To Edoras

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.

"...Do you-"

"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."

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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 (his arse) 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?"