Chapter 26: Cloak and Dagger
To try fooling the nazgul, the hobbits' room was evacuated and their beds stuffed with pillows like people were sleeping. I doubted the things would check the register but any hope was better than none.
Instead they ended up in Strider's room, talking in their own little knot while the 'big people' discussed what to do.
"You're the one who knows the way. What can we do to help?" I asked of Strider, more than a little nervous. This was the biggest thing I'd ever been involved in- the most important.
His eyes went from me to Boromir and back, understandably wary. "The road will be too dangerous to use. We will need to go through the wilds," he murmured, "Would you rather be a distraction on the road, or assist in feeding four bottomless stomachs?" His lip curled almost fondly.
"Neither of us knows the way, so I think we should stick with you," I answered somewhat sheepishly. I hip bumped Boromir with a little, "Hm?" asking his opinion.
He nodded jerkily. "That does seem the better option. We can not afford to lose our way," he agreed, "As for feeding everyone, I am a decent hunter. You are as well, I guess?" He looked to Strider for the answer he expected.
"Yes," Strider replied simply, then raised an almost hidden eyebrow at me.
I shrugged. "I can set traps but I'm hopeless with a bow," I admitted, "My vision starts getting blurry after about twenty feet."
Frowning, Strider bent a bit to be closer to my height. Way to make a girl feel short, I mentally snarked, he couldn't even use manner legs. Despite that, I held still as he turned my head gently, examining my eyes and how they moved.
Beside me, Boromir tensed up.
I put a hand on one of his and squeezed it.
A few times Strider gave instructions to look a certain way or at the candle light, asking what that did to my vision. There was no looking out the window to test my distance vision with the heavy rain so instead he had me look down the hall and count the doors until they blurred badly; I got to three. "What's with the sudden exam?" I asked and pulled my head back in the door.
"We need to know whether you will be able to see the nazgul in their black cloaks through the darkness and how much warning you can give," Strider answered in a clipped voice.
Ah, shit. I suddenly really wished I still had my glasses, but I'd lost them not long before I shipped out to New Mexico. It hadn't been much of an issue and I hadn't thought about it until now. "Not much warning," I said for him, "At least not visually. What other ways are there to detect these things?"
Strider grimaced. "I have not yet encountered them myself; what I was told is that it is the feeling of them that is their greatest weapon and most notable feature. The cold and despair and a cry that can pierce the very soul," he said moodily.
Just in case, I looked to Boromir.
He shook his head. "I have also not come across them, though I suspect that it was them who passed my camp one night on the way here- the chill that they leave behind curls the stomach," he reported.
This was something so far beyond my understanding that I could only let out a deep breath and hope that we never had to encounter these things. "There's nothing we can do just yet, so we may as well get some rest. You know where our room is, come knock us up in the morning," I told Strider faux casually and then looked over at the huddled littler people.
"Oi, hobbits!" I called.
They all startled and looked over, clearly frightened and suspicious. Poor Frodo seems to have realized just how deep this particular mess was, wide eyed and pale.
"Boromir and I'll be three doors down on the right side. Get us if you need anything," I told them, pointing at the wall in the direction of the room.
It got a few nods. "Are you coming with us, then?" asked Pippin hopefully.
That he apparently wanted me there was both surprising and not- in the biggest trouble and adventure of one's life, it makes sense that he would want at least one of his guides to be familiar. Even if I was only familiar because he and his friend annoyed the crap out of me last time we encountered each other.
I shot a grin over at him that made the large hobbit with the frying pans wince. "You bet your ass I am," I answered, "Night. Sleep tight."
With a last goodnight to Strider, Boromir and I left for our own room. Once we were alone he collapsed onto the bed nearer the door with his head in his hands.
"Hey hey, what's wrong?" I asked, somewhat alarmed at his loss in composure. This was a big, terrifying thing, but if any of us humans is having a hard time, it should be me-
Or maybe this was an indication I wasn't scared enough. If Strider looked like that and Boromir- one of the bravest, most determined people I knew- looked like this, it was beyond bad.
I sat down beside him and cautiously laid a hand on his upper arm. "I promise I won't tell if you're scared," I offered, "I am too."
He huffed and sat up straighter, one hand on his own knee and one that went to mine for a quick squeeze. Weariness and troubled thoughts were clearly visible in the downward curve of his lips, the dark confusion in his eyes. "My father puzzled out part of the riddle of my dream before I did. I do not know what most of it means, but he told me: bring me this thing, for Gondor's sake," he confessed, "I did not like the look in his eyes, a fey fire. Gondor's need is dire and I want to alleviate that, but I am unsure what would be the best action."
That sounded like agony and I felt for him, but big mauve alarms were going off in my head. "I don't know much about this whole business besides what you've told me, but I do know that the ring is bad news. It would do awful things to your dad if he somehow got it," I said, not quite sure whether I was trying to persuade him, "I really don't like the way it feels when it whispers into my head."
The frown got even lower. "My father is a noble man, but I fear that his strength is waning under the strain of Mordor," Boromir told me, "Sometimes there is a strange light in the top of the White Tower and it is said that Father wrestles in mind with the Enemy during those times. He seems ever more cold and tired afterward."
The very concept was beyond me, but something didn't seem right about that. "He might be mentally fighting Sauron, and now he wants Sauron's ring of power?" I asked, trying to puzzle this out.
"Yes. I think he believes that it is the only way to turn the tide against Mordor," Boromir confirmed.
"Again, I don't know about here, but back where I'm from that would be called very subtle manipulation. If this ring holds most of his power, and he still manages to be what he is, I don't think anyone alive could use the ring without losing their mind," I said honestly, then shrugged. "But what do I know, I'm still pretty new here. We just need to get the hobbits to Imladris- Rivendell- whatever- and then much smarter people than us will probably have an idea what to do."
A thought struck me that perked me up. "What if it gets destroyed?" I asked, suddenly seeing some hope in this insane slog to Imladris, "Then most of Sauron's strength will be gone and we might actually be able to defeat him!"
Boromir went still, expression asking, "Why didn't I think of that?" He stroked his short beard and nodded along to his thoughts. "It may not defeat the current foes that Gondor faces, but it would be impossible for Sauron to grow stronger," he mused, "That, at least, would be a good thing."
There's the ticket, I thought with a growing smile; this was ages better than his weary worrying. "I suppose the question then is, how to destroy it?" Call me dumb, but I started wishing for Gryffindor's sword.
After a moment of pondering, I shrugged and Boromir gave me one of those tired smiles. "Let's let the smart people in Imladris figure that out," I suggested, "For right now, how about you get off my bed so we can sleep?"
He raised an eyebrow with a somewhat weak smirk. "Your bed? No, this is my bed for tonight," he corrected, "I sat here first."
"I said it's mine first," I argued playfully.
"No no, it's my duty to be between the door and my wife," he replied, almost seriously, "What if there are intruders?"
I scoffed and gave him an expectant look.
He didn't move, so I rolled my eyes and to show that there were no hard feelings, leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "My knight in shining armor," I teased.
To sleep in the same room as Boromir but not beside him was damn strange. Different from just sleeping on the other side of the campfire; the last time we shared a room was in Edoras all those years ago.
I got some sleep but was woken by the noise of horses in the yard. An unseasonable chill had me shiver under my blankets, at first wondering why my heart was pounding almost out of my chest. The evening's events flooded back and my eyes popped open.
Everything was as it had been when I fell asleep, only Boromir was tense and wide awake in the other bed. Upon seeing that I was awake, he put a finger to his lips for silence.
I nodded and with excruciating slowness turned over, wincing with each tiny creak of the bed.
Under the noise of turning over, I heard softly clanking metal. Even muffled by the door it seemed ominous.
Was it me, or did the room seem horribly cold in the long moment that the nazgul passed our door? Instinctively I shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around me.
But I had to smile when I realized that somehow, they were falling for it. They were headed in the opposite direction of Strider's room.
The noise of the faked room being wrecked sent a shiver down my spine. I was so glad that the hobbits had moved rooms, no matter how the piercing cries of rage sent ice through my veins. Again the nazgul passed our door but this time I barely dared breathe- the last thing I wanted was for them to hear me.
While the strange screaming of their horses was grating, it also made me go boneless in relief. They were leaving; the ruse had worked.
In the bit of moonlight that filtered through the window I saw Boromir's grim smile and returned one of my own. For tonight, we were safe.
Still, I was tense and my sleep was troubled. The moment Strider knocked on the door my eyes sprang open and heart pounded. "Yeah?" I called, voice a bit high.
"We leave in half an hour," Strider replied, and then I heard his barely audible steps lead away.
Groggily I got into my clothes and barely remembered to grunt a greeting at Boromir, who was also a bit slow this morning. A night spent in instinctive terror will do that, I supposed.
Downstairs the hobbits looked no better rested than I felt and even Strider's under eye shadows were a bit darker. Immediately I felt a bit better.
Though when Barliman approached with that look on his face, my stomach went tight. The news was downright terrible: all the horses had somehow been released from their stables and even Gander was long gone. There was no guarantee of food between here and Imladris except what we could bring with us through hard terrain.
The one small crumb of comfort was that while Barliman, Bob, and Nob searched the neighborhood for a horse, we were able to sit down for breakfast. Potatoes, sausages, toast, eggs, and tea helped revive us all a bit. I was able to get a few apples, pears, and plums both to eat with it and for later; the sweet-tart tastes helped revive me more than the tea.
Unfortunately the only pony available was one from the abominable Bill Ferny, who never ceased to be a pest. He wouldn't part with it for anything less than twelve silver pennies, at least three times what the poor dispirited animal was worth. With a scowl I stayed back, knowing that our shared animosity would probably make him raise the price even more.
Everyone knew about Frodo's disappearing trick and the black riders, and what looked like most of Bree-land had shown up to see the strangers off. Briefly I wondered if Boromir and I should leave separately, but in the end walked out on the road with Strider and the hobbits. The choice was almost immediately rewarded when I saw Sam thrww an apple at Bill Ferny, hitting him on the nose, then regret the loss of a good apple.
The journey was rather pleasant for the first few hours, almost comfortable silence once we left our onlookers behind. But then I heard a noise I knew well: a booming bark, from behind us.
I whirled around, grinning, and quickly found myself being tackled by Gander. "How did you find me?" I demanded of the dog, squealing as I hugged around his neck. My spirits went up immensely even as he scrabbled at my shoulders with his paws.
"It seems that your horse has about as much sense as you do," Strider said, hopefully joking.
But sure enough, following Gander at a more sedate pace, Damascus clip-clopped her way up the road. Her coat shimmered on her back but her legs and undercarriage were covered in dried mud that was beginning to flake off, clearly having had a rough night. Affectionately she neighed at me and nuzzled me over Gander's happy licking attack.
There was no sign of Dancer, but I expected that she had gone south rather than following Gander. She knew the road home so I wasn't particularly worried.
Gladly we split the burden between the two ponies and lightened the loads on our own backs. Morale immediately shot up, though that was tempered by Strider's description of the marshes we would have to trek through.
The path we went through at first was very circular and confusing to throw off pursuit. I would have been lost immediately without Strider and the hobbits also seemed to look uncomfortable about the wandering route. But then we began heading east and with the beginning of boggy ground, we finally got an idea where we were.
I barely kept from slipping off the path, and everyone else (except Strider) did fall off the path at least once. I had a good snicker at Boromir misstepping and cursing when his boot went into the water.
The midges though, were nothing to laugh about. They bit me up even worse than the one time I went to India and seemed to be slowly driving the hobbits insane. Even Strider was extremely unhappy and broody the whole day and a half we spent in the marches.
But as all things do, this too passed. The ponies themselves seemed relieved and the moment we passed a clean stream we cleaned them up. Gander happily romped in the cool water and then soaked us all with the water he shook out of his newly clean coat. To have feet and boots that felt clean again was a wonder, even if my boots squished the whole afternoon afterward.
There was a brief discussion about the route from here. Apparently Frodo and Strider had seen a strange storm of light at Weathertop and wanted to see if there was a sign from Gandalf there, or maybe even the wizard himself. Anything was better than the marshes so I agreed quickly.
The hobbits were getting into some shape and I grinned to myself at their talking about their trimmer figures and tightened belts. It reminded me quite a bit of boot camp.
Sam was quite the surprise when at the end of a short lesson from Strider about Weathertop's history, he recited a bit of a rhyme about an elven king named Gil-Galad. Apparently the infamous Bilbo Baggins had translated it from some ancient language, impressing even Strider.
It made me very much want to meet Bilbo. To know that he was in Imladris where we were going made me feel sort of like I was going to meet Neil Gaiman or something.
The path up to Weathertop was winding and hidden, sometimes steep or narrow enough that I worried about Bill. But even in the wilds he was gaining weight and muscle under Sam's care, and would do almost anything for that hobbit.
Personally I was having a ball with it. It reminded me of times that I was sent out to the mountains in Afghanistan, only with worse weather. It's always a treat to climb, to find new paths and reach the literal top of something.
Of course I followed Strider, Frodo, and Merry up to the top of the crest. The view was incredible from up there, the whole way almost to Archet. Or what I thought was the woods surrounding it anyways; it was a big green blur to me.
There was apparently a sign that Gandalf had been here about three days ago and from the burnt stone and lichen, he had apparently been attacked. With what, a flamethrower? None of us liked the idea of staying somewhere as open and obvious as the tower but there was no better place we could reach in the hour before nightfall, so we settled in for an uncomfortable night.
To make sure that we were really alone in the area Strider and Boromir went out to scout, promising to be back by an hour after nightfall. I was sort of flattered to be left alone as the guard, but at the same time I'm complete crap at tracking and wouldn't have been any use out there anyways.
Mostly the hobbits rested their eyes or talked quietly among themselves, but Merry asked, "Do you think we lost the black riders?" The others fell quiet and looked at me.
Looking into the oncoming darkness, I shrugged. "I really hope so," I told them, "If they can follow us through all that, I'd be impressed."
Silently, I wished that the men would be back soon with good news. Or no news, which would still be better than bad news.
Something about this place tugged at my memory. I would've remembered coming here before, but it seemed familiar. Whatever it was left a bad taste in my mouth and I was wary of everything I saw; I wanted to get out of here fast.
"What's wrong, Cass?" Frodo asked, ever insightful.
I grimaced and shook my shoulders to relieve some tension. "I dunno, something about this place strikes a chord and I don't like it," I answered.
Movement from the perimeter caught my attention and I squinted into the blackness, trying to see what it was. My crappy vision only let me see blurs against the blackness but it was enough to freeze the heart out of me: there were six places I saw movement, then seven and eight and nine in the few extra seconds I watched to make sure.
"Black riders!" Sam exclaimed.
Damn. I licked suddenly dry lips and grabbed my halberd. "Gander, stay!" I commanded even as I fled right behind the hobbits; the animals would be safer in that little hollow than with us.
At the top of the hill we gathered in a little knot, backs bunched up together and looking in every direction. The chill had me face east, where I could vaguely see a black hooded head emerging from the darkness.
To know that they were coming was one thing but to see the nazgul in person was to know true fear. My blood ran cold and my face numb even as I could feel my heartbeat in my skull. Suddenly a flash of memory came to me.
A ring of broken stone and nine sets of black robes. A scream. Sudden, efficient movement. Such cold as I've never felt. An inhuman screech. A glimpse of an orange eye. Pain.
Well, at least I knew what that dream meant now, I thought distractedly as I placed myself in front of the hobbits. "Did you never hear that it's rude to interrupt a lady's beauty sleep?" I unwisely taunted them.
"Give us the halfling, human," the lead one hissed, in a lower tone than I had expected.
I was shaking and my knees threatened to buckle under me. Clammy sweat accumulated all over my body, my jaw hurt from how tense it was. "Um, no. These are my hobbits. Find your own," I retorted stupidly.
"I'm going to use my super secret ultra effective weapon now," I called to the hobbits behind me as we circled backward away from our enemies.
"W-what's that?" Frodo questioned in a quavering voice.
"Being a white woman in danger," I replied, and drew in a deep breath to my belly. I then channeled my teenage self and let out the loudest, shrillest, most carrying scream I've made in decades.
It almost matched the volume and pitch of the nazgul, which I was slightly proud of.
And then they attacked. Now I'm good with my halberd, but not nine-on-one good. Sam tried to help protect his Mr Frodo, bless him, but the short sword was easily spun out of his hand and he was thrown to the ground. Merry and Pippin fared no better, tossed aside like rag dolls.
My halberd was yanked from my grasp by a skillful turning parry. What had been fear became terror; if I had anything left in my bladder it probably would've gone at that moment. Still, I placed myself bodily in front of Frodo and let out another echoing scream.
A short black blade shot out from the side and my old training kicked in. I caught the armored wrist, bent it at an angle that should have broken it, and used its own hand to stab it in the gut, then tear downward and take the knife. The whole set of motions was quick and efficient and sent a cold through me like I have never experienced before, one that made me shout with how it hurt.
But louder than that was the cry of the nazgul I stabbed, louder than even they had ever been before as it crumpled into a pile of robes on the ground. It only made me dizzier than I already was as I struggled to stay standing. "One down, eight to go," I panted and in a panic realized that I slurred.
What was happening to me? It felt like I was falling asleep but I knew that only darkness awaited behind my eyelids, no dreams of light and love and absurdity.
I just couldn't help collapsing. It was beyond my physical ability to stay standing, even on my knees, and I fell face first onto the robes and armor of my slain enemy.
Frodo shouted for help, but I couldn't respond. Even the violent twitch I gave on the ground was almost too much for me. I'm sorry Frodo, I thought, sensing a pair of cold sabatons near my face. It looks like neither of us is getting to Imladris now.
The scream Frodo gave was awful on every level and out of my control, tears fell down my nose.
I'm so sorry, I thought dizzily, I'm so, so sorry.
Everything went black.
When the scream rang out, Boromir cursed. How could he have been out so long? Fear made him fly through the wilderness back to Weathertop, praying to every valar there was that he would make it in time.
Another scream, just as loud and even more shrill than before, gave him an extra burst of speed up the crumbling stairs to the crown of the hill. Already Strider was there and battling eight of the nazgul, four of those on fire and running for their lives, an amazing feat considering that Boromir's own heart had begun to quiver with fear inside of him.
A nazgul was about to come up behind Strider, so Boromir steeled himself and leaped into the fray. It was Strider who finished each of them with fire, the last being dispatched with an impressive throw of the torch straight into its hood. Boromir simply kept anything from getting behind the ranger's back and hoped that his courage would hold up.
Only when the threat had left did Boromir allow his shoulders to slump in relief. A thrill went through him at having not only survived but won a match with Sauron's most feared servants.
The feeling lasted only seconds. The hobbits were crying out for Strider, holding Frodo, who had been stabbed in the shoulder by a blade that crumbled to dust in the ranger's hand. "A morgul blade," he muttered and tossed down the handle in disgust, "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs elvish medicine!"
Where was Cass? Maybe she could help, Boromir thought and frantically looked around the stone ring for his wife.
He found the younger hobbits turning over something clad in all black. A shot of fear went through Boromir when the hood fell back and Cass's hair shone in the moonlight, braided back against her head. He almost skidded to a stop beside her and with growing fear patted her face with a gloved hand. "Cass? Wake up," he told her.
All he got was a lolled head with no sign of consciousness. But he could hear her breathing, shallow and unimpeded, so at least she yet lived. "What happened?" he demanded of the hobbits.
Beside him Strider knelt down and felt Cass's neck for a pulse, her forehead for a fever.
"When they came she tried delaying them by talking, and when they attacked she fought them, but they took her weapon away," Merry explained worriedly, "I don't know how but she stabbed him with his own knife, and then he sort of fell into himself and she fainted. Is there anything you can do, Strider? Or Boromir?" He looked eagerly, hopefully, into their faces in the dark.
"I am no healer," Boromir denied, both amazed and horrified. That was Cass's job, a sneaky little voice taunted him. What happens when it is the healer who needs healing?
Strider shook his head, letting out a low breath. "She too needs elvish medicine," he said in a low voice, "That she even survived smiting such a thing, and with its own weapon, is a miracle."
Just as Strider swept up Frodo, Boromir gently pulled Cass into his arms to carry downward. She was heavier than he expected but he was a strong man and was fully capable of climbing down with her lying over his shoulder.
There was no sign of movement from Cass, so they decided it would be safe enough to tie her onto Damascus's back for the journey. The horses seemed unsettled and Gander circled, whimpering and nosing at Boromir's and Cass's legs.
"How long will it take to get to Rivendell?" Boromir asked urgently as he guided Damascus down the dark slope.
"Six days," Strider answered grimly.
Boromir could only hope and pray that Cass had the strength to hold out until then. He didn't know what he would do if she didn't.