, causing her whole body to grow tense.
The White Wizard? As in Saruman? The one who had caused Gandalf so much pain?
"Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us," Aragorn warned, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his sword. "We must be quick."
While Legolas, Gimli, and the two men prepared for a battle, the Avatar's tension was quickly replaced by rage as she settled into a fighting stance, ready to beat his ass into kingdom come too. Not wanting to anger the forest, she prepared to refrain from using fire or earth.
Immediately, Korra sent the figure a strong blast of air, however, seemingly predicting her action, the stranger sidestepped the Avatar's strike with relative ease.
Accordingly, the White Wizard prevented the other four's follow up attacks as he effortlessly deflected the axe which Gimli hurled and turned Legolas' arrow to dust.
Aragorn and Boromir both hissed in pain and abruptly released their grips from their respective swords which glowed red from overwhelming heat.
Before they could do anything more, from the White Wizard, blinding rays of light sprung forth.
"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," the voice boomed, calmly and clearly.
"Where are they?!" Korra hissed while shielding her eyes with a hand.
"…They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"
"Stop with your cryptic speech, you damned heathen!" Boromir barked out venomously.
"Who are you? Show yourself!" Aragorn demanded.
In response to the Rangers command, the light gradually receded, revealing…
"Gandalf," Korra breathed out, unable to trust the sight before her.
"Gandalf?" the white wizard cocked his head slightly to the side before his eyes lit up with recognition. "Ahhh, yes... That's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name."
'How is this possible? Is this a trick?' the bender mused as she observed the old man.
She couldn't quite believe the situation, and yet, there the aged wizard stood, tall and proud, clothed in all white.
The five of them were astonished beyond belief.
"…It cannot be," Aragorn denied. "You fell."
"Through fire and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth," Gandalf acknowledged. "Until at last, I threw down my enemy and struck his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and everyday was as long as a life-age of the earth, but it was not the end. I felt life in me again… I've been sent back until my task is done."
"Gandalf!" Gimli bellowed his name, both astounded and happy at the wizard's return.
"Gandalf the Grey, I am no longer," the Istari announced, "for I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."
The old man's eyes shone with conviction and determination and filled them with newfound vigour.
Concluding his moving speech, Gandalf walked forth to greet his companions, earning many hearty pats, and happy exclamations.
Korra approached the wizard, socking him on the shoulder hard as he got into range. Gandalf chuckled lowly while rubbing his shoulder.
"Pleasure to see you once again as well, young Avatar," he greeted warmly.
"You scared the spirits out of me, you know?" she reprimanded, before pulling the old Istari into a tight hug and mumbling, "Glad to have you back."
Gandalf gladly returned the Avatar's embrace, chuckling lightly as he did.
"I have something very important to inform you of, young Avatar," Gandalf divulged quietly before pulling back and holding Korra at arm's length, "but, now is not the time, I'm afraid."
Though Korra was indeed curious about what the old man wanted to discuss, the ever-familiar mysterious twinkle which returned to the wizard's eyes had made it clear to her that she wouldn't be coaxing answers out of him any time soon.
The white wizard addressed the rest of the Company.
"One stage of your journey is over and so another shall begin. We must ride to Edoras with all speed."
"Edoras? That is no short distance!" the Dwarf exclaimed.
"Indeed, Gimli. However, war has come to Rohan," Gandalf explained, studying the grave looks which he'd received.
"We've heard of trouble in Rohan," Boromir confessed, a grimace donning his features. "Their King is ill?"
"Yes," the old man half-grumbled. "A sickness which will not be easily cured, I assure you."
"What about Merry and Pippin?" Boromir questioned.
"Aye," Gimli concurred, thrusting his axe into the air, for some reason. "Have we run all this way for nothing? Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank tree-infested-"
The Dwarf's complaints were drowned out by the abrupt groans of the trees as if the forest itself was voicing its protests.
"I mean, charming. Yes, quite charming forest," Gimli quickly corrected himself with a nervous smile.
The trees grew silent once again, allowing the Dwarf to release a breath of relief.
"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn," Gandalf informed mysteriously. "A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of the two Hobbits will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains, I have no doubt."
"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend. You still speak in riddles," Aragorn remarked, giving the wizard a hearty pat on the back.
Having made their way to the outskirts of the forest, Gandalf let out a long, sharp whistle.
Soon enough, the sound of hooves meeting earth was heard; a magnificent white horse had seemingly appeared on the plains. The stallion slowed to a trot before stopping in front of the Istari.
"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell," Legolas marvelled, awe creeping into his tone. Gandalf reached forth to the horse and gave it a fond pat. "Shadowfax. He's the lord of all horses and he's been my friend through many dangers."
As if to prove the wizards' words, the mare bucked its head backwards with a resounding neigh, causing two horses to appear.
Once everyone, bar Korra, had mounted their horses, Gandalf offered an outstretched hand to the bender.
"I know you are not fond of horses, but care to join me?"
"… Do I have much of a choice?" the Avatar inquired with a wary glance at Shadowfax.
"Not really," the wizard admitted with an amused huff. "Without warning or any prior knowledge of your abilities, the people of Rohan would no doubt try to slay you if they witnessed your rather unconventional means of travel. Besides, you've ridden much more fierce creatures than horses, have you not?"
Korra considered this for a moment, her thoughts immediately moving to her dear friend, Naga. She figured that riding the foreign horse creature should be fairly similar and hopefully not as bad as her first time driving a Sato-mobile by herself.
Convinced, the bender accepted the proposal.
The old man's grip, Korra found, was surprisingly firm as he helped hoist her onto Shadowfax; a quick reminder that the wizard was stronger than his fragile form often led people to believe.
"Let us make haste! To Edoras!" Gandalf called, his voice echoing across the plains.
Korra hadn't readily positioned herself quite yet, and so, as Shadowfax swiftly rushed forth at an alarming speed, this action was quickly followed by a string of surprised curses from the Avatar, as well as chuckles from the Company.
Frodo's bare fingers ached as he latched onto Sam's elvish rope, before carefully searching for a place to position his feet.
The Hobbit attempted to free his thoughts of the small, gangly creature, Gollum. Even as he led both Sam and him down a steep, rocky cliff, muttering silently to himself, Frodo found Gollum's very presence quite unnerving, with his strange, bipolar personality, and off-putting appearance. Surely these were symptoms caused by the Ring, Frodo had thought.
The rope which held the hobbits was safely secured at the top of the cliff.
Previously, Sam had been revolted at the very thought of Gollum, in his very own words, "tainting my precious elven gift with his grubby hands!". However, his disgust was quickly dismissed as the creature refused to even look at the rope, insisting that he could climb down the cliff without help.
Frodo had never thought that he'd accept the aid of a being such as Gollum… especially considering the nature of their first official encounter.
He'd heard the stories from his Uncle Bilbo about the pathetic little thing, but nothing could quite compare to experiencing his barbaric and obsessive behaviour first-hand.
The bony beast had come to the Hobbits in the night. He swiftly and silently crept up on them as if imitating a spider approaching its prey.
The creature, wearing a scowl on his withered face, donned only a ragged loincloth which scarcely covered his reedy frame. The meagre remains of his thin hair stirred limply in the wind and his bug-like, soulless eyes, burned with desire as he rasped out curses, accusing the Hobbits of theft.
He was determined to steal the ring yet was unsuccessful as his guttural snarls had quickly roused Sam and Frodo from their slumber.
Though Gollum had stubbornly fought, the cold steel of Sting pressed to his bare back, and the elvish rope which tightly gripped his neck provided enough incentive for him to surrender.
With some consideration, Frodo agreed to allow for Gollum to lead them to the Black Gates, though Sam had fiercely tried to dissuade him.
However, the reality was, both Hobbits were dreadfully lost, as they'd repeatedly trekked the same rocks, clearly going in circles.
They knew that a bog was nearby. Its foul odour lingered for hours, and yet they found themselves nowhere near escaping the rocky and harsh lands of Emyn Muil.
With their lack of any sense of direction, they had no means of achieving their mission by simply blindly trekking through enemy territory. Hence, they'd solemnly agreed to a temporary alliance of sorts.
A small and sudden panicked cry drew the Hobbit from his musings.
"Sam?" the Ring-bearer called, his tone clearly expressing his worry. "Sam, are you alright?"
The chubby Hobbit in question seemed to take a moment to respond, eliciting deep and prolonged breaths.
"…I-I'm fine, Mr Frodo," Sam reassured with a weak chuckle, "Jus' stepped on a loose rock is all. Nothin' to fuss about."
Gollum licked his cracked lips and bared his yellowed teeth, a sinister smirk slithering onto his face. Dark cackles racked his skeletal body.
"Fat Hobbitses should be careful~" the creature warned sardonically in a sing-song voice. "Or else you'll fall alllll the way down and-"
Frodo's cold interjection swiftly silenced the gangly guide's taunts.
Sam, whose face had grown noticeably paler, directed a scowl at the creature, but decidedly remained silent. And wisely so, as maintaining any form of conversation expended far too much energy.
Fatigue had long been haunting the Hobbits, both mentally and physically.
The ring grew heavier as the days passed, every step felt like whips tearing into their flesh, breathing grew akin to heated iron searing their lungs, and even their dreams, a supposed means of escape, were blood-soaked and submerged in paranoia.
Frodo absently gazed at the scenery from the rock face. Thick fog obscured the perilous shards of rock which rested below.
"Can you see the bottom?" Sam asked between laboured breaths.
"…no, I can't…" the ring-bearer answered as he returned to his descent.
Soon enough, however, they'd reached the base of the cliff.
Gollum rushed upward through a narrow pass, weaving through pillars of earth, while Frodo and Sam struggled to keep up with his pace.
Swiftly, the creature scrambled onto a rather large rock, the Hobbits sluggishly trailing behind him.
"See? See? We have led you out!" Gollum boasted loudly, eyes rounded while he gazed at Frodo as if expecting praise.
The Hobbit ignored the stare, choosing to calmly observe the still-present mist below
"Where have you led us?" Frodo questioned, feeling nauseous due to the sudden strong stench.
"A swamp; the Dead Marshes," was Gollum's grim reply, "...Come, master. We will take you on safe paths through the mist. I found it, I did. The way through the marshes. Orcs don't use it. Orcs don't know it. They go around for miles and miles. Come quickly. Soft and quick as shadows we must be."
With a small grimace, the Hobbits followed after him, worn out, and cautious of their journey ahead.
Unknown to the group, however, they were silently being observed from afar.
Unreadable emotions dwelled beneath the pair of translucent eyes which easily tracked their movements.
Korra twisted her body, effortlessly hefting her swords throughout the air as she utilised the dull moonlight to defeat her imaginary opponent.
The Avatar was on guard duty, and so, as the others slept, she'd taken the opportunity to practice refine her technique not too far from where her companions had set up camp.
Treat the sword like you would your bending; an extension of yourself. If it ensures your survival, don't hesitate to fight dirty, Fire-Lord Zuko would say.
He was an excellent teacher, she soon found out. The bender often wondered what it would have been like to have the ex-Fire Nation ruler as her fire-bending Master.
Korra quickly dismissed such thoughts, however, as she realised how fortunate she was to have lord Zuko teach her anything.
After an hour, the Avatar sheathed her blades, standing with her hands on her knees, clearly out of breath.
Once the loud thrum of her own heartbeat had subsided, Korra could just barely hear the sound of a pair of hushed voices.
'Who's awake at this time?' she wondered.
Moving back towards the campsite, the Avatar observed silently as Gandalf and Aragorn stood by the edge of a hill.
She could vaguely make out the words being spoken.
"-not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumour has reached him. The heir of Númenor still lives…Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become."
The words were clearly spoken by Gandalf. Most of the conversation didn't reach the young woman's ears; lost on the wind.
Not wanting to eavesdrop any longer, Korra began to move away, only to step on a burnt stick which had strayed from the dim firepit. She cursed her luck.
Aragorn whipped around in surprise while Gandalf offered the Avatar a smile before gesturing for her to join them.
The Avatar hesitated but adhered to the wizard's unspoken request.
"Now, where was I?... Ah yes, you see, the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor, in the hands of a Hobbit," he reminded, his light-hearted tone gone and a sense of urgency now dwelling in his voice. "Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest."
Gandalf observed the expressions of both Korra and Aragorn's and, sensing their worry, stated, "Do not regret your decision to leave him. Frodo must finish this task alone.
"He's not alone. Sam went with him," the Ranger mentioned, drawing a surprised look from the Istari.
"Did he? Did he, indeed?" Gandalf queried with a smile. "Good. Yes… very good."
Without elaborating any further, the wizard simply stared off into the distance and remained quiet, leaving Korra and Aragorn to wonder at the old man's antics.
"Nope," Korra answered quickly, already predicting the Ranger's words.
The three lapsed into a comfortable silence.
It wasn't long before the young bender sensed that something was weighing on her companions' mind if his deep frown and glazed-over eyes were any indication.
Strangely enough, her thoughts strayed to the only segment of Aragorn and Gandalf's conversation which she'd managed to overhear. Something which involved Sauron fearing the man, for whatever reason.
For a moment, Korra contemplated whether or not she should pursue the matter.
"…Why does Sauron fear you, Aragorn? Does it have anything to do with you being the heir to the throne of Gondor?"
She conceded. Better to confront matters head-on then dance around them, after all – according to her earth-bending instincts, at least.
Aragorn seemed to freeze at the question.
"I heard the conversation before," Korra confessed with an apologetic glance. "…sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course."
The man retorted with a quick shake of the head
"No, it's fine," Aragorn faltered, allowing a long, almost shaky breath to escape his lips. "I suppose it is partly due to my heritage that Sauron fears me… A long time ago, Isildur, an ancestor of mine, took the One Ring from Sauron in the war of the Last Alliance. I suppose he fears that I may attempt to claim the Ring for my own as Isildur once did."
The Ranger's tone was surprisingly venomous as he spoke. Not what Korra had been expecting.
"Don't forget too," Gandalf interjected while not looking at either of them, "You have quite the capability of commanding others, Aragorn. Your potential of rallying many for the same cause is certainly something to be feared."
"Men wouldn't rally for a mere Ranger," the man denied grimly.
"Perhaps, but for a King, they surely would," the wizard insisted.
Aragorn opened his mouth for a rebuttal but was cut off as Gandalf approached him and simply patted him on the shoulder and shook his head, before walking away, signalling the end of the conversation.
The Ranger frowned and stood while clenching and unclenching his fists, clearly having an internal debate of some kind.
All the while, Korra had silently been putting the pieces together. She thought she had a fairly good grasp on the man's predicament.
"Aragorn," the woman began, drawing the man out of his brooding session. "Do you remember Zuko?"
The Ranger paused, uncertain about the relevancy, but hummed in affirmation.
"I believe you mentioned him, yes. The one who taught your predecessor fire-bending?"
"Yeah, that's right," Korra affirmed. "Well, his ancestors were… tyrannical, to put it lightly. His great grandfather was the direct cause of mass genocide, and his father tried to mimic this by burning the whole Earth Kingdom alive, but despite all of that, lord Zuko strove to be better. Sure, he was confused at first, and thought his only meaning in life was to gain his father's approval but, he eventually learned that he wasn't bound to be a certain way just because his family was made up of a bunch of psycho's."
Understanding and admiration filled Aragorn's eyes.
"I'm not gonna pretend that I understand your situation but… you aren't defined by the actions of your ancestors. Once you understand this, I'm sure you'll grow for the better," the Avatar stated firmly.
Korra almost surprised herself as she spoke these words but chalked it up to spending too much time with Iroh during her frequent visits to the Spirit World. Surely the tea-loving man would be proud of her though.
Having conveyed her point, the bender made her leave, completely missing the softly spoken, "Thank you."
The next morning, the six riders observed an enclosed city which sat upon a small mountain.
"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan... whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Be careful what you say. Do not expect a warm welcome," Gandalf said, before making his way to Edoras, closely followed by the others.
The six riders soon found themselves entering the gates of Edoras.
Gandalf wore an elven cloak which disguised the white garments which lay beneath.
The citizens of Rohan decidedly stayed in the shadows, their cautious eyes trailing after the newcomers, hissing curses into the wind. The locals were convinced that they had arrived with malicious intent.
"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli grumbled while keeping a hand on his axe.
Once they'd dismounted their steeds, and climbed the steps leading to the Golden Hall, they were soon greeted by a stoic looking man.
The armoured Rohirric analysed the foreigners with a scrutinizing stare, his eyes lingering on Gandalf, who innocently leaned on his staff, attempting to imitate an unassuming old man.
Boromir approached the man.
"…Háma," the Gondorian greeted uncertainly.
Recognition flashed across the face of the man of Rohan before he dipped his head and stiffly replied with, "Lord Boromir."
The man of Gondor winced at the cold tone.
Háma's gaze quickly shifted to Korra, who'd previously been out of sight as she stood behind Aragorn and Boromir. His lips parted slightly in surprise before a bitter look crossed the man's face.
"I'm afraid that I cannot allow your whore to stand before the King. Such an act would be atrocious," he asserted with a disapproving glare.
Those present fell into silence for a moment, processing what they had just heard.
"…Wait, what did you just call me?" Korra snapped, highly offended.
The earth seemed to rumble in response to the Avatar's dismay.
Clearly, the presence of a single woman amongst five males led the Rohirric to make a certain assumption about the nature of the benders relationship with her Companions. Still, she felt outraged nonetheless.
Any further confrontation was prevented as Gandalf was quick to interject.
"You are mistaken, man of Rohan. This woman is my apprentice," the wizard lied without missing a beat. "Very skilled in combat, she is, I assure you."
Háma appeared sceptical but decided to drop the matter for now as Gimli levelled him with a dark glare, twirling his axe as he did so.
"Very well…Though I must inform you that you will not be permitted an audience with Théoden King while so armed, Gandalf Greyhem. By order of Gríma Wormtongue," the man spoke in an authoritative tone, eyeing the Dwarf in particular as he said this.
With some hesitance, they relinquished their weapons.
Unwillingly, Korra, Boromir and Aragorn handed over their swords.
Legolas calmly pulled daggers and knives out of nowhere, a large pile of finely made blades quickly forming.
Gimli loudly threatened the man he'd given his precious axe to.
"One scratch," he growled, "I find one scratch there that wasn't there before and I'll-"
The rest of the sentence was spoken in Dwarvish and certainly didn't sound pleasant.
Meanwhile, Gandalf, using his great acting skills, managed to convince Hama to keep his staff.
"Surely someone as honourable as yourself would not part an old man from his walking stick?" the wizard had questioned, quickly pressuring the Rohirric into conceding.
Now left 'defenceless', the company followed Háma into the Golden Hall.
Gandalf beckoned for Korra, who complied, allowing for the wizard to lean heavily on her arm.
"You're really trying to sell this helpless old man act, aren't you?" the bender silently probed, amused by the Istari's ploy.
Her only response was a mischievous wink.
Korra's eyes raked her surroundings quickly. She made a note of the hostile-looking men that trailed the guards who had accompanied them. They appeared out of place, as they lurked in the dark, moving towards the King; silent and menacing.
Théoden King's appearance was quite… disturbing, to say the least. Expectedly, the man lacked any Kingly presence, which he'd no doubt possessed before falling to Sauron's control.
Even as Háma knelt before him, announcing their arrival, his lifeless, hazy eyes stayed fixated on the floor.
Korra wouldn't be surprised if the man were physically incapable of lifting his bowed head.
With the visage of an ancient corpse which was a hairsbreadth away from decay, Théoden King looked as though merely breathing was shaving years off his life.
A deathly pale man with greasy hair – surely the one known as, Gríma Wormtongue - stood to the right of the King, whispering unheard words into his ear as the conversation between Théoden and the wizard played out.
"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf stated.
"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" the King croaked through laboured breaths as if having run a marathon.
"A just question, my liege," Wormtongue concurred, before stepping in front of Théoden, meaning to address Gandalf himself. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appea-"
"Be silent," Gandalf commanded fiercely. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."
Bringing forth his staff, the wizard began to slowly approach the King.
Wormtongue, mortified as he turned to the guards, pathetically bellowed, "His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff!"
The men you lurked behind the guards were quick to spring into action in response to the man's cries, intending for a fight.
The two men, Legolas, Gimli and Korra intercepted their attackers, soon becoming locked in fierce bouts of hand-to-hand combat.
Though most opponents were taken down with relative ease, Gimli was thrown across the room by a large, burly man.
Any previous thoughts of subtlety which Korra had considered were thrown out the window as she ran up to the hulking figure, blowing the man off balance with a strong gust of air, before sliding under his legs and slicing his ankles with daggers of fire.
Luckily, those present had been too preoccupied to notice the Avatar's use of bending.
The man cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground, gaining a "Good one!" from Gimli, who groaned in pain from where he'd been thrown.
As Gandalf worked to free the King from Saruman's grasp, Wormtongue attempted to depart from the scene, crawling on the ground in hopes of remaining unnoticed. However, it wasn't long before a boot placed to his neck stopped him in his tracks.
The pathetic man glanced up, only to be met with Boromir's vicious glare.
"Don't even try escaping," he bit out through clenched teeth.
"Gondorian," Gríma hissed in response. "…Your kind isn't welcome here."
Garnering a visible wince in response, Wormtongue let out a choked laugh and continued his taunts.
"That's right, and you know this too," the greasy man gurgled as the pressure on his neck increased. "Your people abandoned Rohan at Westfold. Countless died, while you filthy Gondorians thought about nothing but your-"
"I don't want to hear such words from the likes of you," Boromir scowled. "Watch your tongue, before I remove it."
It didn't take long before Gandalf successfully purged Saruman from Théoden's mind.
Sometime during the dispute, the wizard had cast his grey cloak aside, and now seamlessly glowed with an ethereal light of sorts.
Théoden almost plummeted to the floor but was caught by a woman as she bolted forth.
The King's eyes were free of the blinded look which they'd previously held, and his hair and skin had slowly returned to their former glory. No longer did he appear on the verge of death, having returned to his far more youthful image.
Korra was hard-pressed not to gawk at the sight.
"I know your face," Théoden uttered to the woman, evidently confused, but still relieved to see her. "Éowyn."
The King glanced around him, his eyes widening in shock as his gaze landed on the white wizard.
"Gandalf?" Théoden questioned as he was helped to his feet.
The aged Istari bowed his head in greeting, a satisfied smirk on his face.
The King looked upon the people before him, his people, who'd now gathered within his halls, before glancing at his shaking hands.
"Dark have been my dreams of late," he whispered.
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf offered, leading to Háma to give the King his blade.
The sword was magnificent, Korra observed, with its superb shine, no doubt thanks to constant maintenance, and fine craftsmanship. What appeared to be the heads of two horses was forged at the base of the blade, near the hilt. Quite a suitable blade for the King of the country of horsemen.
Gríma glanced at Théoden in fear and attempted, once again, to free himself of Boromir's clutches, but failed tremendously against the man's superior strength.
The sudden movement caught the King's attention. His gaze immediately hardened as Wormtongue came into his sight.
The glare which was cast Gríma's way was one of unspeakable wrath.
Korra, observed quietly as the despicable man was thrown out of the hall by the guards, and almost killed by Théoden King, only to be saved by Aragorn.
"No, my lord! Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account," the man had implored.
The people of Rohan, hopeful that their King had returned to his former self, gathered around Theoden, kneeling while many shouted out in joy, "Hail, Théoden King!"
Satisfied, Théoden made is way back to the hall, before he paused and gave the people around him a sweeping gaze as if he'd just recalled something important.
"…Where is Théodred? Where is my son?"
Probably the most THICC chapter I've ever written, but oh well.
I know the ending is slightly rushed and there probably wasn't as much action as many of you were probably hoping for, but don't stress, they'll be heaps of that in future chapters *cough* Helms Deep *cough* I'm seriously trying to piece together a stable plot which my 12-year-old self neglected to consider lol. Also trying to make Korra as useful as possible without screwing everything up.
By the way, if anyone is willing to be a Beta for future chapters, please let me know. I only need someone to skim over my chapters for spelling mistakes or check if the flow of the story is alright. Please be mindful that I really am rarely in the mood to write though, so chapters most certainly won't be coming out of thin air left, right and centre.
Anyways, very soon, I'm planning to seriously dive into my studies for my end of year exams - yeah I know, "this early on?" I need a good ATAR for Uni, so shush - so I don't think I'll be able to update any time soon. Thank you all for your amazing reviews, fav, follows, reads and, most of all, your patience! Stay safe.