Chapter 19

An important notice on dates: I have been following the LotR timeline with regard to dates. When I list dates, it is to give you a point of reference for the story. In this chapter there is one jump-back; I will elaborate more below, so if you are confused scroll down and I will explain.

DISCLAIMER: some portions of this chapter are taken directly from Tolkien's Fellowship of the Ring. These are his words, and I claim no credit for his characters or plotline.

Pippin shifted uneasily within his boat. Behind, he could hear Boromir muttering softly. The words themselves were drowned out by the sound of rushing water, for which he was rather glad. Nevertheless, the tone of the man's voice was enough to grate on his already frayed nerves.

For the last two days, the company had been borne steadily southwards, and as they moved closer to their destination, the feeling of disquiet amongst them had grown.

The River had broadened and grown more shallow; long stony beaches lay upon the east, and there were gravel-shoals in the water, so that careful steering was needed. The Brown Lands rose into bleak wolds, over which flowed a chill air from the East. On the other side the meads had become rolling downs of withered grass amidst a land of fen and tussock. Pippin shivered, thinking of the lawns and fountains, the clear sun and gentle rains of Lothlórien. There was little speech and no laughter in any of the boats. Each member of the Company was busy with his own thoughts.

The heart of Legolas was running under the stars of a summer night in some northern glade amid the beech-woods; Gimli was fingering gold in his mind, and wondering if it were fit to be wrought into the housing of the Lady's gift of three silver-gold hairs. Merry appeared most at ease, sitting before Glorfindel, whose mind strayed amidst memories of home.

Turning to observe those behind him, Pippin caught a queer gleam in Boromir's eye, as the man peered forward at Sam and Aragorn in the lead boat. Sam had long ago made up his mind that, though boats were maybe not as dangerous as he had been brought up to believe, they were far more uncomfortable than even he had imagined. He was cramped and miserable, having nothing to do but stare at the winter-lands crawling by and the grey water on either side of him. Even when the paddles were in use they did not trust Sam with one.

As dusk drew down on the fourth day, Pippin was looking back over the bowed head of Boromir and those in the following boats; he was drowsy and longed for camp and the feel of earth under his toes. Suddenly something caught his sight: at first he stared at it listlessly, then he sat up and rubbed his eyes; but when he looked again he could not see it any more.

That night, the Fellowship camped on a small eyot close to the western bank. Pippin busied himself spreading out his blankets beside those of Sam and Merry. The hobbits were staunchly loyal to each other, and Pippin wished he were able to ride in one of the other boats. Having only Boromir for company was beginning to wear on him, and he envied the others their companions.

Merry had seated himself upon his bedroll, and was busy inspecting one of his toes. Sam lingered nearby, his expression weary. The journey was taking a toll on the usually-cheery hobbit.

"I had a funny dream just before we stopped today," Pippin said, slowly. He kept his voice soft, for Boromir and Aragorn were busy not far away. "Or, perhaps, it wasn't a dream. It was peculiar, anyway."

"Well, what is it?" asked Merry, knowing that his cousin would not rest until he had voiced his concerns. Hearing the remarks, Sam moved closer and sat down beside the others.

"It was like this; I saw a log with eyes!"

"The log's all right," said Merry, "There are many in the River. But leave out the eyes!" He grinned and gave Pippin a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure you imagined it, Pip."

"That I did not," cried Pippin, with indignant finality. "Twas the eyes as made me sit up, so to

speak. I saw what I took to be a log floating along in the half-light behind Gimli's boat; but I didn't give much heed to it. Then it seemed as if the log was slowly catching us up. And that was peculiar, as you might say, seeing as we were all floating on the stream together. Just then I saw the eyes: two pale sort of points, shiny-like, on a hump at the near end of the log. What's more, it wasn't a log, for it had paddle-feet, like a swan's almost, only they seemed bigger, and kept dipping in and out of the water. That's when I got rather startled, and rubbed my eyes. I meant to raise the alarm if it was still there, if I wasn't dreaming, because it was getting awfully close to Legolas and Gimli. But the eyes must've seen me, for when I looked again it wasn't there. I half thought I saw something dark shooting under the shadow of the bank, but no more eyes. I said to myself, 'Dreaming again, Peregrin Took'. But I've been thinking on it, and I'm not so sure. What do you make of it?"

Pippin glanced from Merry to Sam.

"I didn't see anything of the kind," said Merry, slowly, "but perhaps I missed it."

"I should make nothing of it but a log and the dusk and sleep in your eyes Pippin," put in Sam, "if this was the first time that those eyes had been seen. But it isn't. I saw them away back north before we reached Lórien. And I saw a strange creature with eyes climbing to the flet that night. Haldir saw it too. And do you remember the report of the Elves that went after the orcband?"

"Ah," sighed Pippin. "I do; and I remember more too. I am afraid to say it, thinking of Bilbo's stories and all, but I fancy I could put a nasty name to the creature. Gollum, maybe?"

"That's what I'm right afraid of," Sam admitted. "I suppose he was lurking in Moria, and picked up our trail then; but I hoped that our stay in Lórien would throw him off the scent again. The miserable creature must have been hiding in the woods by the Silverlode, watching us start off!"

Merry frowned, hearing Sam's confirmation of his cousin's fears. "Well, that's about it then. We'd better be a bit more watchful ourselves, or we'll feel some nasty fingers around our necks one of these nights, if we ever wake up to feel anything."

"Do you think we ought to tell Strider or Glorfindel?" Pippin asked, feeling somewhat alarmed.

"No need to trouble them tonight. I'll keep watch. I can sleep tomorrow, being no more than luggage in a boat," Sam said.

"That's hardly fair," protested Merry. "Wake me after a few hours, and I'll rouse Pippin for the last watch. You shan't bear the burden alone, Sam. You're the Ringbearer, and we're part of your company."

Master Gamgee flushed pink at this, and mumbled something that sounded like "thankyou" under his breath. Pippin smiled, glad that his concerns had been heard. Sam was a stalwart friend, and, trickster that he was, Merry somehow seemed older and more responsible than he had in the Shire.

Feeling significantly more relieved, the hobbits parted company and moved about to help with the setting up of camp.

It was pitch-dark when Sam shook Merry awake.

"It's a shame to wake you, but that's what we agreed to," Sam said, mournfully. "There's nothing really to tell. I heard some sniffling, and a splash a while ago, but such sounds are hardly out of place by a river."

Merry smiled in return. "That's quite all right, Sam. Now you get off to bed! You must be dead on your feet."

Sam lay down upon his bed, whilst Merry shifted until he was sitting up. He had had several hours of good rest, and the fog of sleep swiftly retreated from his mind. He felt surprisingly awake and alert, though he did not risk lying down for fear he would drift back off.

After half an hour, Merry began to regret his earlier offer. It was chilly outside the comfort of his pallet, and the night was still and silent. He heard nothing that indicated Gollum was near.

Perhaps they imagined it after all… it is easy to imagine things when the land is so unnerving and we draw near to the enemy…

He was just yielding to the temptation to lie down again when a dark shape, hardly visible, floated close to one of the moored boats. A long whitish hand could be dimly seen as it shot out and grabbed the gunwale; two pale lamplike eyes shone coldly as they peered inside, and then they lifted and gazed up at Merry on the eyot. They were not more than a yard or two away, and Merry heard the soft hiss of intaken breath. He stood up, drawing his Barrow-blade from its sheath, and faced the eyes. Immediately their light was shut off. There was another hiss and a splash, and the dark log-shape shot away downstream into the night.

Merry took a deep breath, his heart thudding in his chest.

Fancy that! Pippin and all his mischief… I won't forget those eyes in a hurry!

Hearing noise, he turned. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and as he glanced at the rest of the company, he noticed Aragorn stirring in his sleep. The man, seeing Merry standing in the centre of the camp with his sword unsheathed, swiftly sprang to his feet.

"What is it?" he whispered, hurrying to Merry's side. "I felt something in my sleep. Why have you drawn your sword?"

"Gollum," answered Merry. "Or at least, so I guess. I have not seen him before, but he gave me the chills, and looks awfully as Bilbo and the others described him."

Aragorn nodded in understanding. "So you know about our little footpad, do you? He padded after us all through Moria and right down to Nimrodel. Since we took to boats, he has been lying on a log and paddling with hands and feet. I have tried to catch him once or twice at night; but he is slier than a fox, and as slippery as a fish. I hoped the river-voyage would beat him, but he is too clever a waterman. We shall have to travel faster tomorrow, for if I cannot lay hands on the wretch and make him useful, I wish to lose him."

Merry shuddered, feeling the hairs on his arms rising despite the fact that the wind had abated. Aragorn placed a large hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"Lie down now, and sleep for what is left of the night. I shall keep watch, and catch Gollum if I may. He is dangerous. Quite apart from murder in the night, he may lead the enemy to our track."

Nodding mutely, Merry returned to his bed. The Ranger also moved to his pallet, but sat upon it, alert and wary. It was comforting, knowing that Strider was watching the camp.

Rolling over, Merry snuggled down into his bed. He had grown surprisingly used to sleeping outdoors, and found himself growing sleepy with pleasing swiftness.

As he teetered on the brink of darkness, a half-annoyed thought passed through his mind.

And Pippin didn't even have to do his share of the watch!

22nd February, 3019 (Third Age)

Elanor suppressed a groan as she sat up from her blankets. The brisk morning air carried clearly the sounds of the company stirring, and she realised with a start that most of the Dúnedain were up and dressed already.

Rubbing her eyes, Elanor threw back the rugs. It felt peculiar to sleep fully dressed, especially after her three month sojourn in Rivendell. She grimaced.

You've gotten soft, Elanor of Imladris!

Her body hurt. They had only been on the road three days, and already she was beginning to feel the effects of long hours in the saddle. Halbarad had ordered frequent dismounts, during which the company had proceeded on foot leading their steeds. These had been shorter than Elanor would have liked, however; the Grey Company was to proceed with all haste to meet Aragorn in Rohan.

"Good morning," came a soft voice from her left shoulder. Turning, Elanor caught sight of one of her brothers. Blinking, she urged her foggy brain into gear and attempted to differentiate between the twins.

"Elladan," she managed, after a moment. The Elf was sitting upon his pallet, looking surprisingly at ease despite the chill and rocky ground. Her foster-brothers had taken it upon themselves to sleep on either side of her, several metres removed from the rest of the company. It was a meagre form of privacy, but she greatly appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"Did you sleep well, sister?" he inquired, leaping catlike to his feet and offering her a hand. Elanor took it gladly, though she could not hide a wince as her sore leg muscles protested.

She laughed half-heartedly. "Well enough; at least, as best one can on such hard ground."

Elladan placed one gentle hand upon her shoulder. "You bear up well, Ellie," he smiled down at her. The nickname sounded strange in his lilting Elvish accent, but Elanor warmed at its use.

"I am trying, brother. Though I feel awfully soft compared to everyone else." She glanced around at the Rangers, moving like grim shadows in the early morning.

Elladan chuckled. "This is their livelihood. You are the foster-daughter of Elrond from afar," he said, lowering his voice. Elanor had disclosed her true origins to the brothers before their departure. "You have slowed the company very little, if at all; your horsemanship is good. You have never been exposed to such activities in your home world."

Flushing in pride at the comment, though knowing it was exceedingly generous, Elanor nodded. "Thankyou."

"Do not tarry in daydreams, however. Elrohir is already in counsel with Halbarad concerning the day ahead, and I should join them." Squeezing her shoulder once more, Elladan stepped lightly across her pallet and angled towards where his twin stood with the leader of the Dúnedain.

Elanor watched him leave before swiftly rolling up her bedding and returning all of her essentials to her pack. She could hear the horses snuffling nearby, and left her belongings in a neat pile. She would pack them about Fundanár's saddle after she had relieved herself.

The Grey Company camped in a cluster about a small campfire, built for cooking meals and with regard to being inconspicuous. The Rangers bustled about, beginning to saddle their mounts and strapping bedrolls and food supplies to the sturdy horses.

Elanor knew that the sentries were positioned at regular intervals about the camp. To the best of her knowledge, one should be positioned to her left, within the small copse of trees which bordered the campsite. Making sure that her belongings were ready to go, Elanor struck out where she thought the Ranger was positioned.

"Hello?" she called out, moving openly into the copse.

"Up here, Lady Elanor," came a cheerful voice. A young Ranger, a friend of Eärendur's, seemed to materialise upon a tree branch. She had still to come to terms with their uncanny ability to blend in with their surroundings. The dark-haired man gave her a cheerful wave.

"I am going for a walk, I shall not be long," she informed him, adopting her best regal air. Amongst the Dúnedain she was treated as befitted a daughter of a noble house, and it was both pleasing and bewildering.

"As you wish, lady. Call if you are in need of anything," he said, with another smile.

Elanor moved calmly through the copse until Eärendur's friend was out of sight, and found a tree to shelter her. The lack of plumbing was no less distasteful than it had been on her journey with Boromir, and she felt a little disgruntled as she finished and straightened her attire. The clothing Indilwen had provided her consisted of warm breeches, a soft woollen shirt, and a tunic which fell to below her knees to preserve her modesty. It had convenient splits and seams to allow her to ride Fundanár comfortably. She had been pleased to discover that Elves did not require their womenfolk to wear dresses at all times, but couldn't help longing for her blue Kathmandu snow jacket and thermals.

Ten minutes later, she returned to the campsite. The fire had been doused, and the horses retrieved from their picket lines. As she heaved her saddle and pack onto her shoulder, Elrohir moved towards her leading Fundanár by the mane.

"You shall have to eat in the saddle, nethig," he informed her, releasing the chestnut gelding.

"Don't I do that every day?" Elanor laughed, reaching out to take the leaf-wrapped parcel her foster-brother held in his other hand. Hithraur, the designated cook within the company, had taken to setting aside her portion after she had slept through breakfast the first day and been starving until lunchtime.

Elrohir smiled at her. "Do you need help saddling Fundanár?"

"No thankyou," she replied, tucking her breakfast away and beginning to slip the bridle over her mount's head. With a wordless nod and small smile, Elrohir strode away.

He is quieter than Elladan, she mused, fastening Fundanár's bridle and moving to the saddle. More contemplative, and brooding. Elladan is always cheerful, though I do not love Elrohir any less for his silence and seriousness.

The scouts had returned by the time Elanor had finished with her horse, and the call to mount up was given. Elladan and Elrohir had taken their customary positions beside Halbarad, and she glimpsed Eärendur's fairer head moving towards her.

Elanor climbed wearily into the saddle, wanting to be settled before her companion arrived. She felt far more in control of herself than when she had first arrived in Middle Earth, but could not stem the memories of those first few weeks.

…bellowing wind… her body wracked with shivers… Boromir hunched several metres away, chewing moodily on his rations… hunger pangs… eyes smarting…

She gritted her teeth.

This is different. I have plenty to eat, a bed to sleep on… and my brothers…

The thought brought a smile to her face, lingering as Eärendur drew his bay to a halt beside Fundanár.

"Good morning, Lady Elanor," he smiled, as light-hearted as his friend. "Are you ready to embrace a new day?"

Elanor laughed. "Do I have a choice, Eärendur?"

The days dragged slowly by, as painful as Elanor's memories of skipping barefoot upon a scorching Australian pavement. As the first week of travel drew to a close, she felt a mounting sense of listlessness and frustration. She had struggled to ascertain their estimated time of arrival from either of the twins, and the prospect of the journey stretching out indefinitely was not a pleasant one. Her tolerance for the difficulties of camping had plummeted to an almost non-existent level, and she was beginning to contemplate turning back for Rivendell alone.

As often as she reminded herself they would be in Rohan soon enough, she could not quell the sharp rushes of petulant frustration which threatened to erupt whenever she encountered hardship. It was childish, she knew, but the serenity which had fallen upon her in Rivendell was blown away like tatters in the strong north wind. The food was boring, her bed unbearably uncomfortable, and even riding Fundanár—whose paces were smoother than glass—caused her to fume internally.

Elladan and Elrohir seemed too preoccupied to notice her diminished patience, and it took all Elanor's self-control to maintain an air of friendliness towards Eärendur.

The young Ranger had proved himself a pleasant companion, being both light-hearted and sage. He chatted with her easily, happy to speak or allow the silence to endure. On the fifth day, he ventured to question her about her past.

"I do not wish to intrude upon your privacy," he began, "but I would ask you one thing, Lady Elanor."

"Yes?" Elanor replied, trying to take the bite out of her tone. The wind had picked up and she was sitting hunched over Fundanár's neck, thoroughly miserably and sorry for herself.

That is no reason to be rude to Eärendur though!

"How is it that one of the edain came to be counted amongst Lord Elrond's household?"

"A human you mean?" she sighed.

"Yea, lady."

"I was lost upon the road, and encountered Lord Boromir of Gondor, son of Denethor the Steward. He led me to Imladris, where Lord Elrond took me in, for I was alone and friendless."

Eärendur paused. "I see."

Silence fell for a moment, and Elanor half wished she had been more forthcoming with information. Her explanation seemed unnecessarily short and touchy in retrospect.

"I had some connection with Elrond's household," she proffered, at length. "I spent much time conversing with him… the history of Arda… I carried knowledge from the south…" She shrugged, unsure how to explain things without lying outright. "He has been very kind to me. They all have."

Eärendur grinned at that. "Aye, for the Lords Elladan and Elrohir dote upon you as if you were indeed their sister."

Mustering all her reserves of good manners and breeding, Elanor smiled at him. "They are the brothers that I lacked in my homeland."

"From whence do you hail, my lady?"

"Far, far to the south; it is called the Queen's Land by my people," she informed him, sticking to the story she had invented about her homeland whilst dwelling amongst the Elves. "Australia" sounded far too exotic to the people of Arda.

"I have never heard of it, though I know painfully little of the lands to the south," Eärendur admitted. "You claim a connection with Lord Elrond, however; can it be possible that some of our kin travelled to your lands? That the blood of Númenor runs in the far south?"

"I'm afraid not. My people are allocated a normal span of years, less than a century." Elanor turned to look at his profile, noting the straight nose, stubble-dusted jawline and walnut-brown hair. "And yet your people are fated to live twice that, unless I am mistaken."

"The longevity of Númenor is not allotted to all, Lady. The line of Elros is almost spent, mingling with the shorter-lived houses of Men."

Elanor hesitated, wondering if it were impolite to ask if Eärendur if he was of the noble house. He seemed to read her silence, however.

"My father's father was Dírhael, descendant of the First Chieftain of the Dúnedain," he said, a note of pride in his voice. "I am the son of Mithon, who is the brother of Gilraen."

Elanor's eyes widened as the cogs worked within her mind.

And Gilraen is…

"Gilraen, wedded to Arathorn II, and the mother of Aragorn. She is my father-sister, and Aragorn son of Arathorn is my cousin."

He's in the line of kings…

"I see," she replied. She glanced at him once more, struck by a sense of her own mediocrity.

I may have been adopted into the noble house of Elrond, but if they knew my origins at home, a working class family… compared to Eärendur, who is part of a royal line…

"And so you are blessed with long life," Elanor spoke softly, at length.

"How old would you perceive me to be, Lady Elanor?" he laughed brightly, looking over at her.

"If we were in my homeland… perhaps twenty, or a little more. I would guess that I am wrong in my estimate, however," she gave a small smile, "else you should not appear so smug."

"You speak the truth, for you are a half-score years incorrect, Lady Elanor; I am thirty."

Wow, these men age well.

"Thirty," she repeated, amazed once more.

"And you, lady? Or is such a question deemed unseemly in the Queen's Land?"

"Not at all," Elanor replied, dropping the reins onto Fundanár's neck and tugging her cloak tighter about her shoulders. "I am twenty-two."

At this time, another gust of wind struck, causing Elanor to grit her teeth against the cold and a flush of annoyance. It was time for the lunchtime break, and Halbarad signalled for the group to gather in a circle. Any feelings of good humour which conversation with Eärendur had engendered became swept away in the biting breeze.

Oh gosh, what I'd give to be back in Imladris, reading in Elrond's study…

23rd February, 3019 (Third Age)

Merry woke groggily as the sun was setting in the west, his body unused to their nocturnal activities. The Fellowship had fallen into a routine, and the daylight hours passed with little distinction from those before them. Aragorn had bidden that the company travel by night following the incident with Gollum, and they had seen neither hide nor hair of the skulking creature.

The country on either side began to change rapidly as they climbed within the boats that evening. The banks began to rise and grow stony. Soon they were passing through a hilly rocky land, and on both shores there were steep slopes buried in deep brakes of thorn and sloe, tangled with brambles and creepers. Behind them stood low crumbling cliffs, and chimneys of grey weathered stone dark with ivy; and beyond these again there rose high ridges crowned with wind-writhen firs. They were drawing near to the grey hill-country of the Emyn Muil, the southern march of Wilderland.

There were many birds about the cliffs and the rock-chimneys, and all day high in the air flocks of birds had been circling, black against the pale sky. As they had lain in their camp that day Aragorn had watched the flights doubtfully, wondering if Gollum had been doing some mischief and the news of their voyage was now moving in the wilderness. Later as the sun was setting, and the Company was stirring and getting ready to start again, he descried a dark spot against the fading light: a great bird high and far off, now wheeling, now flying on slowly southwards.

"What is that, Glorfindel?" he asked, pointing to the northern sky. "Is it, as I think. an eagle?"

"Yes," replied Glorfindel. "It is an eagle, a hunting eagle. I wonder what that forebodes."

"It is far from the mountains," remarked Legolas, coming to stand beside the golden-haired Elf-lord.

"We will not start until it is fully dark," said Aragorn.

Merry turned to glance at Sam, who had also observed the exchange. He looked uneasy, and Merry found the uncertainty on his companion's face mirrored in his own heart.

The eighth night of their journey came. It was silent and windless; the grey east wind had passed away. The thin crescent of the Moon had fallen early into the pale sunset, but the sky was clear above, and though far away in the South there were great ranges of cloud that still shone faintly, in the West stars glinted bright.

"Come!" said Aragorn. "We will venture one more journey by night. We are coming to reaches of the River that I do not know well: for I have never journeyed by water in these parts before, not between here and the rapids of Sarn Gebir. But if I am right in my reckoning, those are still many miles ahead. Still there are dangerous places even before we come there: rocks and stony eyots in the stream. We must keep a sharp watch and not try to paddle swiftly."

To Sam in the leading boat was given the task of watchman. He lay forward peering into the gloom. The night grew dark, but the stars above were strangely bright, and there was a glimmer on the face of the River.

It was close on midnight, and they had been drifting for some time. Sam rubbed his eyes sleepily, fighting back drowsiness. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of dark shapes looming only yards away within the stream, and he cried out. He felt the boat lurch as a swift-moving current carried them towards the clear eastern shore, and he clutched protectively at the gunwales. The boats were thrust together, paddles tangling as the men and Elves guiding them attempted to win free.

"Hoy there, Aragorn!" shouted Boromir, as his boat thudded dully into the former's. "This is madness! We cannot dare the Rapids by night! But no boat can live in Sarn Gebir, be it night or day."

"Back! Back!" cried Aragorn. "Turn! Turn if you can!" He drove his paddle into the water, attempting to turn the boat and hold it's course away from the eastern shore. Eventually, they managed to turn the boats, but despite their vigorous paddling, they could not win any headway against the current.

"Paddle!" came the clear voice of Glorfindel, and Sam heard Aragorn bid him to add his oar to the mix. The hobbit had spent little time guiding the boat, for he was quite hopeless with a paddle. Now, however, he thrust in his oar with great enthusiasm, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

They could make little ground, and were being driven nearer and nearer the eastern bank, where lay the shoals. Sam felt the bottom of their boat grate upon stone and began to paddle with renewed vigour.

At that moment there was a twang of bowstrings: several arrows whistled over them, and some fell among them. One smote Sam between the shoulders and he lurched forward with a cry, letting go his paddle: but the arrow fell back, foiled by his hidden coat of mail which kindly Bilbo had bestowed upon him. Another passed through Aragorn's hood; and a third stood fast in the gunwale of the second boat, close by Merry's hand. Sam thought he could glimpse black figures running to and fro upon the long shingle-banks that lay under the eastern shore. They seemed very near.

"Yrch!" said Legolas, falling into his own tongue.

"Orcs!" growled Gimli, his gravelly shout carrying over the sound of rushing water.

"Gollum's doing, I'll be bound," muttered Sam. "And a nice place to choose, too. The River seems set on taking us right into their arms!"

Every moment they expected to feel the bite of black-feathered arrows. Many whined overhead or struck the water nearby; but there were no more hits. It was dark, but not too dark for the night-eyes of Orcs, and in the star-glimmer they must have offered their cunning foes some mark, unless it was that the grey cloaks Of Lórien and the grey timber of the elf-wrought boats defeated the malice of the archers of Mordor.

Stroke by stroke they laboured on. In the darkness it was hard to be sure that they were indeed moving at all; but slowly the swirl of the water grew less, and the shadow of the eastern bank faded back into the night. At last, as far as they could judge, they had reached the middle of the stream again and had driven their boats back some distance above the jutting rocks. Then half turning they thrust them with all their strength towards the western shore. Under the shadow of bushes leaning out over the water they halted and drew breath.

Legolas laid down his paddle and took up the bow that he had brought from Lórien. Then he sprang ashore and climbed a few paces up the bank. Stringing the bow and fitting an arrow he turned, peering back over the River into the darkness. Across the water there were shrill cries, but nothing could be seen.

Sam looked up at the Elf standing tall above him, as he gazed into the night, seeking a mark to shoot at. His head was dark, crowned with sharp white stars that glittered in the black pools of the sky behind. But now rising and sailing up from the South the great clouds advanced, sending out dark outriders into the starry fields. A sudden dread fell on the Company.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" sighed Legolas as he looked up. Even as he did so, a dark shape, like a cloud and yet not a cloud, for it moved far more swiftly, came out of the blackness in the South, and sped towards the Company, blotting out all light as it approached. Soon it appeared as a great winged creature, blacker than the pits in the night. Fierce voices rose up to greet it from across the water. Sam felt a sudden chill running through him and clutching at his heart; he crouched down, as if to hide.

Suddenly the great bow of Lórien sang. Shrill went the arrow from the elven-string. Sam looked up. Almost above him the winged shape swerved. There was a harsh croaking scream, as it fell out of the air, vanishing down into the gloom of the eastern shore. The sky was clean again. There was a tumult of many voices far away, cursing and wailing in the darkness, and then silence. Neither shaft nor cry came again from the east that night.

After a while Aragorn led the boats back upstream. They felt their way along the water's edge for some distance, until they found a small shallow bay. A few low trees grew there close to the water, and behind them rose a steep rocky bank. Here the Company decided to stay and await the dawn: it was useless to attempt to move further by night. They made no camp and lit no fire, but lay huddled in the boats, moored close together.

"Praised be the bow of Galadriel, and the hand and eye of Legolas!" said Gimli, as he munched a wafer of lembas. "That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend!"

"But who can say what it hit?" said Legolas, a frown creasing his dark brows.

"I cannot," admitted Gimli. "But I am glad that the shadow came no nearer. I liked it not at all. Too much it reminded me of the shadow in Moria – the shadow of the Balrog," he ended in a whisper.

"It was not a Balrog," put in Pippin, still shivering with the chill that had come upon him. "It was something colder. I think it was—" Then he paused and fell silent. As Sam looked across at him, he was reminded of their encounter with the Black Riders upon Weathertop; the clinging cold, the fearful screeching…

Mister Frodo…

Turning away from the group to his bedroll, Sam lay down and closed his eyes.

Mister Frodo… I wish our times had been happier, that we dwelt yet in the Shire… that—

He bit back the thought, hearing the low voice of Aragorn speaking to the rest of the company.

"Dark hides us now. But what the day will show who can tell? Have your weapons close to hand!"

TRANSLATIONS

nethig - little sister

lembas - a type of Elvish bread (though I am sure you should all have heard of this!)

(If I have missed any Elvish words and you would like them translated for this list, please let me know via a review and I will amend the mistake.)

A NOTE ON DATES

16th February - Fellowship leaves Lothlorien

19th February - scene from Chapter 18 set on this day as the Fellowship journeys south; Elanor goes with the Dúnedain south to meet Aragorn.

21st February - Pippin speaks to Merry and Sam about seeing Gollum.

22nd February - scene with Elanor waking and speaking to Elladan.

23rd February - the Fellowship is attacked by Orcs, led to them by Gollum; the back-tracked conversation by the Fellowship on the riverbank.

27th February - the jump-forward conversation between Elanor and Eärendur about the Dúnedain, his family, and her origins.

I hope that all is making sense to you guys with regards to the plot development, timelines, and characters! I am trying really hard to make the character reactions consistent with the books and believable, as well as true to themselves.

I promise that from here in, the story will be less fragmented. However, seeing as this fic is about Elanor, I feel as if I shouldn't have chapters that don't include her or her plotline. I am sure there will be some chapters during which she does not appear, but this is her story. She is not a Mary Sue, so other characters do function independently of her. However, I don't merely want to retell the story of the Fellowship or else I'll just be copy and pasting a lot of the books haha.

Thanks for reading this far friends, and I hope you like this latest chapter!

Finwe :)