Author's Note:
Thanks to everyone for your words of encouragement. Satara, no more guessing or I'll have to keep changing the story. A little different this chapter, please enjoy.Chapter 38
A day and a night later, in the early hours of a cool morning, the anxious and foot-sore hobbit army approached the crossing at Sarn Ford. A fine drizzle had kept up for most of the journey, only stopping as the dawn approached. But though it had stopped raining, the Brandywine was still rushing at a furious pace, threatening to overflow and drowned the surrounding fields at any moment. Across the water they could see only a hazy fog.
As Strider, Pippin, Merry, Sam, Paladin and Saradoc approached, two men emerged from a tent hidden in a small stand of trees. They were both dressed in long cloaks, not unlike Strider's. The riders dismounted and approached the men one of whom Pippin recognized immediately.
"We were beginning to think you'd gotten lost," Faramir said, bowing to the new arrivals. Sam, Merry and Pippin smiled and moved to Faramir, extending their hands. Faramir shook Sam's, then Merry's hand, and finally Pippin's, clasping it warmly and tightly between his own two hands. "Master Took, I am relieved to see you on your feet. I had feared… well, I am glad to see you," he said affectionately, "Though I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."
"As do I," Pippin replied.
"As do we all," Strider interjected. "Any movement from across the water?"
Faramir led them into the tent while the 'army' took a much-needed rest.
"So you've seen nothing, yet?" Strider said to Faramir after he and the others had been caught up on the latest movements. Brenmen, Faramir's compatriot, had ridden in the rain the day before to mark their location. They had been about halfway across the Minhiriath, on foot, when he had spotted them. He had returned to Faramir the night before as the fog nipped at his heels across the rolling plains.
"We can hear them coming, but the fog is obscuring the view and distorting the sound. It is impossible to guess how far away they are," Faramir explained.
"They won't attack until they can see the river clearly. It is too deep and swift to cross and they'll need to use the bridge. If the sun shines at all though, the fog will burn off quickly and we will need to be ready," Strider reasoned.
"I'll get the archers set a ways back, there is a bit of a rise which will help," Sam said.
"We'll form a brigade on the bridge," Pippin offered. Strider nodded and turned to Brenmen. "How many?" The man shook his head but said,
"If pressed, I would say near 200." Paladin's eyes widened. He shook his head as he and Saradoc looked at each other.
"How will it be possible with only 100 hobbits and 3 men?" Saradoc asked.
"It may not be," Strider explained. "But if the others I sent back have any luck, we should get help soon. If not, we'll need a good plan to even stand a chance."
* * *
They exited the tent and moved out into the growing sunlight. The haze had, as Strider predicted, begun to burn off on the far side of the Brandywine. Merry and Pippin went to work arranging the troops with the help of their fathers. The three men stood, gazing across the water into the thinning mists.
"How much help will they be?" Brenman asked Faramir and Strider quietly.
"I would advise you not to underestimate a hobbit. Ever," Strider replied as he and Faramir exchanged a glance and a smile. Suddenly from the haze across the way, a dark shape began to emerge. The hobbits turned and fixed their eyes on the mass of bodies slowly issuing from the fog. Some dropped their water skins or plates while others covered their mouths to stop cries from escaping. The sun continued to dissipate the fumes and soon the entire army was laid bare. Over 200 there were, 200 armed and desperate shadows in the growing sunlight.
At the front of the mass rode two men, dirty and hairy, set apart on horseback. They rode to the foot of the bridge where they stopped. They had not expected an army, even such as it was, to greet them. And they certainly did not expect to see any men among the little folk, so they thought, perhaps, a word was in order.
"You there," the taller one called, a scowl on his face and in his voice. Paladin stepped forward to reply but the man shouted again, "Not you, the big one, there," he said pointing to Strider. But Paladin did not step back. Instead he called out to them,
"I am the leader of these people, anything you have to say should be said to me."
The two hairy men looked at each other, then the taller one turned back to Paladin.
"Don't care who's in charge, just tellin' you we're comin' over."
"You are not to step one foot in this land, not one claw, not one hoof," Paladin called back. The two men laughed.
"You think you lot of rats can keep us out? Some of us've already slept in your beds. We mean to do so again, even if they are small. Oh, and I've a little present for you," he laughed again. He threw a small bag across the bridge. It rolled and bounced down to Paladin's feet. Paladin picked it up and moved to open it but Strider put a hand out to stop him.
"I would not look if I were you. I've seen this trick before," he warned. But Paladin shook his hand off and opened the bag. Merimas's small face stared up at him with unseeing eyes. Paladin shouted and dropped the bag.
"I'll bring the rest over when I come!" the man snorted as he pulled his horse's reins and the two men moved back towards their troop.
A wave of first, panic, and then rage, washed over the hobbits as they heard of the contents of the bag. They lowered their helmets, tightened their grips and pressed their shields firmly against their bodies. Merimas was one of them, imperfect, but one of them nonetheless and these barbarians had killed him. They would fight for the Shire, to defend what Merimas had endangered, but also in his memory, for what he had once been.
* * *
"Pippin, are you all right?" Merry asked as he watched Pippin's face pinch in pain.
"Well enough to do this. I could fight in my sleep if I had to." Merry nodded, understanding him perfectly. They stood together near the bridge shoring themselves up for the attack they knew was coming. And soon.
"What did you say to her?" Merry asked after a moment of silence.
"I asked her if we could be friends, someday," the lad explained sadly.
"Why ever did you do that?" Merry inquired tersely.
"Because that's all there is left for us," he replied.
"Pip-" Merry began.
"You told me I needed to get over her, Merry, and I have. Just leave it be. We've far bigger things to worry about just now." Merry nodded and turned his eyes across the water.
* * *
The charge came when and where they thought it would. There was not a lot of imagination or planning among the men, after all they had been used for their bodies, not their brains. And though fierce, the attack proved to be disorganized and unfocused, like a headless body with a sharp sword. Before the men mounted the bridge, the hobbit archers let fly a volley of arrows taking down half of the front row. But there were more behind to fill their places.
Several from the second row made it to the bridge where many of the sturdiest and handiest of the hobbits met them. Though the men imagined their superior height to be an advantage, in fact, it put them at a disadvantage in close quarters. Bending down to strike at the hobbits' mid-section put them off balance and a quick slash to the back of the knees could bring them down. Once they were down and having to kneel, their height advantage was removed and the hobbits had the advantage of having their feet under them. Each swing of his sword brought Pippin fresh searing pain up his side and across his chest. He breathed in and went on, wishing he were impervious to the pain.
The bridge itself was rather narrow, which forced the men to come at them in smaller groups than they would normally. This cut down their advantage in numbers as well. Strider, Faramir, Freddy Bolger, Tolman Cotton, Pippin and Merry fought on the front lines while Sam, Paladin, Saradoc and the others took out any that got past them. It seemed to be going well until Sam saw something that horrified him. He ran back to where the archers stood, some distance away from the bridge and up a small slope, where he could see the men pulling some large dark objects out from behind the group and towards the river.
"Boats! Take them out!" Sam yelled to the archers. Half of the archers turned to the right of the group and began to fire at the men pulling the boats there. The other half covered the left. The river was swift, but could be crossed if the boaters had a line across the water. Sure enough their archers shot a line across and as they attempted to get into the boat, two held the line in their hands, struggling against the current. Sam ran back down and headed onto the bridge. He grabbed Merry's arm and they leapt over the right side of the bridge with Tolman Cotton not far behind. Strider could now see the crude boats being pulled towards the river. He caught Pippin's arm and they leapt over the left side of the bridge onto the far side of the river. Sword to sword each group fought their way through the men until they reached the boats where they proceeded to remove the men from them.
Some of the archers ran closer to shore and began to fire flaming arrows into the boats. The boats, sealed with sap and wax, lit easily and burned quickly. Men jumped back onto the slippery mud, or over the side into the fast flowing river where most were carried down stream and drowned.
Faramir and the others had won some ground, pushing the troops back over the bridge while Merry, Sam and Tolman Cotton fought back in from the right. Strider and Pippin, having dispatched of the men in the boats while the archers dispatched of the boats, fought in from the left. But the ground was slippery beneath their feet and as Pippin brought his shield up to block a crippling blow from a monster of a man, his foot slipped and he went down.
Faramir could see the scene from his place on the bridge and launched himself over the side of the bridge onto the monster. He landed on the great man's back and drove his dagger into his neck. Blood poured from the gash in the man's neck and he crumpled and fell on top of Pippin, drenching him in thick, dark blood. Faramir and Strider pulled the beast off the dazed hobbit and dragged Pippin onto the bridge as the troop pulled back a bit to regroup for a fresh attack.
The hobbits reformed and the archers came in closer. They fired another volley into the men as they set themselves to charge again. They were relentless and had absolutely nothing to lose. The hobbits had lost three, with Brenman and seven others terribly wounded. The onslaught was brutal and the line of hobbits began to give in the middle. It seemed that the Shire would be lost.
No one ever doubts the will of Evil to work his way in the world. All sorts of tragedies are attributed to Evil enforcing his desires on the world. But good can also enforce her will upon the world. Good would not allow the hobbits to lose the Shire. So as luck, or Good, would have it, the two men Strider had sent back from the Minhiriath encountered a large troop of Rohirrim at the Gap of Rohan who, upon mention of the names of Took and Brandybuck, rode in haste to their aid.
Just as the line of hobbits seemed ready to break open in the middle, a loud cry rose up from the men at the farthest side of the battle. Behind them, thundering across the Minhiriath, rode 65 heavily armed Rohirrim soldiers. The men, not expecting any sort of resistance, were panicked by their arrival. Those that weren't driven into the water to be washed out to sea, were mown down by the riders or attacked from behind by the hobbits when they turned to face their new foe. The troop of men were crushed between two righteous and determined armies and were utterly defeated.