A/N: I told you this chapter would be up quickly. Unfortunately, it lacks Gandalf, but I promise he'll be back next time. The hobbits seemed to have forgotten about him. (For future reference, the four reincarnated hobbits are my muses.)
MOVING ON... I must warn you about my feeble attempt to use proper Elvish (shudders). If you see any inconsistencies, etc, please let me know, and I'll try (try being the key word) to correct it.
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Chapter 3: We Have a Plan
"What are you doing, Merry?"
"I told you, Pippin, I'm looking at maps."
Pippin looked with bemusement at the clutter of papers that littered the floor of Merry's chamber. Back at the Shire, he had never even imagined seeing his cousin doing something so ambitious.
"But...why?"
"I want to make a good impression on Gandalf. If he's sees us getting involved in this Mount Doom business, he'll talk to Lord Elrond about lettin' us go off with Frodo."
"Oh!" Pippin sat next to Merry on the floor. "So, what are you looking at maps of?"
"I'm not so sure yet. Everything's in Elvish."
"Maybe you should get Frodo to help, then. He could probably understand this stuff."
"I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Because..." Merry hesitated. "I don't want to be a bother! He's havin' fun with the elves!"
"Then why not ask Bilbo?"
"He's probably busy."
Pippin narrowed his eyes. "Oh...I see, you want to do it by yourself to impress Gandalf, don't you."
"Is there anything wrong with that?" Merry asked impatiently.
"No, but you'll never be able to do it. I don't even understand these pictures."
* * *
The damming process would take a very long time. Boromir found this out when Elrond told him not to cut down any trees within the gates of Rivendell. The Elf-lord had bid them start immediately, and they had began early in the morning. It was now almost noon, and so far they had a small (as small as a pile of oak trees can be) collection of trunks gathered on a flat clearing near the top of the valley cliffs. They had chosen this location because of its convenient abundance in trees, and also because it led to one of the less vertical slopes.
The party of dwarves that he was assisting was not pleasant company on that chilly autumn day. They were still peeved about the lack of elves helping them, all of whom would "never dare cut down a living tree".
The annoyed dwarves were presently in front of him, attempting to cut down a huge oak that they would then have to haul down the valley wall…somehow. They had yet to decide how exactly they would do so. Gimli had earlier suggested using ropes, but had not given any ideas of how exactly they would use them.
"Now!" a dwarf yelled, startling Boromir out of his thoughts.
Boromir quickly ran to the other side of the tree, where he assisted the dwarves in leaning against the massive trunk, trying to direct the course of its fall. With a heavy thud, which served to shift the earth beneath their feet, the oak plummeted to the ground. Its branches shook wildly for a moment, and leaves from surrounding trees showered them with a rain of foliage.
"Felled!" Glóin yelled happily. The dwarves gave a cheer, and then began hacking away at the enormous roots with something akin to madness. Boromir began to think it was probably a good thing that no elves were around to help at times like these.
Next came the hard part. The group began pushing and shoving the tree trunk to the pile of others. The impact of the tree and left it sunk into the ground slightly, so they worked for some time to free it from the groove in the earth it has so inconveniently lodged itself into. Finally, it gave way, and they slowly but steadily rolled it towards the gathered tree trunks.
"I think we've felled enough trees for today," Boromir said hopefully.
Luckily, the dwarves agreed, and they began speaking about what would prove to be their greatest trial: how to get the trees down.
* * *
The man and elf continued through the dark Greenwood, which was a tiring process of cutting the stray, dead branches that had rotted and entwined themselves with other trees. Here and there, a stray ray of sunlight could be seen spilling through the thick canopy of foliage that formed a vaulted roof over the path. While Legolas could see fairly well in the darkness, the gloom made Aragorn ill at ease, reminding him of the countless trips he had made in places far more evil. While it was not nearly so dark as Moria, Mirkwood had good reason for being so named. Fortunately, as they drew nearer to the fair dwelling of the Wood-elves, sunlight became more abundant, spilling through open clearings and lighting the surrounding woods. Also, the thick sea of decaying brushwood was replaced with the welcoming sight of large, beautiful fir trees.
"We are drawing close," Legolas said softly, glancing around at the trees he was so familiar with.
"For that I am glad," Aragorn said, calming slightly. He felt more at ease in this part of the forest; it had the comfortable feeling that elves had once lived here, before moving northward to escape the growing shadow. But the aura of relief did not last long, and a horribly familiar shriek sounded in the distance.
Spiders. Aragorn moaned in great displeasure, unsheathing his sword. "How many?"
"I can't tell," Legolas said softly, readying an arrow to his bow, though not tightening his pull on the string. "Not until they come a little closer…"
Aragorn could clearly see Legolas's face in the sun. He gave a mirthless grin. The sunshine gave them the advantage, for spiders were blind in light, seeing the best in complete darkness.
"They are cautious," Legolas said suddenly. "And they do not make much noise in there movements. There must be about nine or ten." The elf sounded slightly relieved, though his voice was still tinted with the anxiety that any battle offers.
Aragorn sighed. "I suppose it could be worse."
The spiders appeared suddenly, stepping out of the shadowy wood. Almost instantly, one fell dead to the ground, killed by an elven arrow. The spiders drew back behind the trees, out of range. Dropping his sword, Aragorn brought out his own bow, as Legolas let loose another arrow. It killed a spider that had once again begun to come forward.
Aragorn let loose an arrow, piercing one in the leg, though not killing it. Stringing another arrow to the bowstring, Aragorn prepared to for the fatal shot in the eye. The chance never came.
With a sudden cry, the beasts leapt forward. Aragorn once again discarded his weapon, reaching down for his blade. Standing, he brought his sword down hard on the head of one of the large creatures. He turned, dodging the sting of another, and thrust his blade through its soft underbelly. He grimaced as the black blood gushed onto his uncovered hand. With a small effort, he pulled his sword out of the creature's gut and moved aside just as the mighty legs gave way and it fell to the ground.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Legolas slash the eye out of the last menacing spider and stab it in the broad muscles of its forearm. The last fiendish insect fell to the ground, dead. Legolas sighed and put away his knives.
"Are you alright?" he asked Aragorn offhandedly.
The man nodded, and they went to find their horses, who had conveniently fled the scene at the first sign of the coming spiders. As they stepped forward, Legolas stopped short, his body tensing.
There was a sudden sound of twigs and branches snapping above their heads. Looking up, Aragorn saw about a dozen eyes peering down at him, coming ever closer. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. He was still He gripped his hilt tightly, when he realized how foreign the blade was to him. He cursed mentally, realizing that he didn't have Narsil.
At the man's look of dismay, Legolas was quick to notice. "Where's your sword?" he hissed, returning his gaze to the looming spiders.
"It's in Rivendell! Elrond had it presented to the elven-smiths, to be forged tomorrow fortnight!" It was the elf's turn to curse. Their situation had become slightly more extreme. "Aragorn is an expert swordsman," Legolas reassured himself. "He just fought off two spiders with that weapon, and was fine. He will fight well again with a borrowed blade."
Their time was up. One by one, the spiders leapt down, encircling them, though they still remained a few meters distant, analyzing their prey. But suddenly, when all hope seemed to have failed them and they prepared to lunge forward with cries of war, a welcome shout was heard in the distance.
"Hado!"
* * *
"I think this one's a forest."
"Nah, Pippin, I'd say they're mountains."
"No, look, it even has little trunks."
"I think those are roads."
"What are you doing?" a new voice asked them. The two younger hobbits looked up as Frodo entered the room.
"Looking at maps," Pippin responded matter-of-factly, returning his gaze to the selected map that lay in front of them.
Frodo looked rather interested. "I like maps," he said shortly. He sat down next to his cousins.
"Good," Pippin said. "You can translate them for us."
Frodo looked down at the Elvish script, his brow furrowed with thought. Bilbo had taught him about Elvish tongues and writings since he was a small boy. He had to admit to himself that he had gotten quite good at it, and Gildor had even told him he was a true Elvish scholar, which had made him very proud, both of himself and Bilbo.
"Sorry," he said blandly. "I can't translate them."
"Why not?" Merry demanded.
"I don't know this form of Elvish. You should ask Gandalf."
"I already tried that, Frodo," Pippin said bitterly, with a look of scorn at his other cousin. "Merry wouldn't have it."
"Well," Frodo continued, "I'm sure we could figure it out by looking at the pictures. We just need to find the Misty Mountains, and work our way from there."
"Okay," Merry said, brightening up slightly. "But which way's north?"
The hobbits peered at the map with increased concentration.
* * *
Arwen sat alone on an empty terrace, lost in her own thoughts and musings as she absently watched the growing mist of the waterfalls. After a few moments of humming softly to herself, she heard familiar footsteps coming towards her, and did not look up when her brother's voice asked to join her.
She smiled faintly in response, but still did not look up.
"You're awfully quiet today, sister," Elrohir said quietly, sitting down beside her. Elladan sat on her other side. "What are you doing up here by yourself?"
"I'm just thinking," she whispered absently.
"About what?" Elladan asked, not willing to give up on making his sister talk. She had been depressed as of late, and they did not pretend to know why.
"The scouts," she replied softly in the same distant tone.
Elrohir smiled despite himself. "I know, sister. We miss him too."
Arwen smiled at her brother's pleasant attitude towards her feelings for Aragorn. Her father had been less understanding. Her mind resting upon this last thought, her smile waned.
Elladan frowned, seeing the sudden change on his younger sister's face. "Now what are you thinking of?"
"Our father."
"Oh," he replied lamely. He knew her well enough to know full well what she meant.
"What happened when"-Elrohir swallowed hard-"you told him about your troth?" The twins had for a long time been wondering at that, for their father had spoken of naught concerning the subject. At least not to them.
Arwen took a deep, shaky breath. She had been hoping he would never ask her that. But she felt that her beloved older brothers deserved an answer to any questions they had about her love for Estel.
"I don't think I'd ever seen him so upset. But at first he was doubtful; he probably thought that I was just confused, that my feelings would subside as I got over the initial "infatuation", as he put it. But when he learned of my troth... he was truly grieved. I hated seeing him in such a state. Thus, as you know, I once again departed for Lórien."
They sat in silence for a few moments. Arwen was reminiscing about the complete dialogue she had shared with her father. Somewhat behind her, the brothers glanced at each other a few times, wondering if it was the right time to tell their sister their real reason for seeking her out that afternoon. Evidently, they decided it was.
"Arwen," Elladan said softly, his voice cheerless, "we have also chosen your path."
She looked up, startled. "No! You can't do that, not for me, think of our father!'' she said aloud. Despair added, "Think of our mother!" yet the thought did not escape her lips.
They smiled sadly. "We aren't doing it for you, Arwen, though that would still be reason enough. And we feel guilty enough about leaving father without you adding to the remorse."
"Then why?" she cried, desperate. She loved her brothers dearly.
"We trespassed long ago, by riding with the Rangers of the North. You are not within your rights to scorn our decision," he added wryly.
She suppressed a sob. Elrohir cringed.
"Don't cry, Arwen. It will be all right," he said softly, embracing her tightly. Elladan looked away. His shoulders were shaking slightly.
In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Elladan said suddenly, "We are leaving in two days time to meet up with Estel in Mirkwood, Arwen." It served its purpose.
"You are?" she asked shakily. "Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything."
"Will you tell him that which you told me?" Elrohir bit his lip.
"Of course," Elladan whispered. The three lapsed into another thoughtful silence.
* * *
"Maybe we could roll them down," Gimli suggested. The group of dwarves (long with Boromir) stood in a semicircle facing the pile of giant tree trunks. Boromir was very tired, and not in the most patient of moods. He found himself feeling rather antagonistic towards the dwarves; but his resentment was borne of their tireless nature, rather than any actual hatred. He would never have normally skipped all meals for the day just to stand on a ledge hauling massive oak trees, and he was growing rather exhausted. But the others still appeared infuriatingly awake.
"Roll them?" Boromir exclaimed. "And crush half the elves in Rivendell?"
The dwarves glanced amongst themselves. The man had a point. Unfortunately, they deemed it as a point that supported Gimli's suggestion. Realizing this, Boromir rolled his eyes. But an idea had also struck him at Gimli's statement.
"How about we create blockades in the hill, so if we DO roll them,"-here the dwarves looked up-"we can manage how quickly they fall, and how far."
The dwarves looked thoughtful, as though considering whether the man had a good idea.
"Very well," Glóin said finally. Seeing his comrade's doubtful faces, he added, "Let's at least attempt it."
And so, a few hours later, they had constructed a few wooden barricades out of the discarded roots. These were being held up by thick ropes, which were tied to stakes in the ground. At the base of the hill was the largest blockade, meant for catching the trunks as they reached the foundation.
"Please, may no one get hurt!" Boromir prayed desperately to the sky.
Gimli gave him a shrewd look. "It was your idea," he said gruffly.
Boromir sighed. He waved a disdainful hand at the dwarf; Gimli took that as a sign to release the first log. With a snap, his axe split the thick rope and the first barricade dropped to allow the logs to roll. Within seconds the logs hit the next blockade. Gimli was pleased with the successful drop. Boromir looked pale. The next dwarf proceeded Gimli in letting loose the logs again.
The trees fell down the cliff face in this fashion for some time, until much later with only one trunk broken they finally reached the ground. Boromir let loose a deep sigh of relief. The dwarves cheered.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Gimli asked the man gleefully. "Now all we have to do is build the dam."
"And somehow get the logs into the river."
"We'll use more rope," the dwarf said shortly, making his way down the hillside to join his comrades.
* * *
"Merry," Frodo asked suddenly. "Where exactly did you get these maps?" The hobbits had made no progress, and dinnertime was drawing near. Presently, they thought they had located something that resembled the Misty Mountains, but they couldn't be sure. Merry and Pippin were now debating whether the mountains were supposed to curve eastward or westward.
"I found them on a shelf in the council room."
"WHAT?!?" Pippin and Frodo exclaimed, startled and thoroughly alarmed by the thought of Elrond noticing his maps were missing. Pippin exploded.
"Merry, what a daft way of gaining Lord Elrond's favor, stealing his maps!"
"He won't notice they're missing! Besides, how else am I going to get to come along?"
"You could try asking," Frodo muttered, uncomfortable with the realization that they wished to accompany him. He sighed, looking up at his younger cousins. "You two aren't any better than Sam. I tried to convince him that Mordor was not the place he wanted to go, but now I see he's had influence from a not-so-surprising source."
"What are you talking about? Sam's older than both of us! What makes you think it's not the other way around?" Pippin asked defensively.
"That's hardly the point-"
"Look, Frodo," Merry began impatiently, and despite his steady voice, his troubled eyes betrayed his sadness. "We're coming too, if Sam is." He smiled suddenly. "Personally, I'd like to see a nice gentlehobbit like yourself try and stop us!"
Frodo sighed in resignation. Merry looked pleased. But Pippin's mind was elsewhere, and with a sudden look of rapidly increasing terror, he abruptly stood up.
"I'm not gonna be found with Lord Elrond's stolen maps, Merry. You're on your own for this one!" he exclaimed, fleeing the room. Frodo quickly followed suit.
"Sorry, Merry," he said swiftly, "but I'm off to find Sam for dinner."
"Fine," Merry thought bitterly. "But one day this'll come in useful."
* * *
"Hado! Hado i philinn!"
Legolas smiled as a dozen elven arrows whipped past his head, hitting the surprised spiders and killing them instantly. He heard more arrows hit the spiders behind him. He turned around, a wide smile of immense relief on his face.
"Hennaid, Gilboron!" Legolas said. Aragorn recognized the elf, Gilboron, as being a captain of Mirkwood's archers.
"Mae govannen, Legolas," the elf replied, smiling. He turned and saw Aragorn. His smile waned ever so slightly. "A Aragorn Arathornion, vedui."
"Mae govannen," Aragorn replied weakly. He noticed that some of the elves in the back were exchanging puzzled (and somewhat riled) glances. He was startled when he noticed Gilboron was speaking to him.
"What brings you here to Mirkwood, Elf-friend?"
Legolas cut in. "We have something to ask of my father, Gilboron. I would see him as soon as possible."
"I will take you there," the older-elf said, nodding briskly. He told the elf at his side to lead the others on. Aragorn watched in silence as the other elves continued southward.
"Where are they going?" Legolas asked curiously.
"We are still looking for Sméagol," he said ruefully. "We have searched among the orc-tracks for sign of him, but it appears that he was not taken prisoner. He must have escaped them during the confusion of battle."
"If he even was taken prisoner," Aragorn thought bleakly.
They reached Thranduil's halls within two hours. Aragorn couldn't help but admire the way the Wood-elf settlements of Mirkwood had maintained their otherworldly beauty despite the ever-growing shadow in the south of the forest.
"I will speak to the King first," Legolas said to him. "Wait here. I'll not be long."
* * *
"I think they're much better than the elves, and I have more patience with them than I do with most men. They are so much like children, and as such they appear to my eyes, but it is in the way they act that makes them seem so innocent and childlike. Wouldn't you say?"
Gimli's father smiled at his described opinion of hobbits. "Ai, they are like children, but not so much as to make them naïve."
Gimli smiled in turn. "You have known hobbits for much longer than I have, father. I remember when you first came back from your trip with Bilbo Baggins. The stories you told of them were wonderful, in the way that you described an entirely new and amusing race that we had long since forgotten."
"And one that we hadn't," his father added darkly, recalling his time spent in Mirkwood's dungeons. "The elves proved to be just as obtuse and self-centered as usual on that trip."
"But Bilbo got you safely out, and that is a good thing. It is quite interesting that the little hobbit outsmarted the Wood-elves, I say."
"It is, and quite amusing, too!" They shared a laugh at that.
"So," his father continued, "What do you think of that man of the south, Boromir? He seems to be a nice fellow."
Gimli agreed. "Ai, and he's been helpful with the whole dam business as of yet."
"That he has. Have you spoken much to him?"
Gimli nodded. I spoke with him briefly last night, as a matter of fact. He seemed good-humored. I told him about our worries for Balin, and he told me about the distress of the people of Gondor."
His father didn't respond for some time. Gimli looked out the open window. The stars were unusually bright.
"What think you of that other man, the ranger?"
"The heir of Isildur? I suppose he seemed cordial... but he was oddly familiar with the elves. He even speaks Elvish, a result of having been raised by Lord Elrond. There's one thing going against him," he added wryly.
"Lord Elrond isn't that bad," Glóin said reluctantly, unexpectedly supporting the Elf-lord. "He of course has his faults, which comes with being of Elf-kind, but he's only half-elven after all. He has shown great hospitality to us, and I though loath I am to admit, he has done nothing to spoil my good opinion of him."
Gimli shrugged. "Anyway, the man Aragorn seemed friendly enough, despite being an Elf-friend. I don't know how I'd live with myself if I was so named."
"To be sure, neither do I! But he is a respectable man, being after all a Nùmenorean. Those men are few to be found these days."
Gimli sighed, nodding in agreement with his father's words.
* * *
Merry had given up looking at maps. Without the help of his friends, it was hopeless (not that they would have been any help anyway.) From where he was sitting on his bed, he heard a knock on his door.
"Come in," he called lazily. To his surprise, it was not Pippin who entered, but Bilbo.
"I was wondering why you didn't come to dinner," the old hobbit explained, entering the room. "Have you taken ill? We wouldn't-" the hobbit stopped abruptly, seeing the large pile of maps on the floor of Merry's room.
"I was looking at maps," Merry answered.
Bilbo smiled slightly. "Yes, I surmised as much. But the question remains: Why? I don't suppose you think you'll have to go back to the Shire all by yourself, do you? I'm sure that when the time comes Strider will go with you. Or, if he's off at Mordor still, some elves will surely lead you there."
"I wanted to go with Mordor with Frodo. I was trying to impress Gandalf by showing him that I could be of help, if I knew the way to Mordor. But it doesn't matter now, anyway," he added sadly. "I can't read them."
Bilbo slowly bent down to pick up one of the maps. He peered closely at it, and then frowned.
"Well, the reason you can't read them, my good young cousin, is because they're in Elvish!" Bilbo said smartly. Merry smiled despite himself.
"However, I think I can fix that problem," the old hobbit continued. "Follow me."
Bilbo led Merry to the large room he was currently residing in. Reaching into a drawer, he took out an old map that was slightly tinted with age.
"I made this map," Bilbo said proudly, "and so it certainly isn't in Elvish. Here, you can borrow it, for now, but I'll need it back when you're done. I want to make a copy for my book."
Merry gazed with unhidden wonder at the large map of Middle-Earth. He would have no difficulty reading it, that much was certain.
He smiled at the old hobbit standing before him. "Thanks, Bilbo," he said.
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That's all, folks! Please review! I really hope that whole thing between Arwen and her brothers wasn't too, um, corny. I'm really uneasy about it. Speaking of which...
*ATTENTION LOTR FANS: (If you're not a fan, I'm quite curious to know why you're reading this.) Anyway, now is your chance to flaunt your knowledge of the books. Does anyone happen to know the reason why Elladan and Elrohir chose to become mortal? I'd really like to know. I have read Unfinished Tales, and selected volumes from The History of Middle-earth series, but I haven't come across any explanation. If by any chance someone knows, could you tell me in a review? Or e-mail me? Thank you!
Elvish Translations:
Hado! Hado I philinn! -- Fire! Fire the arrows!
Hennaid -- Thanks
Mae govannen -- Well met
A Aragorn Arathornion, vedui -- And Aragorn son of Arathorn, greetings
Happy New Year! See you in January!