Chapter 22: Following the Company

The friends went on their way, down the wide hurrying waters, borne ever southwards. The bare woods crowded both sides of the bank so that not even keen-eyed Galareal could catch a glimpse of the lands behind them. The breeze died away and the River flowed without a sound; not even a hint of birdsong shattered the silence. The sun slowly sank into the West, turning the sky red and orange like fire. Then it vanished completely, and there followed a grey and starless night. They floated along for many dark quiet hours, guiding their boat under the overhanging shadows of the western woods. Great trees passed by like ghosts, thrusting their twisted thirsty roots through the mist down into the water. It was dismal and cold; Aria shivered and pulled her cloak closer around her. The friends sat listening to the faint lap and gurgle of the River threading its way among the tree roots and driftwood near the shore, until, one by one, all except Galareal fell asleep.
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Aria awoke to someone gently shaking her.
"Wakey wakey, time to eat," Elwing said cheerily.
Aria gave her a disdainful look then looked around at their surroundings. They were on the west bank of the Great River, Anduin, and Galareal and Erestor were sitting a little ways away by a small fire.
They set out before the morning was very old. Elwing did not want to catch up with the Fellowship right away, so they let the River bear them on at its own pace. They decided they would start early each day and journey far into the evening.
They saw no sign of any enemies that day or the next. The dull grey hours passed without event, and Elwing spent most of her time reading the Fire Book. As the third day of their voyage wore on the lands around them slowly changed: the trees thinned and then disappeared altogether. On the eastern bank to their left they saw long formless slopes stretching up and away toward the sky; brown and withered they looked, as if fire had passed over them, leaving no living blade of green: an unfriendly waste without even a broken tree or a bold stone to relieve the emptiness. They had come to the Brown Lands that lay, vast and desolate, between Southern Mirkwood and the hills of Emyn Muil. What pestilence or war or evil deed of the Enemy had so blasted all that region they could not tell, but to Elwing the place reeked of Sauron's foul magic.
Upon the west to their right the land was treeless also, but it was flat, and in many places green with wide plains of grasses as green as Elwing's necklace. On this side of the River they passed forests of great reeds, so tall that they shut out all view to the west, as the little boat went rustling by along their fluttering borders. Their dark withered plumes bent and tossed in the light cold airs, hissing softly and sadly. Here and there through openings, they could catch sudden glimpses of rolling meadows, and far beyond them hills in the sunset, and away on the edge of sight a dark line, telling where the southernmost ranks of the Misty Mountains lay.
Aria could hear Galareal speaking to Erestor about their surroundings.
"We have not journeyed far south yet," the Elf said. "We are not above sixty leagues, I think, south of the Shire. You are looking now south-west across the north plains of the Riddermark, Rohan the land of the Horse-lords. Before long we shall come to the mouth of the Limlight that runs down from Fangorn to join the Great River. That is the north boundary of Rohan; and of old all that lay between the Limlight and the White Mountains belonged to the Rohirrim. It is a rich and pleasant land, and its grass has no rival; but in these evil days folk do not dwell by the River or ride often to its shores. Anduin is wide, but the orcs can shoot their arrows far across the stream; and of late, it is said they have dared to cross the water and raid the herds and studs of Rohan."
Aria leaned over to Elwing and whispered, "Isn't that almost exactly what Aragorn told the Company?"
Elwing giggled. "I was thinking the same thing. Who knows, maybe they have the same source," she said with a shrug.
There was no sign of living moving things, save birds. Of these there were many: small fowl whistling and piping in the reeds, but they were seldom seen. Once or twice the friends heard the rush and whine of swan-wings, and looking up they saw a great phalanx streaming along the sky.
"Swans!" Aria cried. "Big black ones!"
"Mor alph*," Elwing grinned.
Erestor sighed, and the girls looked at him quizzically. "Something wrong?" Elwing asked pertly.
Erestor smiled wryly. "Besides the fact you two use any excuse to speak in Elvish? Course not."
Elwing ignored him and looked the other way, absently fiddling with the hilt of her sword. Aria looked at the sword.
"Elwing," she said abruptly, "are you going to name your sword?"
Elwing blinked. "Name my sword? Hmm, I don't see why not..." Elwing thought for a moment, than grinned. "I'll name it Naur Magol.**"
Erestor groaned. Elwing and Aria looked at him icily. "What now?" they asked with an irritated sigh.
"You two have Elf names, Galareal is an Elf, even your sword has an Elf name! I'm the only person on this boat without an Elvish name," he whined.
"Your sword doesn't have an Elvish name," Elwing offered.
Aria cut in. "Would you like an Elf name?"
Erestor glared at Elwing and sighed at Aria. "No, I brought it up for no reason," he said sarcastically.
Aria and Elwing put their heads together and began whispering. Erestor glanced at Galareal.
"I have a bad feeling about this," he said.
Suddenly Elwing and Aria burst out laughing. "Now I really have a bad feeling about this," he said, eying the girls suspiciously.
Elwing looked at him, a sheepish grin on her face. "Your Elf name," she said slowly, "is Maethor Uinrîs."
Erestor looked at her warily. "And what does that mean?"
Elwing blushed and Aria prodded her with her elbow. "It means Warrior of the Queen," Elwing said shyly.
Erestor grinned, and Elwing smiled back. Aria looked from one to the other. They'll smile at each other forever, she thought exasperatingly. To divert their attention, Aria turned to Galareal and said a bit loudly, "So, Galareal, what does your name mean?"
Galareal grinned, knowing what Aria was trying to do. "It means Path-Seeker," he replied, glad to see it had the desired effect as Elwing and Erestor turned their gazes elsewhere.
In the next day or two, as they went on, borne steadily southwards, a feeling of insecurity grew on the friends, and they took to glancing from bank to bank uneasily. The trees had seemed hostile before, as if they harbored secret eyes and lurking dangers; now they wished that the trees were still there. At least with the trees they had had a sense of security; here they felt naked, afloat in a little open boat in the midst of shelter less lands, and on a river that was the frontier of war. For a whole day they took to their paddles and hastened forward as the banks slid by like a slippery snake. Soon the River broadened and grew 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 mounds, over which flowed a chill air from the East. On the other side the meadows had become rolling downs of withered grass amidst a land of fen and tussock. There was little speech and no laughter in the boat, not even between the girls. Each of the friends were busy with their own thoughts.
Galareal's heart was running under the stars of a summer night in his beloved Mirkwood; Erestor was thinking of what was coming, and which way, or ways, the friends would, or should, take. Aria was thinking of Frodo. She and the Hobbit had grown quite close during their stay in Lórien, and she missed him very much. Elwing's thoughts dwelled on the Fire Book and magic.
That night they camped on a small eyot close to the western bank. The friends slept soundly, and even Galareal lay with closed eyes. Unbeknownst to them, a keen eyed orc scout had spotted them from across the River and was already on his way back to report to his captain.
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Elwing sat up and looked around. Galareal opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her.
"Something wrong?" he asked quietly.
"I thought I heard something," she said, glancing around.
"It was probably just a bird, but I shall keep an eye open just incase. You can go back to sleep," he said reassuringly.
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A figure clothed and hooded in black glanced back across the River to where the friends lay sleeping. With disgust it wiped its sword clean on the body of the slain orc spy. Silently sheathing its sword, the figure cast one last glance across the River before disappearing into the shadows.
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The next day they began paddling for long spells, and the banks went swiftly by. They saw little of the country, for they journeyed mostly by night and twilight, resting by day, and lying as hidden as the land allowed. In this way time passed without event until the eighth day.
The country on either side began to change rapidly. 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. Later, as the sun was setting, and the friends were getting ready to start again, Aria saw a dark spot against the fading light: a great bird high and far off, now wheeling, now flying on slowly southwards. She pointed to it wordlessly. The other friends looked to where she indicated and Galareal squinted at it suspiciously.
"Hunting eagle," he said. "We should not start until it is fully dark."
No one argued.
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The eighth night of their journey came. It was silent and windless; the grey east wind had passed away. The thin crescent Moon had fallen early into a 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 brightly.
"This will have to be our last journey by night," Galareal said. "Sarn Gebir is still many miles ahead, but there are dangerous places even before we come there: rocks and stony eyots in the stream. We must keep a sharp watch and try not to paddle swiftly."
Aria and Elwing, the weaker of the four, took turns paddling and hanging over the bow watching for rocks. It was Aria's turn to watch when only a few yards ahead dark shapes loomed up in the stream and she heard the swift swirl of racing water. Aria gave a warning cry. A swift current swung them to the left, towards the eastern shore where the channel was clear. As they were swept aside, the friends could see, now very close, the pale foam of the River lashing against the sharp rocks that were thrust out far into the stream like ridge of teeth.
"To the shore!" Galareal cried over the roar of the River. "Bring the boat to the shore!"
All four of them grabbed paddles and strove with the River to bring their tiny boat to the shore. They finally managed to land their boat, and they all climbed ashore and lay panting on the sand. After they had rested a short while, Elwing spoke from where she lay on the sand.
"We must go back onto the River and travel until we find a small shallow bay on the western shore," she said, still a little breathless.
Galareal made a noise that was half laugh and half snort. "Go back out there? At night? We barely made it to the shore!"
Now it was Elwing's turn to snort. "Two nights ago the Company was attacked by orcs at this very spot, and while I doubt the orcs are still here, I do not want to risk it, do you?"
Galareal did not reply, but rose to his feet and walked back to the boat. He picked up his paddle and looked back over his shoulder at the others.
"Coming?"
The others smiled and rose to their feet. They got back on the River and fought their way through the rough water and around the jutting rocks until they were rewarded by the sight of the small shallow bay on the western shore. They climbed ashore and lay down, falling asleep almost at once - except Elwing. She lay quietly staring at the sky, wondering why she was not even tired. When a half hour had passed, she stood up and walked to the boat. Finding her pack, she pulled out the Fire Book, then sat back down and began to read. She looked up as Erestor quietly sat down next to her.
"Why aren't you asleep?" Elwing asked quietly, so as not to wake the others.
Erestor grinned. "I could ask you the same thing," he whispered.
Elwing smiled back, then looked down at her book. Erestor looked as well.
"What's that?" he asked.
"The Fire Book," Elwing replied.
"Ah," Erestor said, nodding. "Well, continue your reading. I'll watch."
Elwing laughed, but quietly. "Erestor, it's in Sindarin, you don't understand it."
Erestor grinned. "That's why I said I'll watch," he said, winking at her. "Besides, it has pictures."
Elwing tried hard to keep her laughter under control, and looked at the drawing Erestor was pointing to. It was a small sun with a five pointed star in the middle. The colors were so vibrant and the drawing so detailed that she almost thought that she would be burned by the flames if she touched it. By the look on Erestor's face, she guessed that it was not just she who felt this way. She was proven right when Erestor asked quietly, "Are all the pictures like this?"
Elwing smiled softly. "If you mean do they all seem real, then yes."
Erestor said nothing, so she continued reading. Erestor looked closely at each page Elwing read, mainly examining the pictures for he had given up trying to figure out the words after the first page. They had only looked at six pages when Erestor saw something that made his heart skip a beat and his blood run cold. Elwing had turned the page, and there, on the new page, was drawn the scene Erestor had seen in Galadriel's Mirror. The thunderclouds seemed to be moving, and the lightning was as bright as if it was real. And there, below the great thunderheads, on a hill who's long green grass seemed to move as if blown by a fierce wind, stood an Elf. The Elf's face was tilted up towards the sky, but Erestor could still see his emerald green eyes and his pointed ears; long raven black hair blown and tossed by the wind. A long, bright lightning bolt had forced it's way out of the cloud and was making its way down towards the Elf.
Elwing noticed Erestor's sudden stiffening and looked at him with concern.
"What is it? What's wrong?" she whispered urgently.
Erestor moved slowly, as if he were in deep water. "Who is that?" he asked shakily, a quivering finger pointing to the picture.
Elwing quickly read the story on the page opposite, forgetting Falagorn's warning in her anxiousness.
"His name is Fairidon," she said, summarizing what she had read. "He was a great fighter, and Sauron had many plans foiled by him. Sauron wished him dead, and so sent a large portion of his army under the Lord of the Nazgûl to kill him. The army purposefully went out of their way to burn towns and slaughter the inhabitants. Fairidon knew that they would not return to Mordor until he was dead, so he climbed a hill and created a powerful storm, and one of the lightning bolts fell and struck him, killing him."
Erestor sat staring at the picture. "Couldn't he have found a less painful way?"
Elwing frowned. "You underestimate a Sunstar's power. We are very powerful, and it would have been nothing for him to create a lightning bolt that killed instantly."
Erestor half-smiled. "Can you make lethal lightning bolts?"
Elwing smiled grimly, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Not yet. Come, we should rest, dawn will be upon us before we know it."
With this, Elwing slipped back to her blanket and lay down. Erestor did not follow right away, for Elwing's reply made him nervous. Not yet. Perhaps it was nothing, then again perhaps it was something. Erestor kept telling himself that Fairidon was the one he had seen in the Mirror, but his heart stubbornly replied, but why would you see a dead Elf you never knew? Not yet. Erestor dearly wished she had said, I never will, but it was too late now. Erestor lay down with a sigh and fell into a fitful sleep.
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They all awoke before dawn the next day. As they ate some lembas, Galareal turned to Elwing.
"And where to now, oh leader?" he asked cheekily. "Surely you do not wish us to travel down Sarn Gebir?"
Elwing grinned at the cheeky Elf. "Certainly not. There is a passage way that leads to a good landing place past the Rapids, and I plan to have you and Erestor drag our boat along that path."
Galareal grimaced. "And where, pray tell, is this passage way?"
Elwing grinned broadly. "I don't know."
Galareal blinked in surprise. "Then how are we supposed to find it?"
Elwing's grin broadened even more. "Leave that to me."
As soon as the sky began to brighten, Elwing slipped off, telling the others to wait where they were till she returned. They had tried to come along, but she would not have it. But they did not have to wait long, for she had been gone scarcely ten minutes when she returned with a triumphant smirk on her face.
"I've found it!" she said proudly, and added under her breath, "beat that Aragorn!"
Galareal and the others looked at her in surprise. "How did you find it so quickly?" asked Aria.
Elwing grinned. "Hobbits and Elves may go light and leave few tracks, but Dwarves and Men have not that skill."
The friends unloaded the boat and divided the supplies between them. Then, with Galareal and Erestor carrying the boat, Elwing led them to the passage way. It took them longer to reach it than when Elwing had gone herself, for they had to haul the boat over rough ground. Eventually they made it, and they went with no more trouble than was caused by loose rocks and trailing briars.
It was close to noon when they arrived at the landing, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Galareal and Erestor looked to the boat and the girls sat down beneath a scraggly tree. Aria smiled as she watched Elwing pull a thorn from her leg. Elwing held up the thorn and winked at Aria.
"Kinda reminds you of our walks in the woods, doesn't it?" she said with a smile.
Aria laughed, remembering the briar-filled woods around Elwing's house that the two friends frequently traipsed through.
Galareal and Erestor came and joined them, panting and sweating despite the coolness of the day. Elwing wrinkled her nose.
"Would you mind sitting downwind?" she asked pertly.
"Har har," grumbled Erestor, but he was smiling, knowing that she was only teasing.
The friends were reaching for their packs when a loud horn blast shattered the air. Elwing leapt to her feet, shaking like a leaf in a storm. They did not have to wait long before another horn call rang through the air.
"Noo!" Elwing screamed, running towards the sound.
Erestor jumped up and ran after her. Grabbing her waist, he pulled her back and kept her from running. Elwing struggled against him, tears streaming down her face as the horn calls grew fainter and fainter, until, at last, they ceased.
Aria covered her face with her hands, her tears falling into her lap. Galareal's face was pale and drawn.
"What evil is this?" the Elf whispered sadly. "That was Boromir's horn, I would know it anywhere."
Aria wiped her eyes and sniffled. "Boromir is dead," she said quietly.
Horror and grief covered Galareal's face. "How can this be?"
Quietly and quickly, Aria told him that the Company had been attacked, Merry and Pippin captured by orcs, and Boromir killed.
Elwing had ceased struggling, and was now clinging to Erestor, her face hidden in his shirt as she sobbed brokenly.
"They, killed, my, brother!" she managed to say between sobs.
Erestor rested his cheek against her head. "Don't be sad, he is at peace now, there was nothing you could do," he said softly.
Elwing continued to sob, and Erestor held her, tears of grief running down his face as well.


* Mor alph is black swan in Sindarin.
** Naur Magol means Fire Sword in Sindarin.
Also, Galareal's name doesn't have an Elvish equivalent, but because Sindarin has no words for path or seek, I decided to have it mean that. Hope no one minds. =)

END CHAPTER 22
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