Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR, then I would be able to afford to purchase something other than candy canes for my friends for Christmas.
A/N: Well, this chapter would have been up sooner—but, I had to update my other fic (A Fellowship Christmas…read, please?? *puppy eyes*) and I decided to revise what I had already written on this chapter because the first version was crap…but now that's all good. You know what annoys me? When the statistic thing shows you that you've got eight reviews but it only shows you six. Grr…it also annoys me when people don't update lots! That would be a subtle hint to whomever's writing fics I like to update. Heh heh.
Guess what? I saw Two Towers!!! It was great and I want to see it again soon. But I now have tons of inspiration for this story, so that's good. However, I need a copy of the script! If anyone knows where I can get a copy of one, please let me know! It would help so much!
Also, I'm doing some beta reading now! I just finished beta reading alienracer's fic (sorry it was so late!! J) So if anyone needs a beta-reader, I can do it…but I don't know how long it'll take…hee hee.
Chapter Twenty-Three
For three years I had the same New Year's Resolution:
I, Haley Logan, will run at least three miles a week in order to improve my nonexistent running skills and in vague hope of becoming a healthier person.
I decided to change it to something more along the lines of:
I, Haley Logan, will take up biking or something else that does not involve running.
I had thought that the first day or so following the orc trail was bad. At that time, I was young, naïve, and simple-minded.
Okay, so maybe I was still young, naïve, and simple-minded the next day, but I was more exhausted than I was previously.
And apparently all of our hard work and blisters were made in vain, as our third day of pursuit brought us no closer to the orcs than we were when we began that morning. It was quite possible that we had only dragged further behind, as the orcs had been reduced to no more than blurry grey shadows on the horizon.
The exchanges of dialogue made in this significantly long period of time were uninteresting and could be summed up as:
"I think they went that way because the trail goes that way, and besides, Saurman is evil! Legolas, can you see anything?"
"Yup. They're way over there."
"Well, we have to keep going, even though we're all exhausted."
"But—"
"Haley, shut up and stop complaining. Besides, I'm the leader and I said so."
"Okie dokie." (That would be Legolas and Gimli while I muttered angrily to myself).
That was the general idea of any conversation made in that period of time. Why we had to constantly stop and discuss these things was beyond me, but I decided that it was best not to inquire further.
When I awoke on the morning of our fourth day of pursuit, there was no sign of the orcs. Only the bruised and beaten grass that stretched before us gave evidence of their passing, and even that was beginning to slowly melt away. I sighed unhappily. At that point, it appeared that everything we had accomplished thus far had been useless. The deck was stacked against us—we were playing a losing game. These realizations gave me no motivation to arise from my makeshift bed and I decided to go back to sleep. The sub consciousness lacked the problems that I was faced with, and it frankly seemed more appealing than real life. I made an attempt to get comfortable on the ground before pulling my sleeping roll far over my head, shutting out the world, only aware of the warm dark that enveloped and comforted my body.
It was only a mere ten minutes later before my quiet and blissful half-dream state was rudely shattered as a gentle hand began shaking my shoulder slightly.
"Haley…" someone murmured softly. I wrapped my sleeping roll more tightly around my shoulders, attempting to discourage whoever was disturbing me from interrupting my light slumber that had distracted me from the disappointments that had so far marred my day.
"G'way," I muttered angrily to the ground. "Need more sleep."
"Haley…" There was a slight warning in the voice and the speaker's shakes became more insistent. I rolled over and peeked over the edge of my blankets, shooting a glare in the direction of my disturber. I was slightly surprised to be greeted by the amused azure gaze of Legolas, who seemed incredibly cheerful, despite the state of affairs. As cheesy and sappy as it sounds, I felt a blush beginning to creep into my cheeks—something that tended to happen a lot around members of the opposite sex that I found attractive. I had mostly managed to avoid it—but there was something rather intimate about the whole situation that I found hopelessly embarrassing.
But I tried my best to remain calm and appear slightly annoyed, which, despite the circumstances, I was.
"If this has anything to do with Sindarin, I will personally—" I began, squinting at the early morning sun that bore into my eyes.
"It's time to get up," Legolas replied simply. I sighed unhappily, and attempted to pull my sleeping roll back over my shoulders, despite the firm grip on my shoulder. I ended up not moving, staring up at the blonde elf angrily.
"I feel hostile…" I muttered. Legolas smiled slighty.
"Come. We may be able to overtake them if we act quickly," he replied reassuringly, almost as if he could sense the discouragement I felt. I grumbled and made an attempt to sit up.
"Can't move…" I whined, leaning back onto the ground. "Too tired…too sore…"
"Shall I go get Gimli then?" asked Legolas rising, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"I'M UP! I'M UP!!"
*
It took me all of five minutes to get up and have breakfast. Aragorn said he'd never seen me move faster in the morning. I noticed Legolas hide a smile behind his hand when the Ranger mentioned this.
I would have thrown something at him if I could have gotten away with it.
I settled on giving him the evil eye instead.
Later, as we were all preparing to set out again, a distant sound broke over the whisper of the wind. It was odd, sounding slightly like many people drumming their fingers on a table, all at different times and in different tempos. I tilted my head slightly toward the source of the noise; curious as to what might be causing such a sound. I frowned slightly; it seemed vaguely familiar, yet I could not place it no matter how hard I tried. Aragorn and Legolas had noticed something, as they both looked toward the thin line of the horizon inquisitively, not saying anything. Even Gimli seemed to detect something slightly amiss, peering at the land stretched lazily in front of us, looking for something.
"What is that noise?" I asked after a moment. Aragorn noiselessly placed a finger to his lips. Kneeling down on the earth, he pressed his ear to the ground, reminding me of scenes from old Western movies that were often featured on movie channels late at night. I looked into the distance, hoping to find some sort of clue. Almost immediately I found what was making that strange noise. A band of horsemen were moving quickly across the land. I was able to see them rather distinctively, to a point where I could have taken account of their individual characteristics, but at the time, I was more concerned if they were friendly or not.
"Riders!" exclaimed Aragorn, smiling slightly as he leapt nimbly to his feet. "Many riders on swift steeds, coming toward us!" He strode forward and peered at the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.
"Yes," replied Legolas, his gaze still locked on the horsemen. "There are one-hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall." I raised my eyebrows.
"You are such an overachiever," I replied, shaking my head. Legolas looked at me smugly.
"Keen are the eyes of elves," Aragorn said, clapping me on the shoulder.
"And insane is the mind of Legolas," I replied, earning a look from Legolas. I smiled back innocently, knowing that I would fully pay for that comment with a Sindarin lesson.
"The riders are little more than five leagues distant," Legolas replied after a moment. I had no idea how long a league was, let alone five, but I decided that it would be wise to keep those questions to myself for the time being.
"Five leagues or one, we cannot escape them on bare land," Gimli replied. I rolled my eyes.
"You're so optimistic it kills me," I said, forgetting to turn the filter between my brain and my mouth on. Gimli shot me a look and leaned on his axe, almost to say 'Go ahead. Make my day.' I smiled uneasily, scooting closer to Aragorn and farther away from Gimli. "I mean…you're absolutely right, Gimli…" I offered after a moment, in an attempt of reconciliation.
"Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?" Gimli inquired after a moment or two. Aragorn stared off into the distance, somewhat sadly.
"We will wait," he replied. "I am weary and our hunt has failed. Or at least others were before us; for these horsemen are riding back down the orc-trail. We may get news from them." Despite his ending statement, Aragorn's little speech made my shoulders droop slightly with further discouragement. I felt as happy as Martha Stewart did when her insider trading was exposed to the public.
"Or spears," replied Gimli, further dampening my spirit. I sighed to show my displeasure, as it probably wasn't the best time for me to start talking again.
Legolas looked at the horizon again, perhaps this time trying to determine the eye color of some of the riders and whether or not they had beards.
"There are three empty saddles," he reported after a moment. "But I see no hobbits."
"I did not say that we should hear good news," Aragorn replied quietly, "but good or evil, we will await it here."
You could imagine what a poor mood I was in by that point.
I followed Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli silently down the hill we had been standing, occasionally losing my balance. We sat down to rest at the foot. I was immediately sentenced to a Sindarin lesson once we were settled, but I suppose my poor mood and uncharacteristic silence was helpful to me, as Legolas seemed to go easier on me than he normally did.
As the riders began to approach, everyone began to grow uneasy. I fidgeted nervously, constantly shifting around on the ground, my hands unable to stay still, moving of their own accord.
Soon they were nearly upon us, their features plain and much easier to pick out now that they were closer. Their mounts were beautiful, sporting coats glossy with health, their manes, and tails combed and shining brightly as they flowed flawlessly into the wind. These horses were show-worthy, all at the pinnacle of health, and obviously lovingly cared for by their masters. I found myself overcome with the childlike desire of wanting a horse of my own.
The men who rode upon these horses seemed in equal physical condition. They were all rather tall and long-limbed, most bearing longish blonde hair that streamed behind them from beneath their helmets. I noticed immediately that they all carried particularly long spears and swords, with shields slung across their backs, their chain mail clinking noisily as they passed. What was most unnerving was the fact that crimson blood stained the points of some of these spears.
So much for being friendly.
But oddly enough, they didn't seem to notice our presence. I later determined that the Lorien cloaks had acted as a camouflage, hiding us from their gaze. It goes without saying that I was more than happy that they had more or less ignored us. In fact, I was elated that we wouldn't end up as some sort of human-dwarf-elf shish kabob, skewered on the ends of those ridiculously sharp spears.
But Aragorn, Master Adventurer and First Class Dimwit, had other plans. They had nearly passed us, leaving nothing but the smell of horse and manure behind, when Aragorn stood up and called in a loud and clear voice:
"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"
I came very close to hitting him over the head with the one frying pan we still carried.
The riders inevitably heard Aragorn's cry, and with astounding dexterity they doubled back on their steeds and came charging back at us. At the last moment, they veered off slightly to the right and began circling around us at a rapid pace. My heart pounded in my chest, as this spinning circle of men and beasts was a little too close for comfort. I brushed a few flecks of dirt kicked up by the horses' hooves off my face and backed up nearer to my companions, grabbing on to the nearest friendly arm or sleeve.
It was by pure luck that the sleeve I latched on to happened to belong to Legolas.
At least I'll die happy, I thought to myself as I watched the riders with wide eyes.
Eventually they slowed to a stop, immediately raising their spears so they pointed directly at our throats. They only needed to extend them only so far before piercing our flesh. I tried to put on a brave face while my fingers firmly grasped the fabric of Legolas' shirt in a death grip.
Their leader was easy to spot, not only because of how he stood apart from the crowd in a position of authority, but by the way he carried himself. This man appeared to be well practiced in battle, judging from the lines of battle scars that had made their mark on his youthful face. His light brown eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was stern, the discipline of the military masking his emotions. His wavy blonde hair was long and tangled by the wind—his beard and moustache in a similar condition, except coarser and shorter. A silver helmet rested upon his head, a pale horse's tale sprouting from the top and cascading down to mingle with his own darker hair. His eyes frightened me the most. They were brown, lacking any other coloring to make them interesting. But a fierce light sparked angrily back at my own coffee colored gaze, a light that demanded authority and respect, a light that possessed a passion for life and what he did. I knew that it would not be wise to tangle with this guy.
But despite my prior observation of his evidently short temperament and the commanding glare that demanded immediate obedience and reverence to himself and his status…I did.
"What business do two Elves, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he demanded immediately. "And one of them a she-Elf at that!" Anger boiled in my cheeks. I hated that term. She-elf. It made me sound like an animal on display or something.
"That's Miss she-Elf to you, buddy," I growled angrily.
A flare of anger rose in his eyes. It was obvious that very few people spoke so rudely to him—either that or I was the only one stupid enough to try.
"I suggest," he spat through clenched teeth, "that you mind your tongue, Lady, unless you are willing to pay a dear price for your rash words." A few men let out a malicious chuckle as I backed up further, clutching Legolas' sleeve tightly. I was truly frightened now, and it looked like my smart mouth had finally landed me in huge trouble.
"Who are you and what are you doing in this land?" he continued after a moment, glaring at us from beneath his helmet.
"I am called Strider," Aragorn replied simply and calmly, despite the fact that our situation was looking hopelessly dire. "I came out of the North. I am hunting orcs."
At this, the rider dismounted his horse quickly, landing heavily on the ground. He immediately drew his sword, surveying us with a keen eye, looking a little more than suspicious.
"At first I thought you yourselves were orcs," he began after a long period of silence. If he had not already threatened me, I would have said something—calling someone an orc isn't necessarily very nice—and it wasn't like we all weren't relatively clean. And when was the last time anyone saw an orc as short as Gimli? "But now I see that is not so." I would have made some sort of primitive grunt at that point to illustrate his intelligence, but common sense continued to restrain me. "Indeed you know little of orcs if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey if you had ever overtaken them." He paused for a moment to let that sink in and I could not help but feel grateful that we had been so slow. "But there is something strange about you Strider," he continued, looking at Aragorn with a mixed expression of suspicion and doubt. "That is no name for a man that you give. And strange too is your raiment…how did you escape our sight?"
"Two of our Company are elvish folk," Aragorn replied calmly, as though being an elf explained the fact that we were able to evade their sight. Well, I guess it does, but not wholly. "Legolas from the Woodland realm in distant Mirkwood and Haley from…Massachusetts…" He pronounced it like some sort of exotic and foreign word, even though the man spoke God knows how many languages and could kick my butt in Sindarin any day of the week.
"Oh, just say Rivendell…" I muttered. Aragorn nodded.
"And Rivendell…" he added. "We have passed through Lothlorien and the gifts and the favor of the Lady go with us."
The man's eye's widened at that point. "Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood as old tales tell!" he mused, thoughfully. "Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days!" He paused. "But if you have her favor, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe." I tried not to laugh as I pictured Gimli in the typical socerer's costume, complete with the pointy hat. And God knows what kind of disaster I would initiate if I ever tried to learn magic…
The man looked at Legolas, Gimli, and I for a moment, before exclaiming:
"Why do you not speak, silent ones?"
"I don't know, Mr. Death Threat," I replied sarcastically. The look I received was enough to scare me into silence again.
Gimli then took a step forward, planting his feet firmly on the ground, holding his axe in a somewhat defensive position, but subtle enough to not pose a visible threat.
"Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine," he responded in his gruff tone, "and more besides."
At this point, the leader of the riders dismounted quickly and strode toward Gimli. He stared down at him angrily.
"As for that," he replied, his voice dangerously calm, "the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Éomer, son of Éomund, and am called Third Marshal of Riddermark.
"Then Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf, Glóin's son warn you against foolish words. You speak of evil of that which is fair beyond reach of your thought and only little wit can excuse that."
I would have laughed, not only because Gimli had totally dissed Captain Pole Up My Ass, but also because of the expressions some of the soldiers wore. I don't think they expected someone of such small stature to have such an attitude.
Éomer was not so amused.
Let me put it this way. If it were humanly possible to emit smoke from one's ears, I'm certain this Éomer guy would have, judging from his murderous expression, the way his facial muscles clenched tightly in anger, and from the bulging vein in his forehead.
I began to wonder if, at some point, he would spontaneously combust. The mental picture was rather funny…
"I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood a little higher from the ground," he spat, raising his sword ever so slightly. The other riders seemed to take this as a cue, moving their spears ever so slightly closer to us. Gimli glared angrily, beginning to shift his axe in his hands, threateningly.
"He stands not alone," Legolas declared, removing himself from my grasp and fitting an arrow into his bow, his hands moving like lightening. "You would die before your stroke fell." My stomach flopped. I really, really, really did not want to fight these men, especially since they out numbered us by one-hundred-and-one. I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword, just in case.
But thankfully, Aragorn lived up to his role as our hero and jumped between Éomer and us, his hands raised in a gesture of apology.
"Your pardon, Éomer!" he exclaimed. "When you know more you will understand why you have angered my companions. We intend no evil to Rohan, nor to any of its folk, neither to man nor to horse. Will you hear our tale before you strike?"
Éomer paused for a moment, before lowering his blade. To my relief, the other soldiers lowered their spears as well—they had been making me quite nervous. "I will," he said. "But wanderers in the Riddermark would be wise to be less haughty in these days of doubt…" He looked at me briefly, as though the comment was intended for me in particular, which it probably was.
I had expected a very long account of what we had been doing over the past several months or so, with all the details such as what color tunic someone had been wearing throughout Moria, the number of eggs Sam had for breakfast, and the total number of times Gimli and I had gotten into a fight. I'm assuming that last one was somewhere up in the thousand range…but we had been doing better lately. Although, it may have been because I was too tired to be incredibly sarcastic…
"We track a band of Uruk-Hai, westward across the plain," Aragorn explained. "They have taken two of our friends captive."
I stared in amazement. As I said before, I expected it to be much longer, with a good deal of pipe smoking by all the men.
To my further surprise, Éomer seemed to accept this as a good explanation. I half-expected him to demand to know why we were so far south in the first place or if that was Gimli's real hair or some weird extensions.
"You need not pursue them further," Éomer responded. "The orcs are destroyed."
"And our friends?" asked Aragorn quickly. I could detect a little bit of worry in his voice.
"We found nothing but orcs," Éomer replied, seeming unsympathetic. Questions circulated throughout my mind.
Where are Merry and Pippin? Did they escape? Are the riders lying? Did they die or escape long before here? They can't be dead…or…can they? The realization that we may have lost two other members of the broken Fellowship hit me like a bullet. My stomach knotted up and all the lembas I had ever eaten seemed to batter at the walls of my stomach, and I felt like throwing up all over the Riders of Rohan.
Actually, the idea was appealing, but I figured it probably wouldn't be the best thing to do to men who had spears that had previously been pointed at me.
"Did you search the slain?" Aragorn inquired. "Were there no bodies other than those of orc-kind? They would be small, only children to your eyes, unshod, but clad in grey."
"There were no dwarves or children," replied Éomer. "We counted all the slain and despoiled, and then we piled the carcasses and burned them, as is our custom. The ashes are smoking still." He gestured to the plume of smoke on the horizon."Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken this land." He spoke those last words bitterly and angrily. My heart dropped and I began to feel sick.
Éomer suddenly whistled sharply and three rider-less horses obediently came forth, almost like a dog being called by its master. "Calatar, Hasufel, and Arod," he said, gesturing to each horse appropriately. "May they bear you well and to better fortunes than their late masters."
With that, they left us there, riding off across the grassy plain, leaving trampled grass, three horses and bad memories behind.
"So let me get this straight…" I began. "I have to ride some dead guy's horse?"
"If you'd like to put it that way," Aragorn replied. I looked at the horses nervously. I had ridden before—but those were the pony rides where you have to go at an annoyingly slow pace so that they were often overtaken by passing butterflies.
"I would sooner walk than sit on the back of a beast so great…" Gimli muttered. It was clear that he had never ridden before and intended on keeping it that way.
"Come, you shall sit behind me, friend Gimli," Legolas offered, lightly swinging himself on to the white-grey one they had called Arod. Gimli looked at the horse suspiciously before grudgingly agreeing. Needless to say, he needed some help getting up.
I looked at the black one they had called Calatar. He seemed gentle enough. I hesitantly extended my hand to touch his nose, jumping slightly as I felt his coarse, warm hair brush up against my fingers. I looked at him and was greeted with the warm, trusting, liquid eyes of an animal. I smiled slightly.
"Just don't buck me off," I murmured quietly. Calatar snorted in response, a snort that sounded suspiciously like the horse equivalent of a laugh. "And don't start getting sassy with me…" I warned. I stretched my leg up and with a lot of false starts, managed to hoist myself into the saddle. The leather creaked beneath me as I struggled to get comfortable. Calatar pawed the ground impatiently. "Hey, hey…just wait a minute." He snorted again. "I'm warning you…I've had about enough of your sass…"
We started up again and as I galloped across the plain, my already queasy stomach jolting uncomfortably with the new sensation, my hands gripping the reins so tightly that my knuckles were white, my entire being focusing on not falling off, and occasionally scolding Calabar, I thought to myself:
Why the hell am I talking to a horse?
A/N: THAT'S 8 PAGES!! Hee hee…can't scold me for not writing enough now. Important note: finals are the spawn of Satan and so is writing a Spanish study guide (which, I hope you know, I put off to finish up this chapter…hee hee). Argh. Finals are soon and I have to go study.
Oh, by the way, the whole riders thing was a combo of the book and movie—the scene in the book was ridiculously long, but since the I don't have the script I had to combine them both.
ADVERTISMENTS:
I seriously recommend reading Gimli Gets the Girl by Aranel Manveri. It's one of my favorites and it's ridiculously funny. I also recommend reading anything by Reikon, especially Fancy, Oceans of Grey (sequel to Fancy), and Saruman's Fan Mail Hour.