Posting this chapter in honor of finally finishing the TTT part of this fic, Jesus, that took me a while. Nobody ever ask me to write a battle again (there are still so many battles to write).

Anyway, I'm finally introducing one of my fav Tolkien characters in this chapter! My blorbo fr😩✊🏼

And, entirely unrelated to that: Happy Pride Month! I know it's almost over but I'll take what I can get. Taking this opportunity to say my Robb is NOT straight bc I could never do that to any character played by Richard Madden. Send Tweet.

Enjoy!!

_______

❄️

In the end, escaping Isengard for good was easier than Robb could have imagined. In a far corner of the storehouse, a ladder led up to a hatch in the ceiling which, in turn, led to a room with direct access to the walkway of the wall surrounding the tower. Once there, all Robb had to do was make his way to the nearest gatehouse—barely guarded: he didn't know whether to be elated or disappointed—and go down a flight of stairs, at which point he was able to practically stroll out of the fortress, whistling with his hands in his pockets.

It was almost too simple, and he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.

Robb kept his distance from the army to his left, which had left Isengard in its entirety, now. Instead, he dashed from one tree stump to the next as quickly as he possibly could without attracting attention. In the days since he had arrived, the treeline had been pushed back farther. At present, there was a stretch of open space perhaps a mile wide on either side of the road. It was not at all ideal, but Robb made do. With all the muck he had walked through already, he was probably dirty enough to blend in with his surroundings, anyway.

It took him several hours to catch up to the head of the army, but he refrained from crossing the road in front of them until night fell. By then, he was far enough ahead that they probably would not spot him, especially under the cover of darkness.

From then on, all he had to do was follow the river. Robb walked through the night, the army with its thousands of torches snaking along the road at his back, but falling ever farther behind.

He felt healthier than he should have, under the circumstances. His head still throbbed with every step, but the pain had dulled—and beyond that, Robb was fine. The week-old arrow wound had disappeared, as had the two thin cuts at his throat. The hole where Saruman had stabbed him through the cheek had closed up, and although his skin pulled tighter than usual whenever Robb opened his mouth, that was no more than a minor discomfort.

For all that Saruman had tried to torture him, in the end it seemed Robb had left Isengard in a better state than he had entered it.

Yet, Robb was human. He had barely slept in the last few days, and in the early morning hours, the lack caught up with him. His eyelids were heavy, falling shut every few seconds, and at one point, Robb startled to awareness three dozen yards away from where he last remembered being. That was the final straw.

Loath as he was to admit it, he would be of no use to anyone if he continued on now. He would slow down or get lost, or trip into the river and drown. Perhaps he would simply pass out and sleep for a day, allowing the army of Uruk-Hai to pass him and wreak destruction on an unsuspecting populace. No, better to sleep for a few hours now.

The army had disappeared from sight earlier in the night. It would take them some time to come closer again, nevermind catch up to him.

Robb sat down heavily at the base of a tree that tilted towards the river.  Its roots were half-visible where the water had washed away earth and sand and stones a long time ago. The incline hid him well from the road, especially as it was some hundred yards away. It was a far enough distance that Robb felt safe, but still close enough that he might hear the Uruk-Hai should he fail to wake until their arrival.

He drew his knees up to his chest, leaned his head against the bark, and was asleep before the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon.

Robb's dreams were a jumbled, disconnected mess.

One moment, he was back in his cell, cuffed and surrounded by darkness. Then, he was at home—in the Godswood, playing knights with Jon, calling for Bran to come down from a wall he had climbed, helping Sansa learn how to dance. He dreamt of walking, of waking and continuing on his way to Helm's Deep, always with the same sense of urgency.

Finally, Robb felt himself slip into Grey Wind's body again. Even in sleep, it filled him with dread. He didn't want to see, didn't want to know. If Robb knew, He would know as well, and he couldn't let that happen, not again—

Robb jerked awake before his mind had so much as settled into Grey Wind.

He stayed frozen for another minute, staring up into the sky. When his heartbeat had calmed, Robb pressed his lips together. One hand clenched into a fist in his lap.
He should have known.

No, Robb thought, locking away every thought that didn't concern his destination or the army at his back. Not now.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and got to his feet.

The sun had risen while Robb had slept, but it was still morning. It had been...three hours, perhaps four, if he was made to guess. Robb could see the black mass that was Saruman's army spilling over the horizon in the distance, but they were still some miles behind.

Enough time for a quick wash. It was sorely needed.

Well aware of what wearing a wet shirt in cold weather could do to a man's health, Robb stripped his off before he waded into the river. He would prefer to clean it, as well, but he had a feeling it was beyond saving. He left his breeches and stolen boots behind as well, but the smallclothes stayed on. Robb had no intention to go more than thigh-deep into the water, anyway.

The river was cold, but not unbearably so. He collected some water in his cupped hands to wash his face first. They came away dirty, and the rivulets that ran down his chest were the same reddish-brown colour. Robb sighed, and spent the next several minutes scrubbing his face and hair, before doing the same with the rest of his body.

At first, he pointedly avoided looking at the scars that littered his skin. When he finally did, though, Robb found it was not as horrible as he had expected. None of that same paralysing fear as before clogged his throat, and although he still did not particularly like them, Robb found he no longer hated the scars. He hated what they meant, certainly. Hated the ones who had caused them. But what use was there in despising his own body for healing from those wounds?

Or—being healed, mostly. It didn't matter.

When Robb's feet started to hurt from the cold water, he made his way back to the riverbank. He put his clothes back on—they fucking stank but Robb did not have much of a choice—slung the bag of food over his shoulder and started to walk once more.

He broke his fast on the go, continuing along the river until the sun hit its peak. It was then that Robb saw a road in the distance. Winding between hills, it crossed the river, going southeast towards the mountain range on the horizon.

The North-South-Road, Robb thought, pulling out his map to confirm.

A tiny smile worked its way onto his face. This was the halfway point. By this time tomorrow he would be in Helm's Deep, helping the people of Rohan prepare for a siege. In itself, that wasn't the best prospect, but it made him feel useful in a way he had not since the Fellowship had split up.

Warfare, Robb knew. Gods willing, he would make Saruman regret ever bringing him into his fortress.

He reached the road quickly, invigorated by the thought of his destination drawing ever nearer. When the time came to finally cross the river, Robb was surprised to see not a bridge, but several rows of stepping stones. They led through the shallow water—shallow enough, Robb thought, to cross safely even without the stones—to a large bank in the middle of the river, and then all the way to the other shore.

The water moved slowly here, where the river was wide. Although he was sure it would soon flow faster and rise higher with melted snow from the mountains, Robb could see why the crossing had been built in this place. He made his way over the stepping stones carefully, but any worries were unfounded. In truth, the stones were wide and flat, and close enough together that there was barely a gap between them. Within minutes, Robb had passed the little isle.

It took him until he was halfway across the second arm of the river to notice the clip-clop of hooves behind him. By that time, it was too late to hide. Still, Robb hurried the rest of the way to the shore. Once he was on dry land again, he stepped off the road—to let the rider pass, ostensibly—and finally looked back.

The horse was bright white, if a bit dusty from the road. Its steps were sure even on the occasionally wet stone, and it looked tall and strong and expensive.

The figure atop the horse was even more striking. They wore padded robes of midnight blue and white, and their boots, belt and vambraces were made of dark leather. Their blue cape was embroidered with gold detailing. Fair hair of the same colour was pulled back from a handsome face in many braids of varying sizes; the rest spilled in locks down to their shoulders. It was this that gave Robb a good view of their ears as they came closer—pointed—and all at once, Robb felt his muscles relax.

If there were any Elves he should be wary about, someone would have surely mentioned them to him. As that had never happened, Robb felt fairly confident he was not about to be attacked. At worst, he thought, this Elf might ignore him.

Instead, as they came up to him, the Elf slowed down their horse and finally came to a stop beside him. Their double-bladed glaive lightly knocked against the saddle from where it was slung around their shoulders.

"Well met," the Elf said. They were smiling, beautiful in the way all Elves were, and in their dark eyes twinkled the same light Robb had seen in Galadriel's. Already, they seemed more friendly than Robb thought reasonable, especially towards a stranger as covered in mud and blood as he was.

Nevertheless, Robb returned the greeting.

"You wouldn't by any chance fancy a ride away from the massive army coming your way, would you?"

Robb huffed a laugh.

"I would, Master Elf, thank you for the offer," he replied, genuinely surprised. "But I cannot in good conscience let them descend on their victims without any warning."

The Elf's smile widened, and he thought he saw a fleeting glint of— pride?—in their eyes. There was no reason the expression should send heat to Robb's cheeks or in fact anywhere else in his body—not from a complete stranger—and yet it did. He tamped down both and blamed it on the fact that he had not had one single positive interaction with a living being since his capture. Still, Robb could not prevent a small twitch of his lips.

"Just so," the Elf agreed. They held out one hand, ready for Robb to grasp it and be drawn atop the horse alongside them. "Well then, my friend: I suppose I shall be joining you."

Robb's jaw dropped, his eyes scanning the Elf's face for any sign of a lie. "Truly?"

"Of course. If you'll have me. We will be faster on horseback, surely."

"Surely, aye."

Robb could not have helped the cheek-splitting grin even if he had tried. He stepped forward and grasped the gloved hand. At the last moment, he hesitated.

"I must warn you, though," Robb said, his smile weakening, "I do stink something awful."

The Elf threw their head back in a silvery laugh. Their hand gave Robb's an encouraging squeeze.

"I assure you, I have smelled worse. And even if that were not the case—" the Elf lifted his shoulders in a way that, on anyone else, would have looked far less graceful— "I am sure I could manage to adjust my priorities. At least for a time."

They winked. Robb flushed again, entirely without his consent, which he found quite rude of his own body, actually. At once, he became acutely aware they were still holding hands.

Gods, he didn't even know their name.

"If you say so," he blurted out, and let himself be drawn on the back of the horse as quickly as possible in an effort to hide his embarrassment. It probably did not work at all, but a man could dream.

He settled behind the Elf, glad to be sitting even if the large glaive got in the way of true comfort. When the horse started to move again and Robb found himself with no other option but to wrap his arms around the Elf's waist, however, he was suddenly very glad about the barrier the glaive provided.

"Uhm, what— that is, may I ask your name?" he asked, desperate for a distraction. "If we are to be travelling together, I mean—"

"I am Glorfindel," the Elf replied.

The name certainly rang a bell. Robb's eyebrows drew together in thought even as he introduced himself right back. Where had he heard it before? It was important, he was sure of it. Some...some hero of old, yes—that alone was intimidating enough, but that was not the reason the name struck him so.

Glorfindel himself had no such problems.

"Robb Stark?" he repeated, half-turning to look at Robb. At his confused nod, Glorfindel's face split into another bright smile. "The Valar are with us this day, it seems! You are just the man I was looking for."

Robb blinked. "Me? Why?"

"The Lady Galadriel sent word to Imladris—Rivendell—that my... experience might be of assistance to you."

Glorfindel cast another glance back at Robb.

"Having died myself, and such," he added more carefully.

Oh. That was—oh.

Oh, Robb remembered now. Aragorn and Legolas had told him the story weeks ago, back in Moria. Glorfindel had fought a Balrog and wounded it, but as it had toppled from the cliff they had fought on, the Balrog had grasped Glorfindel's hair. They had both plummeted into the abyss.

At the time, the tale had interested Robb precisely because the Elf had returned from death, just as he himself had. But when Gandalf had died in a distressingly similar way shortly thereafter—well, Robb did not need Galadriel or Thanarwë to put together exactly why he had stopped thinking about the topic as a whole.

"We need not speak of it now, of course," Glorfindel said.

Blinking again, Robb realised he had been silent for quite some time. He closed his mouth, then opened it again. To say what, he had no idea. Once more, Glorfindel rescued him from his plight.

"I know it is not something one cares to speak of often," he spoke, his voice almost imperceptibly tighter than before, "and with a stranger at that. But should you wish to share your own experiences, or hear mine, I shall be glad to help. Without judgement."

"I—" Robb cleared his throat— "Thank you. It is— That is to say, I am very grateful. I was merely... unprepared. It is not every day, after all, that I meet someone who has lived through a similar thing."

Glorfindel chuckled. "No, indeed."

"I cannot promise I will take you up on the offer," Robb added. His fingers twitched where they lay wrapped around Glorfindel's waist, longing to tangle together and provide Robb with a distraction from his thoughts. He knew he should talk about it, after the way Sauron had played with him, but...

"Not— not yet, at least."

It was rude to reject the offer, Robb knew. He started to give a rambling explanation, but Glorfindel stopped him half a sentence in, his gloved hand coming to rest on Robb's own wrist.

"I understand. No need to justify yourself."

Robb exhaled. He had not noticed how tense he had become during the last few minutes, but he certainly did now, as his muscles slowly came to relax again.
He let the scenery pass him by, a blur of green and brown and the dark shadows of mountains on the horizon.

"There is one question I do need an answer to, however," Glorfindel said suddenly, drawing Robb from his thoughts.

He straightened, carefully not tightening his grip on Glorfindel's waist. "And what might that be?"

"Where exactly is it we are meant to be going?"

Robb laughed.