Chapter Two:
Riding into Esteldin, on Saeradan's spare mount, Holly dismounted and turned him over to the boy acting as stablehand. "I may need him in a hurry, so don't unsaddle him yet," she warned the boy, deepening her voice with a twist of magic to match the man's tunic and trousers she was wearing.
Once Strider and the hobbits had left, leading Pebbles, who was loaded down with supplies, she had changed into her own Ranger gear, swapped out the contents of her saddlebags, and picked up her bow. Kreacher had been ordered to keep the farm running until she told him otherwise, and then Holly headed up the Greenway to Saeradan's cabin. Thankfully the Ranger was willing to let her borrow his spare, especially with the troubling news she brought from Bree, but he hadn't bothered to explain what he knew about Strider. He was bad at masking his surprise at the name, but refused to tell her what was important about the man, saying it wasn't his place.
Still irritated by the refusal, she stalked through the enclave, searching for a familiar face. Finally, she found one.
"Daervunn!" she barked, causing the man to startle and look up. Crossing the distance between them, she grabbed his arm and snapped: "Is Halbarad in the enclave, or is he elsewhere?"
"He's here, but you're supposed to be in Bree…" the man replied slowly. "What's going on?"
"I need to speak with Halbarad," she said, brushing by him and heading for the Halbarad's private study. If he was in residence, it was most likely that he was inside. "There's news from Bree, and none of it good."
Thankfully, her target was at the desk in his study, looking over what was probably a stack of reports. Daervunn trailed after her as she stormed in, but she ignored him for the moment. "I need proof that I'm affiliated with you to show to another Ranger."
"Why aren't you in Bree?" was his first question, but he waved it aside almost immediately, asking: "What about the usual passphrase?"
"I gave him the phrase and the whole verse, but he refused to trust me and sent me to you. I'm supposed to get proof and bring it to Imladris."
"According to Saerdan's reports, you'd made contact with all of the dunedain in Bree-land, except for the new arrival down by Buckland, but you don't ever go there," Halbarad said, shuffling through his papers. "It's not Lenglinn, is it?"
"He wouldn't give me his proper name," she hissed, throwing herself into the chair next to him. "In Bree, he's apparently called Strider."
Both men startled at that, turning to look at her slowly. Scowling, she threw up her hands and slouched in her seat. "Wonderful! Everyone knows this man except for me."
"Why didn't you go to Amdir? He's supposed to be in charge of operations in Bree-land."
Halbarad's question made her sober up, putting aside her irritation. "Amdir is dead. So is Mundol and his entire outpost, at least according to Strider. Saeradan, Linnor, this Lenglinn, and I are the only ones left."
"Amdir is dead? No wonder he's getting involved," Halbarad murmured, setting aside his reports. "Why did you come in contact with Strider at all?"
"There was an incident in the Prancing Pony." Holly related the events of the night the hobbits had arrived, not omitting the magic she had sensed and her attempt to follow it. "The closest thing I can compare it to is a soul fragment, something I encountered once and hoped never to see again." she explained, knowing that these two men alone knew that she had magic, that it could be used rudimentarily to shield her. They had talked once, soon after she came to them, of seeking out Gandalf, or another of the Istari, but she had argued that even as limited as she was, she was more useful being put to work than trying to track down an elusive wizard. "It...a soul fragment, separated from the original soul, keeps the soul from passing through the Halls of Mandos, keeps the soul anchored here, in Arda."
"Isildur's bane," Halbarad murmured, the words slipping from his mouth like an oath. "It has been found at last. That explains Gandalf's request."
"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Holly snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "Otherwise, I'm going to get back on the horse, find my way to Rivendell, and bang on the door until someone lets me examine the soul fragment."
"When the Enemy was defeated long ago, by the last great alliance of elves and men, the second high king in the north, Isildur, cut a ring from the Enemy's finger. Immediately, the darkness subsided, and the day was won by men and elves. Gil-galad and Elendil perished, along with many others, but Isildur survived, taking the Enemy's ring with him. When Isildur was murdered in the Gladden Fields, the ring was thought lost, but Gandalf came to us recently, looking for lore about the Enemy's ring."
"It was said," Halbarad continued, picking up the story from Daervunn, "that a great deal of the Enemy's power, and his malice, was bound up in the creation of the ring, and that was why he fell when it was cut from his hand. It could very well be this soul fragment you described, and it could be that the hobbit Underhill has come into possession of this terrible treasure."
Seizing a blank piece of paper, he wrote a brief note, before folding it and sealing it with a daub of red wax. Pressing his seal into it, he handed it to her. "Take this to Imladris, as quickly as you can ride. Give it only into the hands of Elrond, Strider, or Gandalf. Tell anyone else that I have sent you, if they ask."
"Do you have a map of the route?" she asked, taking the letter and tucking it into her belt pouch, enchanted to be magically expanded.
Pulling down two scrolls after a moment of studying the array tucked into the shelves above his desk, Halbarad unrolled the first. "This is the Forsaken Inn. Follow the road out of Bree, and go straight east along it after the Inn. There are rumors of an enclave of men in the hills, but the land is desolate and the people grew strange, after the fall of the northern kingdom. Do not stray from the path once you have passed the inn. What allies you have in those lands I cannot say for sure. There are a few Rangers who watch the Lone Lands, but I rarely know where they are at any given time."
Opening the other map, he laid it out next to the first. "This is the Last Bridge. Once you cross this, be on your guard. Sixty years ago there were trolls bold enough to come down from the mountains; it is anyone's guess what is breeding there now. Ride until you reach the Bruinen Fords, and then climb to the flatlands above and ride north. Either you will find the gate to Imladris, or their outriders will find you. There may be patrols from Imladris in the Trollshaws, but I would not count on them."
She stood as he stood, and he clapped her heavily on her shoulder. "Be on your guard, Thuri," he murmured. "Ride as hard as you dare. If you come across Strider and the hobbits in the wilderness, it might be best for you to join them. And when you get the chance, I advise you to tell him everything."
When Holly rode into her farm, Snuffles charged up to greet her. Saerdan's spare mount shyed at the dog's approach, but Holly slid off and quieted Snuffles, leading the horse the rest of the way towards the fence.
Looping the reins over the top rail, she headed for the house, knowing she needed to talk with Kreacher before figuring anything out. Saerdan's mount would need a breather before he drank anything, after the pace she set coming down from Trestlebridge.
There was a scrap of paper nailed to the door, and she pulled it free as she opened the door, jiggling the lock and undoing her wards.
Holly,
Your mount came back. I left his tack in the sheepshed and turned him loose.
Bob
Well, that was well timed. "Kreacher?" she called, seeing the main room of the house empty.
Appearing without a sound, the house elf looked up at her with crossed arms. "Mistress has been away."
"I told you, I think we're dealing with another horcrux," Holly said, tossing the strip of paper into the embers on the hearth. "If I'm right, I'm the only one who might be able to help with it. And that means I have to go to Imladris."
Sniffing, the house elf snapped his fingers, and bowls began floating down from the shelves to rest on the table. "Kreacher will make travel bread for his mistress who insists on being away from Kreacher."
"You're welcome to come with me," she offered, glancing at the elf as he moved over to orchestrate the baking process. "You'd have to be unseen when there are others around, but I wouldn't make you stay here if you didn't want to." When she'd been riding messages, she was rarely gone from their current home for more than a day or two, but this trip would take her further than she'd ever ridden before, and she didn't know how long it would take to convince anyone about the horcrux, if the ring was truly one as she suspected.
"And who will take care of Mistress's sheep?" the house elf countered as he began mixing batter and getting the oven hot enough for baking. "Kreacher will stay here."
"I was going to offer to send the sheep north to Esteldin. With the refugees trickling in from further north, and the east, they'll be able to pass them off as rescues until we can take them back." Entering the small bedroom that she had added after deciding she didn't want to have her bed in the main room unlike how it originally had been structured, she opened up her wardrobe. Kreacher was perfectly happy with the corner of the loft she'd set aside for him, and they didn't need a ton of space since most of what they'd recovered from Grimmauld Place when they left had been left in expanded trunks, which were packed into a single trunk in her cellar.
Setting her saddlebags on the bed, she emptied them of the supplies she had brought to Esteldin and opened the false floor in the wardrobe to reveal the rest of her Ranger apparel. For a moment, she considered how many changes she would need, and then she shrugged and rolled everything she had into neat saddlebags were weightless and extended; she'd have enough room.
Turning to leave the room, she paused, then returned to the wardrobe. Grabbing one of her work dresses, she bundled it up and stowed it at the bottom of the saddlebags. Experience had taught her that she could sometimes benefit from dressing as a woman, instead of just attempting to pass as a man the way she usually did outside of the settlements she'd grown to deem as safe.
Kreacher was loading the first batch of waybread into the oven when she reappeared. "Mistress can trust in Kreacher. Kreacher will keep sheep safe."
"If I'm going to be away for a long time, I'll call for you," she promised, gathering a bundle of carded wool and her drop spindle. She might have to wait in Rivendell, depending on which paths Strider was taking the hobbits along. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"
Shaking his head, the house elf pointed to the door. "Kreacher be capable elf. Mistress frets too much. Go take care of Ranger horse."
"I'll just pony him up to Saerdan and let him know where I'm going," she said, leaving her saddlebags on the table. "I'll stop back before I go and say goodbye."
She stopped at the Pony on her way out, leaving a note with Nob, claiming that she'd been contracted by the lady on the farm to bring it to Barliman. With her voice masked by a charm, and her hood and cowl obscuring her face, nobody in Bree recognized her. It meant she got a cold reception, but that didn't matter. Once she was past the south gate, she mounted up and headed east.
Stopping at the Forsaken Inn for the night, she settled into the corner of the taproom to listen to the news. Unfortunately, all of it played into the bad feeling she'd been having ever since she'd left Strider and the hobbits.
"I tell you, there were lights on the old hill," one of the regulars was saying, gesturing with his tankard somewhere vaguely to the north. "Two nights ago, and then three nights afore that! Summat strange is happening, believe you me."
"Like fireworks they were," another woman chimed in, sliding onto one of the benches at the main table. "Strange times we have, and we don't need none of it here."
"That's the old watchtower, right?" Holly risked the question, wanting to orient herself. She had checked the map earlier, before she had left the room she'd been assigned, and there was an old watchtower from when the northern kingdom was divided into three. When she had ridden in, she thought she had made out the shape of a ruined watchtower in hills north of the inn.
"Back from when we actually had a king sitting on some throne," the barkeep said, spitting into the fire, likely as a reflection of his opinion of the fall of the northern throne. "Not that any of them gave a lick about us. Just left us to dangle out here in the middle of nowhere."
"There were lights on the hill," someone else protested, and the entire taproom devolved into arguments about the watchtower and what had been seen.
As she settled back to listen, mentally taking notes, Holly couldn't help but think about Amon Sûl, Weathertop. The place where Elendil had stood to watch for Gil-galad's army at the end of the last age. A shiver ran down her spine as she wondered what she might see if she stood atop it and gazed out.
She left early in the morning, before most of the inn's occupants were awake. Saddling her mount, she fastened her saddlebags and set off down the road.
Another check of her map showed that the road ran over a bridge and then wandered through a densely hilled area until it crossed another river and wound up until it reached a section of flat lands. Unfortunately, there was no way for her to tell how long it would take her to reach Rivendell.
The scenery around her was unchanging; scrub grass on jagged hills, a country where a single traveller could pass unseen if they had the skills and knowledge to do so. Sometimes Holly thought she saw flickers of movement, but there was nobody else on the road. At noon, she'd dismount and walk for a time, resting her mount, and at night she'd find a sheltered hollow just off the road, wrap herself in her cloak, and eat sparingly of the rations Kreacher had packed for her.
Midway through her second day out from the Inn, she found a small spring just to the north of the road, surrounded by ruined walls, but otherwise abandoned. She felt no taint in it though, and it tasted pure enough, untouched by whatever destruction had fallen upon the spring and the ruins on the hillside overlooking it. That night, she heard howling, a sound she hadn't heard since she had left the North Downs and the well trodden paths of her message routes. There were wolves abound in this desolate land, wolves, or possibly wargs. Her horse shifted uneasily, but Nor was Esteldin trained and wouldn't bolt at the sound, though he had no love for it.
On her fourth day out from the Inn, six days since she'd set out from Bree, she spotted a lone rider, and dismounted immediately. Drawing her hood further over her face, she led Nor into the shadows cast by the banks on either side of the road and pressed forward, careful not to let either of them make a sound. A hand on the leather of her horse's tack silenced any jangling buckles, and she crept forward, wondering who this other traveller was.
The wind shifted as she drew closer, carrying the clear sound of bells ringing on the air. From what she could see, the bridle the horse was wearing was bedecked with jewels, and it almost seemed as if the rider bore an aura of white light around him.
For a moment, she thought about cloaking herself, about remaining hidden, but then she noticed the golden hair and felt a whisper that felt like magic, a whisper of something she hadn't felt since before she had left Aughaire for Donnvail years ago. It was that whisper that made up her mind, and she slipped out of the shadows of the bank
"Mae govannen," she called carefully, maintaining the charm on her voice to keep it vaguely masculine. "I am looking for a dunadan and four hobbits. Have you seen them?"
"Mae govannen," the rider replied, halting in front of her. "I would ask why you are looking for your kin, but while you may be a Ranger, you are not a dunadan."
Rolling her eyes, Holly responded: "It's the height isn't it?"
"I have never seen a single of my fair cousins stand so close to the ground," the elf said, dismounting with a bright laugh. "But I too come in search of the hobbits; to hear that they are in the company of one of the dunedain cheers my spirits."
"Four hobbits, and the dunedan known as Strider by the men of Bree, set out from that very town twelve days ago, journeying to Rivendell. I went north at first, and then set out myself to Rivendell." Holly grimaced as she glanced at the river in the distance. "I had hoped to meet them on the road, but I fear I will not see them again until I reach Rivendell."
"They have not yet reached Imladris," he replied, stroking his mount's neck. "Word came from my kin that the Nine were abroad, and that a hobbit was walking east with a dangerous burden, and Elrond Peredhel sent me in search of him. I am pursuing three of them that I came upon earlier; watching the bridge, which leads me to believe the hobbits have not yet crossed over into the Trollshaws."
"I have seen no other living soul on the roads, friend or foe."
"What business took you north?" The elf looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and she sighed.
"Halbarad of the Dunedain placed me in Bree to support the defenses of the northern kingdom, but when I attempted to offer my assistance to Strider, who had already taken on the hobbits as his charges, he would not trust in the established verifications and bade me ride north to his brethren to obtain further verification of my trustworthiness. I would offer it to you, but he bade me not to show it to anyone but Strider, Elrond, or Gandalf." Holly did her best to keep her voice level and not betray the irritation she still felt when she thought of how wary Strider had been, but she could tell it showed.
"You may keep your verification, Ranger!" the elf laughed, and Holly saw some of the tension bleed out of his posture. "This meeting ought to prove fortuitous to us both. Here I was torn between pursuing the servants of the Enemy and ensuring that the bridge remained open, should I miss the hobbits, and you now come along. If you will stay at the Bridge and ensure it remains open for our wanderers, I will go in search of the servants of the Enemy."
"And if the company has already crossed, or finds another crossing?" Holly was wary that the elf was attempting to divert her, to leave here with a task that would end fruitlessly and give Strider and the hobbits a chance to reach Rivendell and make decisions without her being able to examine the horcrux that Underhill carried.
"Then you will ride with me to Imladris, and we will meet them there. Now, may I have your name, and something we can use to identify ourselves when we meet again?"
"You can call me Thuri," she answered with a shrug. Names had become meaningless to her since her arrival in Middle Earth. Each of the peoples she dwelled with called her by something different, depending on what she meant to them. "And the passphrase I use with the Rangers is May the seven stars yet shine, above the white tree."
"Well met, Thuri who rides with the Dunedain." Giving her a polite bow, the elf said: "I am Glorfindel. Your passphrase is curious, given whom you have ridden out in search of."
"One of these days someone is going to explain to me who this Strider truly is," Holly muttered under her breath. Glorfindel laughed quietly, the sound drawing her attention, and she froze. "Wait, Glorfindel? The Glorfindel, of Gondolin?"
"Later, my friend," the elf said, mounting his horse. "One day we will sit in the Hall of Fire in Imladris and you may hear all the stories you wish, so long as there are those who wish to tell them! But for now, the enemy is fleeing and there is a crossing which needs watching. If Strider and the hobbits approach, it is up to you whether you ride with them or stay and wait for me at the bridge. Farewell, Thuri!"
In a chime of bells, he rode off, leaving Holly to stare after him. After a long moment, she sighed, and mounted Nor, moving towards the bridge as quickly as she could.
She had been camped in the shadow of the bridge for two days when she heard the faint sound of a person upon the road. Leaving Nor picketed under the bridge, she slithered up through the brush, careful not to make a sound as she approached.
To her relief, it was Strider she found, kneeling to examine a patch of mud near the bridge supports. As she stood, he looked up, hand going to the hilt of his sword.
"The Dunedain are not usually so short," he said warily, and Holly contemplated stabbing the next person to comment on her height. "And they rarely come so far east."
Tugging her cowl down, Holly smirked as he raised his eyebrow at her. "Halbarad sends his regards," she said coolly, reaching into the hidden pocket where she carried his letter. "I do hope you haven't lost my horse."
"I thought you planned to ride to Rivendell," Strider replied easily, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Yet I find you here on the banks of the Hoarwell."
"Two days ago I met with Glorfindel of Gondolin, and he bade me to watch the bridge while he pursued the servants of the Enemy that he had driven from it."
"That certainly explains the elf stone I was examining," Strider said, toeing something loose from the mud before bending to pick it up. "Did he say in which direction the riders fled?"
"They went west," she replied with a shrug. "Would you like the letter from Halbarad, or shall I simply ride ahead to Rivendell once you've crossed?"
Removing his hand from the sword hilt, he took the letter from her and examined the seal before breaking it open. Whatever Halbarad had written seemed to amuse him, given the faint smirk he wore as he glanced up at her. "So Thuri rides again. As you are likely aware, our methods of carrying messages are less than reliable."
"Yet at least they are secure," she countered. It had taken some creativity and a few iterations of trial and error, but at least every messenger who rode out from one of the Ranger encampments carried their messages in a pouch enchanted to cede its contents only to dunedain or elves. If a servant of the enemy attempted to breach them, the messages would destroy themselves, much like a spent howler. "Now, have you lost my horse and your companions?"
"They are hidden in the hills while I investigated the crossing," Strider said, tipping his head slightly towards the hills to the south. "Be ready upon my return; we will cross and then get off the road as quickly as possible. I do not like being out in the open."
Nodding, Holly slipped back through the brush to her tiny campsite under the bridge. Making sure the ashes from the smokeless fire she had built to boil water were covered, she led Nor out of the shadows before kneeling and sending a brief pulse of magic through the ground, willing it to smooth out and restore itself to the state she had first found it in.
When she returned to the bridge, Strider and the hobbits were approaching, Underhill atop Pebbles, and the hobbits as a whole looking concerned.
"What happened to him?" she asked as they drew close enough to speak.
"We had an encounter with the riders on Amon Sûl eight days ago," Strider said shortly, leading Pebbles to where she stood. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade. We must get him to Rivendell."
Briefly, she rested her hand on the hobbit's calf as Strider led him by, and she frowned at what her magic was telling her. It was a confusing mix of sensations, masked somewhat by the presence of the horcrux she knew the hobbit carried, but she could sense he was in no immediate danger, and there was nothing she would be able to do for him, at least nothing that she knew how to do.
"Put the packs on Nor," she said, motioning to the bundles Pebbles was carrying, despite Underhill riding. "We'll be able to move much faster that way." Technically Pebbles was better used as a packhorse, but he was solid and steady, better for carrying an injured person unfamiliar with riding than Nor, who was born and trained to be a messenger's mount, though she'd augmented his training.
They paused briefly to reshuffle, and then Strider set out, grimly leading, with one of the hobbits following, Pebbles's reins clasped tightly in his hand. Holly found herself bringing up the rear with Nor, the younger two hobbits in front of her.
"Are you certain we can't stick to the road?" she asked, eyeing the wilderness to the north of the bridge distrustfully. Her map was rather short on topographical details for the region between the Hoarwell and the Misty Mountains, but from what she could see, it was forests and hills, and if there were paths, it had been several lifetimes since anyone had walked them consistently.
"We're too much of a target if we take the Road," Strider said shortly as he stepped onto a path only he could see. "Take the Road yourself if you like, but I will not risk it."
"Suit yourself," Holly grumbled under her breath, falling in behind the younger two hobbits.
Four days later, after being dragged backwards through what felt like every bush, tree, and shrub west of the Misty Mountains, Strider finally led them back to the road.
Holly managed to refrain from saying I told you so, but only because she was too relieved to see the end of trekking in the wilderness. But from the irritation in his glance in her direction as they stepped out onto the path, he knew she was thinking it.
"We must make haste," he said as they camped that night, tucked away just off the road. Underhill was sleeping restlessly, watched over by the hobbit the others called Sam, while the younger two, who reminded Holly a little bit of Fred and George towards the end of the war, quietly chewed on the rations they'd been given for dinner. "While Glorfindel cleared the crossing at the Hoarwell, I dare not trust that the Bruinen will not be held against us."
"Glorfindel may have turned back and followed the Road," Holly pointed out as she unstrung her bow, coiling the string and slipping it into her belt pouch. Examining the bow for any damage, she wrapped it in the oiled leather she used to store it in and set it aside, reaching for the knives she kept belted to her waist and checking those for any maintenance they needed. "He could be holding the ford for us as we speak."
"If he was pursuing three riders as you say he was, he may not yet have turned back. That does work in our favor though, leaving us without those three to worry about." Strider was checking his own weapons, inspecting his bow much as she had, but instead of checking the knife hanging on his belt, he drew his sword for the first time since she had joined the company.
To her surprise, the blade was only a foot long below the hilt, much less than the scabbard had suggested.
Strider caught her looking at it and grinned wryly. "Not much use is it?" he asked, checking the edge. "But the time has almost come for it to be forged anew."
"You speak as if it has been broken for a long time," she replied, putting her knives back in their sheaths. "Why would you carry a broken blade if you were to carry a sword at all?"
"This sword is an heirloom of my house, and I bear it with pride," the man said, sheathing the blade again. "It was broken at the beginning of the age, though it was borne for many lifetimes before that."
Something she had heard around the fires in the Ranger camps on more than one night came to mind, and she swore in each of the languages she had learned since her arrival in Middle Earth. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, looked amused by the curses in Sindarin, and some old Quenyan curses she'd picked up, but he looked mostly lost when she delved into the curses she had learned from the Trév Gállorg.
Once her outburst of profanity had ceased, she mastered herself enough to glare at the man sitting across the small campsite from her. "You're Isildur's bloody heir, that's who you are. No wonder Halbarad and Daervunn, not to mention Glorfindel, kept laughing when I mentioned your name."
He arched an eyebrow at her, and she belatedly realized that he was the leader of the Dunedain, and her current leige lord, and therefore deserved significantly more respect from her than the amount of filth that had just slipped from her mouth.
It also meant that the slight appreciation she was developing for the way he managed to remain calm, collected, and in charge despite being tangled up in the wilderness of the Trollshaws with four hobbits, two horses, and her own prickly self was decidedly inappropriate. Kneeling, she bowed her head and waited for him to issue her punishment.
Thankfully, he didn't seem inclined to take it out of her hide, instead finding it amusing if the soft chuckle was any indication. Warily lifting her head, she watched for his reaction as she asked: "Do I want to know what Halbarad wrote to confirm my trustworthiness?"
Strider, Aragorn, had returned the letter to her, seal broken, but she hadn't read it. Instead, she had stowed it in her pocket in case it was needed when she reached Rivendell, if she'd been separated from him.
"It was something about not harassing one of his best riders when they gave the proper passcodes," the man said with a slight grin as he gestured for her to take her previous seat. "Among other things. Did you truly barge into his study and complain about me?"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Holly muttered, deciding that she'd taken enough for the day and it was time to get some sleep.
When she heard the bells again the next day as they walked along the road, Holly almost whooped for joy. The hobbits twitched warily, but Aragorn motioned them into the brush while he and Holly stood on the side of the road.
Choosing an arrow from her quiver, Holly nocked it to her bow, but didn't draw yet. It should be Glorfindel, but it was tricky to say what the servants of the Enemy would be able to replicate.
Thankfully, it was indeed Glorfindel who came riding around the bend. He spoke quietly with Aragorn for a few moments before turning to smile at Holly. "Mae govannen, Thuri. I see you have found the Dunadan and his hobbit companions?"
"Perhaps it was he who found me?" she answered back shortly, still irritated that he had told her of Strider's true identity, leaving her to put her foot into her mouth until the man himself showed her the shards of Narsil. "Or perhaps we found each other?"
"Peace Thuri, you need not fret! At least not about meetings past." Glorfindel laughed, and it was like the pealing of a bright bell, but he sobered quickly enough. "There are five riders behind me that will pick up our trail quickly enough, and four I know not where they may be. And Frodo must get to Rivendell; the wound he bears is beyond my skill to heal. Come, Frodo, you will ride my horse. Sit as tight as you can, but fear not. He will not let fall any rider I command him to bear. And if danger sets upon us, he will bear you away to safety."
"I won't leave anyone behind," Frodo said, as Glorfindel lifted him onto the taller horse and set about adjusting the stirrups for him. "Not while there's danger."
"It is you, Frodo, and that which you bear that brings us all in peril." Glorfindel's words seemed to silence the doubts the hobbit was willing to admit to, and they set off again shortly, once the two younger hobbits had been boosted up onto Pebbles and Nor, leaving only Sam, Aragorn, and Holly to lead the horses while Glorfindel led the company.
Glorfindel pushed them onwards at a tiring pace, but it was easier going than the wilderness had been, now that they were on the road. The three hobbits took turns riding and walking, helping them go as quickly as the walkers could move and switching when the hobbit slowed. Aragorn showed no obvious signs of tiring, though there was a weariness to his movements that Holly recognized, feeling it herself. Glorfindel had given them all a sip of what seemed to be the elvish version of an invigorating draught, which helped lessen the weariness, but Holly knew it would only be a stop gap that would do nothing to alleviate their weariness once it wore off.
Two days after they met Glorfindel on the road, the Ford was in sight.
The hobbits were all weary, and Holly wished they dared have one of the two younger hobbits ride pillion to the other, while Sam rode alone. That way they could be limited only by Holly and Aragorn, and she knew that they, with their background working with the Rangers, could be counted on to eke out more speed, even in their weariness, than the hobbits, who were used to softer lifestyles. But to overburden the horses, even Pebbles who was used to pulling a wagon, would only hobble them further.
Glorfindel had warned them that he expected to be set upon at the Ford; that the enemy was likely both before and behind them, so Holly was unsurprised when he called for them to fly.
Pausing for a moment, she turned to Merry, the hobbit walking with her as she led Nor, and lifted him up behind Pippen. "Ride for the river," she said, weaving a featherlight charm around the two hobbits to make them easier to bear. "Make sure that Frodo gets across."
Merry nodded, and she passed Pippen the reins before slapping Nor's flank, spurring the horse forward. Glorfindel had set Frodo loose, and Aragorn had handed Pebbles to Sam, who was sticking close to Frodo's side.
Tired as they were, the three horses sped towards the Ford, only to slow to a halt as riders appeared, four of them coming from the direction behind them.
"Noro lim, noro lim Asfaloth!" Glorfindel called, and Frodo rode forward once more, the other hobbits quickly left behind as the white horse charged towards the Ford.
"Do we shoot them or do we stab them?" she asked Aragorn in between breaths as they ran after the hobbits and horses.
"We run," he said grimly, and she took the hint and followed on his heels.
Frodo had made it to the ford, she realized as she caught up with Nor and Pebbles, who would not go forward while the black riders stood between them and the Ford. Aragorn was holding onto Pebbles's bridle as he sucked in breath. "We must have fire," he panted, leading the horse off the road. "Sam, get one kindled. Merry, Pippin, get whatever materials you can for torches. Only fire and water will stop them, and if they attempt to cross the Ford the water will rise, leaving us stranded with any that survive it."
Nodding, Holly lifted the two younger hobbits off Nor and left them scurrying among the brush as she made sure to tie both of her horses well off the road. By the time she had returned, Aragorn was cobbling together sturdy torches from long branches and strips of cloth he was tearing from his cloak.
"You three stay behind us and be ready to pass fresh torches if we should need them," Aragorn was instructing as Merry and Pippen fed the fire, stoking it into an inferno. Holly accepted a torch as the waters roared, and Glorfindel reached for one as well.
There was an awful screaming from the river, and six dark forms rushed away from the banks. Desperately, Holly brandished her torch, falling in with Glorfindel and Aragorn as they pushed forward, forcing the riders into the roiling waters. In the back of her mind she hoped that Frodo had made it to higher ground before the waters rose, but then there was a dark form attempting to slip off to the side, to flee down the road, and she dropped her torch, kneeling blindly as she ripped her gloves off and dug her fingers deep into the loam and called on her magic in a way she hadn't done in years.
Not much came easily to her after the loss of her wand just before her arrival, but she had learned to call the elements first, before she began the tedious work of adapting simple spells for wandless use. Fire sparked from her fingertips, spreading into sheets of flame that encircled the dark riders, herding them back towards the water. Fighting to keep the lines uniform, she fed the flames with magic and with the detritus of the woods, thick and deep after many years of being forgotten.
"Stop it," a voice hissed in her ear as hands clamped down on her shoulders. "Whatever you're doing, stop it, before the whole forest goes up in flames."
"Are the riders gone?" she gasped, hauling back a tendril of flame that threatened to lick up the length of a tree, desperate to escape her tight grip. "Are we safe?"
"Not if you set the whole forest ablaze."
Setting her jaw, Holly withdrew her magic from the fire, bringing to bear where it still burned, fed by the leaf litter and other forest debris. Methodically, carefully, she snuffed each spark, feeling through the earth for the familiar hunger of fire until she felt nothing except the fire Sam was still tending.
She found that she had closed her eyes sometime in the process; opening them, she found herself wrist deep in still-warm ashes, a perfect semicircle of ash arcing from her towards the river bank. Merry and Pippen, standing with unlit torches in front of the small hollow where the horses were tied, looked frightened, and the hands clamped on her shoulders were almost painful.
"Frodo," she rasped, then coughed and cleared her throat. "Did Frodo make it across?"
"My kin from the House of Elrond will bring him safely to the healers' hands," Glorfindel said, moving to kneel in front of her and run his fingers through the ashes. "But I am more interested in the Ranger who can call fire to his hands."
"A talent of my bloodline," Holly whispered, shifting slightly before freezing as waves of dizziness crashed over her. The hands still gripping her shoulders were the only thing keeping her upright. "I need...I need...Kreacher," she whispered.
The elf appeared in front of her, a frown on his face. "Mistress has overexerted herself," he chided, taking in her appearance. "Kreacher told mistress that she ought not to play with fire, but nobody ever listens to Kreacher."
"He's a friend," she whispered, feeling the hands on her shoulders tighten painfully, and Glorfindel's hand go to his belt, presumably for a blade. "Kreacher, I need my tea."
In less than a minute, the elf was back, handing her a small sachet. "Mistress ought to rest," he grumbled as she took it and shoved it clumsily into her belt pouch. "Mistress knows this. Mistress ought not to be calling Kreacher over distance when she is exhausted."
"I just need to get through the next hour," she told him. "I do not know when I will be able to next call for you, but I will do so when I am recovered."
Sniffing with disapproval, the elf disappeared.
As she hovered on the verge of magical exhaustion, Kreacher's apparation and disapparation pulling from painfully low reserves, Holly chanced glancing around, finding it was Aragorn who had a vise grip on her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she tried to figure out where to begin.
"I don't have a ton of time before I'm going to crash, so I'm going to give you the short story and you can get the long story when I wake up again," she began, forcing herself to her feet, brushing off Aragorn's grip on the way, and shuffling towards the hobbits. "There isn't a word for what I am, at least not a good one. You can say I'm like one of the Istari, but not the same. Halbarad knows, and it's how I managed to ride messages so successfully. Kreacher is what my people called a house elf, I don't know why, but that's what he believes himself to be so we haven't tried to figure out what he would be called here. Neither of us mean any of you any harm."
Feeling herself burn through the little that remained of her energy, she propped herself up against the tree that both of her horses were tethered to. "Are we going to be moving soon?" she asked, gesturing towards the ford.
"As soon as the waters go down," Glorfindel answered, eyeing her curiously.
"Just tie me to one of the horses," she said, waving vaguely. "Both of them have carried me before like this." It was something she had trained both of them specially for, knowing that if she were caught by magical exhaustion, they might need to carry her to safety.
"Is there anything you need?" Aragorn asked warily from where he and Sam were covering the fire with dirt.
"Rest," she said bluntly, letting herself slide down the tree into a sitting position. "And food, after. Nothing special." She paused, and remembered the sachet. "Hot water, when I wake. Just enough to drink."
Someone might have said something after that, but she let herself pass out, knowing that she was safe for the moment.
AN:
Mae govannen- Sindarin greeting, "well met"
Noro lim, noro lim Asfaloth!- run swift, run swift Asfaloth!
A few quotes directly from Tolkien, and I've pulled characters/landmarks from LOTRO to help flesh out the emptiness of the old northern kingdom. I own neither, obviously.