The True Greate Journey

Chapter 4 - The Lair of the Wolf

Agarwaenloth stood in silent contemplation of the hall. It had been many seasons since she had last been there. Within, she knew, was the one she sought. The Sacrificer.

To be there brought back all the memories, suddenly hard and raw as the day it had all happened. As her eyes closed, Waen again saw Pippin, turned toward the flames with hard determination across his face, stepping forward with absolute faith in his intentions. She felt her body again rung by the sorrowful wail from Merry as he lunged forward, half an instant too late to save his friend as the mighty ax swung down. Ringing dreadful again in her ears, she heard the low moans of the King and remaining Halfling as they sank to their knees, heads clutched in their hands tightly. The two had gone into almost a state of shock at losing the Seeing-Stone's powerful influence so suddenly. All of Gondor, it seemed, had gone into shock.

Aragorn had only lingered briefly. Each day had shown him calmer and gentler, speaking soft loving words to his wife, children, and companions of old. When the end of the week had seen the King's spirit pass away with the setting sun, Waen had watched her father tearfully close the eyes of a dear old friend, Strider the Ranger.

Merry had recovered, but was forever weakened by the hideous blow. He had sworn over Pippin's mangled body to live the life the Took had wanted him to live, and vowed to dedicate his remaining days to his departed friend. The last Waen had seen of him, he had been kneeling at the side of the cairn she now stood beside.

Pulling herself from her memories, Waen looked over the piled stone pyramid. She banished the remembrance of building it, of building the hall, and studied instead the many hued rocks. Near to the bottom she saw a few spattered splotches of moss growing. She knelt to wipe it away, but froze when she touched it. It wasn't moss, as she had guessed. Her fingers knew the feeling well, and drew back in horror. Long dried blood...

"The dagger is beside you." The familiar voice made Waen whirl around, though she remained kneeling. Her fair eyes were greeted with an equally familiar form, the tall stately figure of Draug. He looked much as he had when she had left, a few years older, perhaps, but then so was she. Yet still could she find the shadowy figure she had first seen hiding behind the throne in the prince's dark features and serious mien. He spoke again. "The one he did it with. If that's what you're looking for."

Waen looked down beside her and saw it. The dagger had once been beautiful, she guessed, though now it was rusted over from exposure and more dried blood. In what was almost terror she rose and backed away from the cairn, not stopping until she bumped into Draug. She turned to face him again, realizing she had only twice stood this close to him before: the first night they had walked together and day he told her and Pippin how to destroy the Palantír. His presence was comforting, dulling the cold fear that had welled up in her chest when she had seen the dagger. Her words were soft and halting, "What.. What happened here? The... the dagger... who? Why?"

"Merry. About a year after you left. He said he couldn't go on, couldn't be as strong as Pippin would have wanted him to be. So he took his life." A sad wry grin crossed Draug's face. "Sacrificed himself to Pippin, you might say."

Waen hadn't expected any news to make her head swim, but the news of Merry's death, of having touched his caked blood, made her feel faint. Draug hadn't expected Waen to suddenly fall forward slightly, but he caught her in his arms and supported her, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder. Her breathing was somewhat erratic, and a worried frown crossed his face.

"Waen? Are you alright?"

"I'm... I'm fine.. I just... need to rest..."

"When was the last time you ate?"

She shook her head slightly, a hard thing to do while resting it against Draug's shoulder. The last time she had had food... "Before I left... I had to come, I..."

"Hush," he tsked, worry spreading across his face as he reached up and felt her forehead. Her pale flesh burned with fever, deepening the crease etched with unhappy concern across his brow. "That must have been days, Waen. You're ill. What could possibly have possessed you to have come here like this?"

Waen tried to reply, but her eyes closed and she couldn't. All those days without food, water, or rest were finally catching up to her. No longer could she stand up by herself...

Though she felt her entire body go limp, Draug's arms simply encircled her with a firmer grip, supporting her in her growing delirious stupor. He whispered something, though exactly what she knew not. Vaguely, as if far away, she sensed Draug gathering her up in his arms and starting to move. The cairn swam before her eyes, then a flash of tall white towers... then she knew no more.

(( And that, boys and girls, is what you get when you ride many days and night in a state of delirium. The end. Is slapped upside the head by the readers OW! Okay, okay, so there are a few more chapters... Hope you enjoyed having this long one! Also. A lovely reader, one Navaer Lalaith, poked me in the shoulder about full names versus nicknames. In this regard I'm fully aware that I stand in the wrong. I should do better about that. I have no excuse. I will consent to type it except when spoken, beginning in the next chapter. Fair compromise? I think so. G'night. ))