The long days of marching through the forest soon grew blazingly hot
and humid. The beauty and serenity of the trees only added to the suffering
of the Nine, and even Legolas' unperturbed exterior began to show a few
cracks.
For the first day, Sam had been pelted with questions by Merry and
Pippin, but as the heat rose, they stopped wasting energy on talking and
saved it all to fight the strength-sapping humidity. Sam plodded along
behind Frodo, all of his thoughts fixed upon the taena in his pocket. The
heat soon ended any coherent thought, and after that he only thought of
his ever-heavier pack, the sharp stones under his feet, and the gnawing
hunger in the pit of his stomach
Every night Gandalf's call to halt and rest was greeted with ever-growing
relief. The Nine fell to the ground, exhausted and panting. Sweat had plastered
Sam's curls to his head, and he could only imagine how the group must smell
to an outsider. He was relieved, however, that Frodo only looked as sweaty
and tired as the rest of them did, not more so. Supper that evening was
effortless, consisting of bread and water, the easiest meal to prepare
and eat. There was little conversation, and those that were not on the
first watch swiftly dropped into a restless slumber.
The night failed to cool off, and the thickness of the air made breathing
a chore. The very closeness of the night put everyone on their guard, laying
upon them a sense of dread as thick as a heavy blanket. The silence was
tense, stretched as thin as a thread, and then it reached the breaking
point.
Merry shot up, screaming into the breathing silence as he awoke from
a pitiless, heat-driven nightmare. A roar gathered up from around them,
and the orcs descended. Exhausted, hungry, and sore, the Nine fought with
sheer desperation.
Aragorn's sword swooped in giant slashing arcs, slicing orc limb
from orc body, but there were more, so many more. Legolas' bow seemed to
shriek as it found its way over and over into its orc targets, but the
oppressive warmth was on the side of the orcs, born as they were of heat
and decay. The little hobbits fought most bravely of all, their small swords
cutting into orc after orc, but one by one they were driven into tight
spots from which there seemed to be no escape. Merry was the first to fall
injured, a slice from an orc blade carving a gash from the base of his
neck to his wrist. He managed, barely, to crawl away from the fighting
and collapse at the edge of the grove. Pippin, alone, struggled to beat
off his attackers, but his small sword was no match, however well-wielded,
for the slashing orc-blades. Gimli, a roar of rage boiling in his throat,
leapt to Pippin's aid with his grim axe dividing orc limb from orc body.
Gandalf and Boromir were fighting as well, dispatching more than their
share of orc, but still the nightmares kept coming.
Sam and Frodo, fighting together, were unconscious of the evil sneaking
up behind them until Frodo fell with a cry to his knees. He had been belted
across the back with a heavy whip, and as Sam tried to reach him, an orc-spear
pierced the little gardener in the thigh. Sam stumbled, a river of pure
agony pouring into the wound, and as he fell, Frodo saw an orc raising
his sword and driving it into Sam's body. Sam screamed weakly, his voice
breaking on a high note.
"Sam!" Frodo shrieked, crawling over to his friend's body. "Sam, no!"
Sam gathered his strength into one last burst. He pressed his hand into his pocket, and pulled forth the taena. "Anemosi, if you can hear me...help...me...it's Sam..." His voice faded. A new darkness was coming; an orc face leaned over him; a blade was plunging into him again. He forced himself to speak through the pain: "Anemosi...please....help..." His voice faded away, and the darkness came crashing down.
Frodo saw his eyes closing. "No!" he screamed, and began slashing wildly out at anything that stood between him and his Sam. "No! Sam! SAM!"
A cry rent the air; mysterious, ancient, wild. The orcs stopped attacking, jabbering in their polluted tongue. The creatures were frightened; something in the dark recesses of a racial memory was warning them of a fear long forgotten. Another cry went up, different in tone and pitch, then another, and another. There was a breath of silence, and then a flash of pure silver leapt into the fray, a shriek of unearthly tone piercing the air.
She seemed to be everywhere at once, and there were others too, other stripes of color that were dodging back and forth so fast no eye could follow them. The grove was filled with the cries of orcs dying at the hands of an enemy unknown, and the battle, if something so one-sided could be called such, was over in a breath. The Nine fought with a new strength, fortified as they were by this new support and hope of victory. When the last broken orc corpse fell to the ground, the new arrivals tilted back their heads and howled in triumph and joy, a sound that would never stop haunting the memories of the Fellowship.
Frodo was weeping over Sam's still form, protecting his friend with his body, ignorant of the pain lashing across his back, when a strange musky scent filled the air around him, and he looked up to see his first faery.
She was delicate of form, almost to the point of frailty, but she had an inner radiance that pulsed like the light of a newborn star. Her hair and skin shone silver dimly in the moonlight, and he realized that even after her fight with the orcs, she was not even breathing hard.
"Foul things!" she breathed. Her voice, obviously meant for happier exclamations, was roughened and angry. "They have polluted our land long enough." Her fingers moved over Sam's body, searching the wounds swiftly but gently. "He must come with us. He will not last much longer." Frodo looked up at her, and saw that she was gazing at him fully. Her eyes shone, full of mysterious, unplumbed depths, the color of mercury. "You are hurt also," she said softly. He nodded numbly.
"Take care of Sam first," he whispered. She started in shock.
"Samwise?" she asked, her eyes large and sad.
"Yes." Frodo watched her as she gazed down at Sam.
"Oh, Sam..." she breathed. "So far from your Shire, and your garden! Now is the time when I will repay your kindness." She stood up as the rest of the Nine approached, looking about them uncertainly at the fey surrounding them. "Gandalf the Grey!" she gasped.
"Lady Radika," he answered, and bowed low. "I have long heard of your people's greatness. I thank you for your help."
"You are most welcome, Master Gandalf. Are any others of your company hurt?" Her voice, now raised, was clear and cool, like a fresh, flowing stream.
"I fear that young Master Gamgee is in grave danger, my lady. Master Brandybuck here will also be requiring your aid." Frodo looked up, and saw Pippin barely supporting Merry, the gash on his arm slowly leaking dark blood.
"It shall be done. Kerra!" A fey warrior, with blazing red hair so vivid it was obvious even in the darkness, ran forward.
"Yes, Anemosi?" Her voice was low, clear, and dangerous.
"Call Amron and Syleth. We need to get these hobbits back to safety, and quickly."
Kerra nodded. "It is done." With that, she turned, and let a piercing, liquid cry fall from her lips. The very trees seemed to reverberate, and two answering calls echoed through the forest, seeming to come from the earth itself. Without warning, two pony-sized mounds of earth rose up in front of those gathered. The earth split, and two creatures crawled out. Darkness shrouded them, but an air of warm, quiet places breathed from them like perfume.
"You called usss?" Two voices in unison hissed.
"I did," answered Anemosi. "We have need of your services again,
my friends. This halfling here is bearer of my taena. One of you must bear
him back to my people."
"I ssshall do ssso." One of the forms crept forward. "The bearer of the taena will be born with joy."
Anemosi bowed. "I thank you." Behind her, Sam cried out in pain, and tried to speak. Frodo bent over him, struggling to hear his friend's words.
"Did she...did she answer?" Sam's voice was weak, and his eyes, now open, were clouding. "Is...she...here?"
"Yes, Sam, dear Sam. She is here." Anemosi was kneeling at his side, touching his face lightly. "I would never abandon you. Rest now. You are safe."
"Is...Frodo...safe?" Tears welled in Frodo's eyes. "Oh Sam!" he said, and burst into tears. Looking at Anemosi, he grabbed her hand. "Oh please, help him, Lady! I cannot bear to lose him! He is the truest heart this world has ever known!"
Anemosi nodded mutely. "Whatever breath is in my body will go to him." Her eyes locked with Frodo's, and she suddenly, lightly, kissed him on the forehead.
"You are a true, pure heart too," she whispered. Wordlessly, she eased Sam gently to his feet, and one of the creatures (Syleth? Amron? They were indistinguishable from one another in the gloom.) crept forth to take him upon its back.
"Syleth, will you carry the other halfling?"
"With joy, Lady." Merry was handed over to the other creature, and with a nod from Anemosi, Kerra climbed on behind him, wrapped her arms around Merry and buried her hands in Syleth's fur. Anemosi climbed up gingerly behind Sam, her arms gently encircling him, and her large eyes concerned. After she had adjusted Sam tenderly, she turned to the rest of the warriors standing grouped around the remainder of the Nine.
"Tasla. Drake." Silently, a man and a woman stepped forward and awaited her next words. "You will guide the rest of the Company back to our people. Take them by the old roads, so that they are safe. As for the rest of you, I know that you are as disgusted as I by the besmirching of our most beautiful land. Follow Embrai and Masirat. Hunt down the rest of the orcs. Let none return to their master! Destroy them all! Teach them to fear the fey once more!" An answering cry of savage joy came from the throats of the fey, echoing in the trees. She began to ride away, but Frodo rushed to her side and caught at her cloak. She turned to look at him, her eyes catching in the moonlight. In that instant, Frodo realized why Sam had not been able to speak of his encounter with her for five long years: she was too ethereal, too beautiful for mere words, however poetic. He found his voice somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
"Please Lady...help him." His eyes searched hers, and he found tears hovering at the edges of her eyes like exiles.
"I will do anything within my power, Master Baggins." With that, she tightened her grip on Amron's fur, and in an instant, the creatures were gone with their precious riders.
Gandalf made a noise under his breath. "The Shadok!" he said softly. "I did not know they still lived."
A dark-haired man answered him. "They lived on, Master Gandalf, much as we did. In secret. In peace. And now, like us, in a time of need, they awaken, to aid their friends. I am Drake. Come, we have much road to cover, and I do not think any of you, however hardened, will want to see what becomes of orcs that encounter our people's rage."
Frodo stood still, watching the direction that Sam and Merry had disappeared in. He was numb, cold to the bone, and tired, so tired...the Ring was heavy upon him. A hand on his shoulder awoke him from his pained thoughts. A blonde woman smiled at him encouragingly. "Come, Master Baggins. Your friends are quite safe. You need have no fear for them. I am Tasla, your other guide, and a member of the House of Radiké. I can give it to you on good authority that Lady Radika will not let any harm to come to either of them while they are in her care, and Kerra herself is more than a force to be reckoned with."
"Who is she?" whispered Frodo. "She seems to be more than any of us...even you, if you will forgive me."
"Ah," said Tasla. "She is indeed more than any of us here. She is the daughter of our ruler, Tehr Radik, but more than that, I cannot tell you, for I myself do not know. Whatever power she has in her veins flows deep and restless, and the time has come for her to awaken into the fullness of her ability. But for now," Tasla smiled again, "that shall have to sustain you. We seem to be getting ready to move, and your back shall pain you if you do not care for it. Drink this." She unhooked a small phial from her belt and held it out to him. "One sip should stop the pain."
Frodo took it gratefully. One sip made him gasp and sputter. "It's..it's like I'm drinking stars!" he murmured to her as he handed it back. She nodded.
"You were."
His startled glance was lost upon her as she turned to the others in the Company. They each drank from the small phial, and one by one, the exhaustion of the past few days melted away, their pain dissipated, and they were once again straight and strong. The other fey warriors had already slipped off on their deadly errand, and only Tasla and Drake remained with the Fellowship.
"It is time!" Drake said. "We shall begin our journey. Tasla and I shall carry anything you wish, for we are strong and untired."
Frodo walked over to Bill, where Sam's small possessions remained
with his own. "He always took the heaviest pack," he whispered, and nearly
began to weep as he thought of Sam speeding away into the night. "And he
always offered to take more. Oh Sam! We are coming!" Without a word, he
shouldered Sam's pack and his own, and thus, weighted down, he took up
Bill's reins and began the long journey into the world of the fey.