The Chronicles of the Fellowship
By Michael Weyer
Of Orcs, Ents and Riders
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For a normal person, spending the better part of three days in the captivity of a bank of heavily armed Uruk-Hai would fill one's heart with terror. For Edmund, all he was feeling was an annoying case of déjà vu.
He winced as the Uruk carrying him leapt over a log, bouncing both of them. Edmund had his arms bound around the orc's neck, just as Merry and Pippin did with other Uruks. Edmund's head had cleared from the blow earlier but he still was in no position to try and escape. Well, at least you're not tied to a tree this time.
Whatever else, the Uruks showed amazing stamina, running across the wide open plains before them without pause, barely stopping for any rest or food. They seemed intent on delivering their captives someplace but ignored any questions to what that was.
Edmund looked behind toward Merry and Pippin. Pippin seemed all right, if frightened while Merry had his eyes shut, blood on his temple from a blow when he was captured. He'd gotten some water earlier and tried to put a brave face on it, sounding like he was acting to get it but Edmund knew he was in pain.
He wished he knew what had happened to Boromir and his siblings. He knew they were alive. He didn't know how but something told him they were all right. Knowing them, they'd try to rescue him no matter what and he could only hope it was soon.
His attention was caught as the Uruks paused before a large cropping of rocks. Before them was a number of regular orcs, all armed and looking annoyed. "You're late," their leader said. "Our master is impatient. He wants the Shire rats now."
The leader of the Uruks glared at him. "We don't answer to orc-maggots! Saruman will have his prize."
Oh, wonderful, Edmund thought to himself. The two bands of monsters hate each other as much as humans. He glanced over to see Pippin apparently chewing on his cloak. It took Edmund a moment to realize he was getting the leaf brooch off his cloak. As the orcs began to run again, Pippin spat it into the ground behind them. Edmund managed a smile as they rushed off into the plains.
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Even as a child, Peter had never been known for his patience. Teenage years and adulthood and back to teenage years had done little to solve that. Given that his brother was in mortal danger and his little sister was sailing into the same, it was no surprise that his temper was growing. Getting roughly four hours of sleep in the last three days only added to it. So it was understandable that he was at the point of snapping at the sight of Aragorn stretched out on some rocks, eyes shut and his ear to the ground.
"Do you really hear anything or have you fallen asleep?" Peter demanded.
Aragorn opened his eyes. "They are moving," he hissed. "They must have caught our scent." He rose to his feet. "Come!" He began to run, Peter sighing before following.
Behind them, Legolas rose up the small hill, glancing behind him. "Come on, Gimli!" The dwarf let out a huff as he followed up the hill, Susan next to him. "Three days of pursuit, little sleep, little food and nothing to show for it."
"Come on!" Susan said, grabbing him by the arm to drag him onward. "I don't like it any more than you do but we need to follow them!"
"I never said I was quitting, girl!" the dwarf grumbled as he picked up his pace. "We dwarves aren't up for long-distance running is all. We're natural sprinters, very dangerous in short distances!"
Susan had to smile as she followed the others up the hill and across more plains. It was hard, the hardest traveling she'd ever done in her life but she was finding reservoirs of strength she didn't know she had to help her along. She followed them as they made their way down a hill and to a cropping of rocks. Behind her, Gimli let out a yell as he tripped on a rock, falling down in a heap at the bottom of the hill. Rolling her eyes, Susan helped him to his feet, noting how, no matter the world, dwarves were not an agile lot.
Boromir was at the rear, still wincing from his shoulder wound. He'd kept mostly silent during their pursuit and Susan suspected that something had happened back at the riverbank that he was not comfortable talking of. She wanted to know what but they'd had no time to converse. Whatever it was, the man seemed intent on reaching the hobbits and Edmund, even more than Peter and Susan were.
Aragorn had been kneeling on the ground and rose, his hand holding something. He turned to show them a leaf-shaped brooch. "Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," he intoned.
"They must have dropped it as a sign they were here," Peter deduced.
Aragorn nodded as he led them up a hill by the rocks which overlooked a huge landscape of plains. Despite their weariness, the siblings were impressed by the amazing area and it's beautiful, unsoiled nature. "Where are we anyway?" Susan asked.
"Behold the Plains of Rhoan," Boromir declared. "Home to the Horse-Masters. Ruled by Théoden, a long ally of Gondor."
Aragorn frowned as Legolas moved before him. "Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets them against our progress." He looked into the distance. "Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?"
Legolas was standing on a large rock a few feet before him, peering at a black mark in the distance. "The orcs are heading eastward!" he called back. "They are taking them to Isengard!"
"Saruman," Aragorn muttered.
"That's that evil wizard you were telling us about?" Peter asked.
Aragorn nodded. "He was once a great force of good but he has turned to darkness now. When Gandalf discovered the Ring was in the Shire, he went to Saruman for advice only to be held prisoner. Before he escaped, he saw the Saruman was destroying the forests of Isengard, to fuel machinery to forge soldiers and arms."
Susan raised an eyebrow. "So the Industrial Revolution comes via an evil wizard. Interesting."
"It is not right," Legolas scowled. "A wizard should know better than to ruin the land such as that."
"We must hurry," Boromir said, moving forward. "We have to catch them before they reach his lands."
"My horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse," Peter quoted as the group began to run again.
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Night had fallen as the band of orcs came to a clearing near a forest, a cliff looking over the plains. Many were panting with exertion, falling to the ground, one calling out. "We're not going no further till we've had a breather!" Oddly, Edmund wondered exactly how orcs learned to talk like people from the rougher parts of London.
The Uruk leader growled before nodding. "Get a fire going!"
The orcs moved to set up a camp and Edmund, Merry and Pippin were unceremoniously dumped to the ground. Merry had his eyes shut as Pippin moved in. "Merry? Merry!" he hissed.
Merry's eyes blinked open as he tried to speak. "I think…we might have made a mistake…leaving the Shire, Pip." Pippin let out a laugh, more of relief than humor.
A pack of orcs were using their axes to cut down some trees for firewood. They started as the roots seemed to move up on their own and a loud groan echoed from the forest.
"What's that noise?" Pippin whispered.
Merry was staring out at the forest, more alert. "It's…the trees."
"What?"
"Do you remember the old forest on the border of Buckland?" Merry said. "Folks used to say that there was something in the water that made the trees grow tall…" His eyes seemed to light up. "And come alive."
"Alive?" Edmund asked with interest.
Merry nodded. "They'd whisper. Talk to each other. Even move."
Nearby, an orc growled as he threw a piece of meat down. "We ain't had nothing to eat but this stinking trash for three stinking days!"
"Yeah," another orc sneered. "Why can't we have some meat?" His eyes fell on the captives and widened. "What about them? They're fresh?" He licked his lips as the trio swallowed in unison.
"They are not for eating!" The Uruk leader snarled as he stood up, a few others joining him. Some of the orcs were now standing behind the first, gazing at the captives as they were dragged to their feet.
One orc with a long face and wide eyes looked at them. "What about their legs? They don't need those." He moved forward only to be shoved back by the Uruk leader.
"They are prisoners for Saruman," he growled. "Alive and unspoiled. They have something, an elvish weapon. The master wants it for the war."
"Weapon?" Pippin looked at the other two with surprise. "They think we have the Ring."
"Shh!" Merry hissed. "As soon as they find out we don't, we're dead."
Edmund felt hot breath flare on his neck and craned his head to see an orc right behind him, licking his lips. "Just a mouth full…a bit of the flank…"
From the corner of his eye, Edmund saw a flash of silver and instinctively ducked his head. He saw the blade fly over him, cutting the orc's head right off. The body fell behind, the head falling at the hobbit's feet, its tongue still at its lips.
The Uruk leader made a grim smile as he hefted his sword. "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" With a loud cheer, the orcs and Uruks descended on the corpse like sharks to meat. "And they're cannibals too, of course," Edmund weakly said.
Merry watched the orcs feed and realized none of them were watching the captives. "Come on, here's our chance!" He pushed Pippin to the ground and started to crawl toward the trees nearby. Edmund quickly followed them, sparing a quick glance behind. They'd gotten a few feet before an orc boot stamped down on Merry's back and the long-faced orc pushed Pippin onto his back. "I still want my own meats, Halfling!" he hissed.
Edmund moved forward but the orc kicked him in the face, stunning him. He held his blade up before Pippin's face. "Go on…squeal! No one's gonna save you now!"
There was a whistling sound and suddenly, a long spear was plunged into the orc's back. He howled in pain as he fell forward, grabbing at the spear. The other orcs were alerted but their glances at the source of the sound were overwhelmed by the furious beats of hooves.
As if coming from the shadows, a horde of humans on horses rode into the camp, hurling spears before them. All were dressed in armor and helmets, wielding swords, spears and arrows as they charged into the orcs, cutting down any in their path. The orcs and Uruks moved to defend themselves but they were caught by surprise, most going down before they could even raise their swords. Many tried to run but the arrows of riders cut them down.
In the chaos, Merry, Pippin and Edmund did their best to run away, avoiding horses and orcs. Pippin fell to the ground, turning over and yelling as a horse reared before him, the hooves inches from his face. Edmund managed to get him out of the way in time. Seeing a fallen orc, Edmund was pleasantly surprised to see his own sword tied to the back. He moved to it, managing to rub the ropes on his wrists against the blade, cutting through it. Grabbing his sword loose, he cut the bonds on Merry and Pippin. "Come on, into the forest!" he yelled as the trio broke away. Edmund spared a glance behind to see the massacre of the monstrous creatures unfolding. Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch. It might not have been a nice thought but it seemed fitting.
The trio ran through the forest, the thick trees blocking out almost all moonlight. "Where are we going?" Pippin yelled from the front.
"Don't know, don't care, just keep running!" Merry yelled, pushing him along. Edmund spared a glance behind and as such, failed to see the snarled root that caught his foot and tripped him up. Merry and Pippin looked behind to see him fall and moved to help only to freeze as another shape came through the forest.
"I'm gonna cut you all up!" the long-faced orc howled, wincing at the pain of the spear wound but still intent as he hefted his sword. Edmund scrambled to his feet, calling back to the hobbits. "Run, I'll hold him off!" He blocked the first blow as the two backed away.
"Up the tree, Pip!" Merry said, pointing to a nearby tree reaching up toward the sky. The two hobbits were quick to scramble up it, watching as Edmund dueled the orc, holding his own well but the creature's ferocity giving him strength. Pippin gripped the top of the tree, Merry right below him. "Edmund!" he called out. He glanced to the tree in time to see its eyes open, then looked back…
The stopped as he realized he'd just seen the tree's eyes open.
He slowly craned around and saw them once more. A pair of deep yellow eyes set in the tree bark. At their opening, the tree seemed to transform, a nook now a nose, the moss a long mustache and beard and the branches moving as if arms. With a yelp, Pippin fell backward but was caught by a hand of wood. Merry also yelled out as the branches around him closed like a fist, tossing him into the "hand" carrying Pippin. With a groan, the tree's roots broke off from the ground, seeming to break into legs as it stepped forward.
The orc had knocked Edmund down and was preparing to strike when he saw a shadow fall over him. Turning, it stared in utter disbelief at the root held over his head and didn't even dodge as it slammed down, crushing him into the ground. Edmund stared in wonder as the tree-being came at him and, with surprising speed, plucked him right off the ground with its free hand.
Edmund grunted as the tree held him in one hand, the hobbits in the other, those yellow eyes glancing at them. "Hmmm…." It rumbled from a break in its trunk. "Little orcs…Burarum…"
"It's talking Merry," Pippin squeaked. "The tree is talking."
"Tree?" the creature boomed. "I am no tree! I am an Ent."
"An Ent!" Merry said with a smile of wonder. "A treeherder! A shepherd of the forest." He glanced up. "Do you have a name?"
Pippin stared at his friend in disbelief. "Don't talk to it, Merry! Don't encourage it!"
"Treebeard some call me," the creature said. "Treebeard shall do for you, hmmm…"
Edmund swallowed as he settled himself. Having spent the better part of two decades with talking animals, accepting having a conversation with a giant tree wasn't as difficult with him. "If I may ask, sir, whose side are you on?"
"Sides?" Treebeard said as if insulted. "I am on nobody's side because nobody is on mine, little Orc. No one cares for the woods anymore."
"We're not orcs!" Merry said. "We're hobbits."
"Hobbits?" Treebread's moss wiggled as if in a frown. "Never heard of a hobbit before. Sounds like Orc mischief to me." As he spoke, he kept them walking through the thick forest, his grip tightening on them all until they were gasping in pain. "They come with fire. They come with axes. Gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning!" He was actually snarling at this point. "Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!"
"No, we're hobbits!" Merry cried out. "Halflings! Shirefolk!"
"And I'm human!" Edmund threw in. "Son of Adam!"
"Maybe you are and maybe you are not," Treebeard intoned. "The White Wizard will know."
"The White Wizard?" Edmund repeated.
"Saruman," Merry groaned.
Without warning, Treebeard let go, dumping the three of them onto the ground. They all saw a pair of white shoes and the edge of a white robe on the ground before them. They slowly looked up to see a figure clothed in white and a white glow about him and all three said the same thing at once.
"Bloody hell…"
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"I'm not complaining, I'm truly not," Susan huffed as the group hurried across the plains in the dim lighting. "But I believe my blisters are getting blisters."
"We had our rest in the dark," Aragorn said over his shoulder.
"Two hours is not enough," Susan gasped. She grit her teeth as she kept going. The sun was rising, promising another day of endless running and little rest. Peter seemed wearied as well but was holding it together, refusing to show weakness as usual. Gimli was doing enough complaining for all of them but no one was thinking of quitting.
She saw Legolas stop and look behind her. She looked back but saw nothing odd but the rising sun with a reddish haze to it. "What is it?" she asked as she turned back.
"A red sun rises," the elf gravely said. "Blood has been spilled this night."
Susan frowned but the elf seemed sure of what he said. Given the strangeness she had seen in this land already, she was willing to listen to him, as sobering as it sounded.
Aragorn paused by some rocks to study the ground, looking at the tracks. The whinny of horses got his attention as he rose. He motioned to the others and they quickly ran to a nearby cropping of rocks, Peter pulling Gimli along. They'd just taken refuge when a horde of horsemen rode past them. There were nearly forty of them in all, all in suits of brown armor, green cloaks and helmets, many carrying long spears.
"Soldiers of the Rohirrim," Boromir said, recognizing the armor.
Aragorn nodded as he stood up, calling out in a loud voice. "Riders of Rhoan! What news from the Mark?"
Peter frowned at him. In his mind, drawing the attention of a group of soldiers who outnumbered you five to one and whose loyalties were in question fell just slightly into the category of questionable strategy. But he decided to let Aragorn handle the situation here until they knew better.
The platoon was racing down the hill when their leader held up his spear. With astonishing skill and speed, the entire line checked themselves and turned, riding toward the Fellowship. The others came out of hiding to join Aragon, Boromir and Legolas exchanging concerned looks. The horsemen began to surround them in a series of wide circles until the six were completely closed off. Then, in perfect unison, they all lowered their spears at the members of the Fellowship.
Aragorn held up his hands to indicate they meant no harm, Peter and Susan following his lead. The leader of the soldiers, his armor brighter and more elaborate than the others, rode into the center of the circle. His cold gaze raked across the six before he spoke. "What business do men, a girl, an elf and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"
Susan frowned, put out by Peter counted as a man while she was named a girl. Peter himself spoke up. "We're searching for friends of ours. We hope you have information that may help us. We've come through the forest of Lothlorien and the blessing of the Lady is with us."
He had hoped that would be a sign of their good intentions but it didn't go as he'd expected. The soldiers exchanged uneasy looks as their leader raised an eyebrow. "So, there is a witch there as the old tales tell. Perhaps you are also net-weavers like her. Tell me your names."
Gimli did not hold back his own barked words. "Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine and more besides."
"I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark," the man identified himself.
"Well, then, Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark," Gimli shot back, lacing every word with heavy sarcasm. "You speak ill of that which is fair beyond your comprehension and only the little wit you obviously have can excuse you!"
Peter closed his eyes. "You could have put it slightly more diplomatically," he muttered.
Eomer stared at him for a moment before handing his spear to another soldier and dismounting. He marched to where Gimli stood and glared at him with anger. "I would cut off your head, beard and all, dwarf…if it stood but a little higher from the ground."
In a flash of movement, Legolas had an arrow nocked and aimed right at Eomer's face. "You would die before your stroke fell!" he barked.
All of the horsemen raised their spears, letting Legolas know that the instant his arrow loosened, he, and the others, would each be impaled a dozen times over. Susan looked skyward. Men, always letting their foolishness make things difficult.
The lessons of his youth in etiquette came to Boromir as he moved forward. "Your pardon, Eomer!" he called out. "When you know more of our quest, you will understand why you have angered my companions. Will you at least hear us out?"
Eomer stared at him, his eyes taking in Boromir's clothing. "A man of Gondor," he said, recognizing the style. "Why do you ride with them?"
Aragon had placed a hand on Legolas' arm to lower the bow. Gimli let out a low whistle of relief before noticing the twin glares of Boromir and Peter. Legolas found himself getting a glare from Susan that would do an elf lord proud.
The riders lowered their spears as well as the Ranger faced Eomer. "I am Aragon, son of Arathon. This is Gimli, Son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realms and Boromir, son of Denethor." There were some surprised looks on the faces of the riders as they realized the son of the Steward was with the party. The surprise was greater to some who saw how Boromir seemed to be letting this strange Ranger take lead of the party. "Also, this is Peter of Narnia and his sister, Susan." The two noticed he didn't mention their royalty and agreed it was best not to complicate the situation more.
Aragon continued. "We are friends of Rhoan and of Théoden, your king."
Eomer sighed as he reached to his helmet. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." He pulled the helm off to reveal his bearded face. "Not even his own kin."
"Eomer…" Boromir paused as the name came to him. "Théoden is your uncle."
The man nodded. "Yes. But now Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and gained lordship over these lands." He motioned to the riders around him. "I and my men are loyal to Rhoan. And for that, we are banished."
"Banished?" Peter frowned. "How can he banish you?"
"The orders came from Grima Wormtongue, his counsul." Several soldiers turned and spat on the ground at the mention of the name. "It is Grima who has been…advising our Lord to ignore the orcs and Dunlanders attacking our lands."
Peter and Susan exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing: There was no possible way a man with a name like that could be a decent sort.
"Dunlanders?" Boromir asked with a frown. "I thought those wildmen had been driven out of Rhoan long ago."
"They have returned, in great number," Eomer said. "They are driven themselves now, committed to destroying all in their path. No doubt, on the orders of Saruman."
Eomer leaned forward, his voice lowering. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked." His cold eyes fell on the elf and dwarf and with obvious suspicion, he finished. "And everywhere his spies circulate."
"We are not spies," Peter quickly stated. He was aware Legolas was seething and even he was having impatience at this man's beliefs.
"We track a party of orcs westward," Aragon explained. "They have taken three of our company captive."
Eomer nodded. "The orcs are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."
"Did you see two hobbits?" Gimli quickly asked. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"
"Hobbits?" a soldier laughed in disbelief. "As in Halflings? Lord Eomer, let us leave these wild folk to their fancies! Halflings are only a little people out of fairy tales from the South!"
"They're quite real, I can assure," Susan said. Eomer gazed at her, as if surprised at her speaking. It was starting to annoy Susan that her Queen title wasn't much of a factor here.
"They would be small," Boromir added. "Only children to your eyes."
"And our brother," Susan quickly interjected. "He's only a few years younger than we are."
"We saw none but orcs," Eomer declared. "We left none alive." He pointed to the horizon. "We stacked their bodies and burned them as is our custom."
A chilling silence came over the Fellowship. "Dead?" Gimli whispered.
Eomer nodded. "I'm sorry."
Legolas put a hand on Gimli's shoulder, whether to steady the dwarf or himself uncertain. Boromir closed his eyes and felt a new pang of guilt. Susan closed her own eyes, as if fighting back tears through sheer force of will while Peter set his jaw. "We need to see them. To be sure."
Eomer gazed at him as if sensing the younger man's pain. He turned and let out a short whistle. A trio of horses came forward with empty saddles. "May these horses bring you to better fortunes than their former masters," he stated.
He replaced his helmet and moved back to his own horse. He paused long enough to say one last thing. "Look to your friends but do not look to hope. It has forsaken these lands." With a kick of the spurs, he set off and the rest of the company followed him, leaving the party behind.
The group watched him go, lost in their own thoughts. "There is always hope," Aragorn said, his voice tight.
"We have to find out, one way or another," Peter said as he moved to a horse."
"If nothing else, we can give them a better burial than a funeral pyre," Gimli muttered. He felt a pain at his shoulder and looked up to see Boromir glaring at him and nodding toward the two children. The dwarf mentally kicked himself for the comment and decided to keep silent as Boromir lifted him onto a horse.
Peter took the reins of one, Susan behind him and he gave her his best big brother smile of reassurance. "He's gotten out of tougher scrapes."
"No, he hasn't," she answered. "But thanks for trying."
Peter sighed as the group began to ride into the smoke in the distance.