The holidays are over. I spent time visiting family, having adventures, and working. Then school started up again and was that was an exercise in bureaucracy. However, with all that I've done lately – none of it included much writing. Sorry. But now that school is back in swing I intend to start writing regularly again. So please sit back and enjoy!
On the West Wind Sails the Gull
By NekoMegami_chan
Chapter XI
The Road Goes Ever On
Aragorn had not intended to sleep. Though he and Gandalf had spoken well into the early hours of the morning, he could not recall having seen the first lights of dawn touch the eastern horizon. It was possible that during his years as king, though they yet numbered few; had caused him to grow soft. However, Aragorn highly suspected friendly sorcery, especially as Gandalf himself was no where to be seen.
It was nearing midmorning and the king's men were dutifully tending one another beneath the sheltering trees. Danor had built a fire to heat water for washing wounds and making oatmeal. Aragorn rose and made a circuit of the camp, speaking briefly with each of his remaining soldiers and using his power as a healer where possible. All of the injured soldiers seemed stronger and none showed signs of infection, much to his relief.
An hour later Aragorn was seated by the fire, eating a much-needed hot meal. They had lost most of their supplies in the attack, and there was little game left to be had this late in the season. It weighed heavily upon his heart that he had not foreseen that Tanir's betrayal and that his men had died for his inattention. And now he worried that even with Gandalf's aid his brave soldiers would be forced to suffer both hunger and cold as well.
Aragorn's dark thoughts were interrupted when a low voice called to him. "My Lord? Would you be interested in a second helping?" He blinked, suddenly aware that he had been staring at his empty bowl for some time. He shook his head, dark and shaggy hair floating around his unshaven face. "No, my friend. I have had my fill." The King of Gondor paused then flashed his captain a roguish grin. "You have done well, Danor. And I thank you for taking charge while I rested this morning, though I assure you it was not my intent."
The man bowed his head, smiling. "I was honoured to relieve you, my Lord," he replied sincerely. Feeling that he would be allowed to freely speak his mind he continued, "You are a strong man, a warrior, a hero, a king; but a man nonetheless. Yet you're a man I would serve unto death. I only wish that I would not have endangered you. Tanir was my charge and if I had only been stricter with discipline…"
Aragon met Danor's eyes. "There was no help for it," he said, and in that moment came to terms with his own guilt.
Before Danor could find the words to reply, the distinct sound of an approaching rider could be heard from the road. Aragorn stood, his right hand curling around the hilt of his sword. Gandalf appeared around a bend, his bright essence preceding him. The white wizard hailed them and dismounted; coming to warm his hands by the fire and accepting a cup of strong tea from Danor with a thin-lipped smile. He wasted little time in passing on his news. "I have found a small cluster of farms, not large enough to be called a village. The men which live there are a good and simple people. They have agreed to care for your injured until they are well enough to return home," he said without preamble. Gandalf sipped his tea and cast a pale, questioning eye at Aragorn. "Will you come with me? I have caught word that trouble is brewing in Gondor, just south of Minas Tirith."
"It will take us months to reach the city, even hale and healthy!" Aragorn said, his voice taught. His thought at once of Arwen and the burden of command which would fall on her fair shoulders with danger falling upon the land. Though he believed his dear wife to be capable, that she should be forced to bear the burden alone troubled him.
Gandalf placed a comforting hand on the Dunedan's shoulder. "We will move swiftly," the wizard smiled, "you know that I have my ways. But you must leave your men behind. We will depart as soon as you have gathered your things."
"Aye," Aragorn was quick to reply. "Danor, they are in your care. I will miss your level head and steady sword by my side. Come as quickly as you are able, friend. I fear there will be much need for your skills."
"Yes, my king," the grizzled captain replied.
Gandalf nodded approvingly and gave directions to the squatter's farms while Aragorn quickly gathered his bedroll and a small portion of the regiment's rations. In minutes all was ready and plans were set. Securing his weapons, Aragorn mounted his horse to ride alongside the white wizard and together they travelled east toward Gondor.
* * *
With the departure of the Elves into the west, the lands were no longer tame and well tended. Narrow game trails cut through the heavy undergrowth and wandered between trees often dead-ending or turning back on themselves for miles. Yet the road to the Ford of Bruinen remained broad and clear. Soft, dry snow drifted down through the pine needles overhead. Small animals shifted in their winter dens and far off an eagle cried out to the land below. The horses' breath billowed and curled from their nostrils like dragon smoke and their hooves crunched over the frozen ground.
The party from Imladris had moved at a steady pace for much of the day, stopping only briefly every few hours to dismount and stretch their limbs. Erestor had kept them close to the trees once they left the valley and Elladan often ranged ahead. Despite the air of a holiday in the countryside, the threat of an orc attack could not be dismissed. Yet many stories were told as they went, most of them by Gimli.
The elves were fascinated by the mortal paradox before them; a gentle, if gruff dwarf with respect for their ways was endlessly entertaining. For hours the elves asked to hear the tales of the dwarves, deeply interested in Gimli's telling of events both familiar and unknown to them. Occasionally Erestor, who was the eldest of the group by millennia and a dedicated scholar, would chuckle to himself. A large portion of the tales either began or ended with the simple truth that the omitted details were "unknown to mortals" or had "long passed out of understanding."
Legolas had heard a good portion of these stories over the past few years and listened with one ear. The other habitually remained alert to danger. His heart was another matter entirely. Elrohir's strong arms encircled him, holding the horse's reins as they rode, and the other elf's warm breath moved against his cheek, stirring the blond locks there. Though he could not see Elrohir's fair face, Legolas could feel the loving eyes upon him and often whispered gentle words of affection. The prince savoured every moment. "Your father is an amazing individual, Elrohir. He officially adopted me and blessed our union publicly, all with no warning and yet with a perfect understanding of our hearts. It has been nearly four years since last we spoke of making our commitment eternal, though I know now that it was thus long before we ever voiced such thoughts."
"I completely agree," Elrohir replied and breathed in the scent of Legolas, a sweet and spicy smell like freshly ground cinnamon. "I am still amazed," he said slowly, "that you so quickly forgave me my transgressions against you; though strangely enough I have no trouble accepting that you have. It is your nature to be kind and generous. And while your strength of character has been tempered as fine as any Mithril blade by battle and hardship, there is no sign of the heavy hand and sharp eyes of Thranduil to be seen in you."
Legolas grew sober and twisted slightly to meet Elrohir's gaze, and the prince's blue eyes spoke words no mouth could say.
That evening they arrived in a bower of elvish make. Nestled between the mighty pines were comfortable shelters, invisible to mortal eyes which commonly could not see the forest for the trees. In the bowl-shaped clearing were gentle mounds on which a body might recline during a meal and several fire pits, ringed with smooth stones which had fused together in places from centuries of use. Hidden in the branches at shoulder height were green wax candles to brighten night-time festivities. Yet there was snow in crisp white drifts and the underbrush which ringed the outdoor hall was withered and brittle with winter. There were now too few to maintain the once perpetual spring of this place, a fact that was not lost on the minds of the party from Rivendell, though the knowledge held only the barest tint of bittersweet regret.
Gimli was the first to touch solid ground. After an entire day atop a crazy four-legged beast it was a welcome thing to stand on good soil again. He was also quick to lend Legolas a supporting shoulder when the elf slid down from Arod's back, his bad leg crumpling, weak from having gone unused for so many hours. Elrohir surreptitiously squeezed the prince's hand before leading the horses away and trusting Gimli to fuss over Legolas and settle him in.
They stayed awake long into the night, eating and drinking and enjoying one another's company before retiring to the shelters beneath the trees. A watch was set and the fires banked and it seemed to Elladan as he silently patrolled their camp's perimeter, that his last weeks on Arda could bring him nothing but joy.
* * *
It was a grey and cheerless morning in late December. Fog hung low over the snow covered ground and shaggy deer roamed through the meadow which sloped down toward the frozen Bradywine in the distance. With the onset of the winter frost Sam had been dividing his time between his budding family; of which he considered Mr. Frodo a part, and caring for Bill. The old pony had found a new life and a new youth under Sam's patient hand. When the weather was good they might ride for an hour at dawn or dusk and listen to the gentle breathing of the world.
Today
however, Sam carried a bucket of steaming bran and hops as he walked down to
the barn. But as he drew near, Sam grew suspicious. His sharp ears picked up
the sounds of movement coming from inside the squat brick building. Even as he
watched, smoke began to curl out of the forge chimney. Still carrying the
bucket, intending to use it as a weapon if need be, he crept around the barn to
peer over the windowsill. What he saw sent him running back up the hill to his
master's house.
* * *
Bilbo snored in his room down the hall as Frodo rose and began his day. He kept no servants save for Sam who tended his gardens and to some extent, Rosie who often complained of Frodo's thinness as she cooked and never seemed to tire of tidying up.
So it was that every morning Frodo dressed, ate breakfast and retired to the small room where he spent most of his day. Sheets and sheets of parchment detailing his own adventures as well as the accounts of his friends and companions were bound by pins or string and spread haphazardly on several shelves. For over a year, Frodo had edited and re-edited his notes before finally recording them in a large, red-leather bound book. It was more than half-finished now and though he had no idea how, he had the feeling that the end of his book would signal the ending of his time in Hobbiton.
Frodo was suddenly ripped from his ambiguous musings when Sam burst into his study with a shout. The gardener's blonde curls clung to his face and he was breathing quickly as if he had run hard. Strangely his round face was alight with a grin that belied his haste. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, "Mr. Frodo, there's elves in the barn! Elves!"
For a moment Frodo simply continued to stare and his friend. Then a slow smile tugged at his lips and he laughed, leaving his chair to embrace Sam. "Dear Sam!" he said. "Only elves have the power to get you so excited. Yes, I know that they are here. They arrived just yesterday afternoon – while you were in town," Frodo added upon seeing the hurt in the other hobbit's eyes.
"That's good to know! But why are they here, I wonder? And how long do they plan to stay?" Sam asked, the same questions that had plagued him on his way up to the house.
Frodo shook his head and the old wound of the Nazgúl throbbed dully in his shoulder. "Elrond and Gandalf sent them. They are warriors from Rivendell and Valandil is their leader. Evil is rising anew and they fear for us."
Sam's face fell, his joy at seeing the elves suddenly crushed beneath the familiar weight of worry. "What of the others?"
"Merry and Pippin are in Gondor and safe as far as I know, but much has befallen our other friends. Come, let's go down and speak with Valandil. He can explain better than I can." Frodo conceded while penning a quick note to explain their absence to his uncle, should Bilbo awake before they returned.
* * *
Aragorn flexed numb and muddy fingers which had grown stiff around the reins. He was cold and exhausted, yet pressed on without complaint, following the wizard's lead. He was used to the discomfort of the road, his years as Strider had accustomed him to hardship and travel. Yet the past few months he had pushed himself hard and it was beginning to tell. The healthy fleshiness he had developed in his two years as the king of Gondor had faded back into his old gauntness. His neatly trimmed beard was once again grey-flecked stubble. Yet his hawk-like eyes remained keen and searched ahead as they rode, seeking out all possible dangers.
Conversation had been sparse over the last three days since Gandalf and Aragorn had parted company from the Gondorian soldiers. When they did speak, it was mostly concerned with speculation on the enemy's next move. Aragorn had the feeling that unlike the last war, where stealth and courage had made all the difference, this conflict could only be won through careful strategy and the utmost speed.
At the end of the fourth day, Gandalf turned Shadowfax off the road with a murmured word. He dismounted, cleared his throat then raised his staff and spoke words of power. The trees shimmered and parted as if bent by an impossibly strong wind to reveal the passageway beyond. The sylvan tunnel was made entirely of leaf-bare trees grown so close together that the branches were woven together like a basket and the path below remained free of snow and ice.
"Though I may live to see two hundred years, I do not think that I shall ever come to see the limit of your knowledge or skill old friend," Aragorn said sincerely.
"This is a tool, no more," Gandalf replied succinctly. "After the danger of the mines and the impassable mountains I knew that we would one day have need of another route to speed safe travel between the kingdoms. Let us hope that we will not have to use this passage again." He sighed as Aragorn slid from his mount's back and stretched long legs slightly bowed from the saddle. "We should rest now, and tomorrow continue with what haste and comfort are hereby provided."
Aragorn smiled wearily. They would have a fire tonight, and perhaps some stories to accompany the fine weed of the Shire which hung heavy in the oilcloth at his hip. It was almost enough to put him at ease.
* * *
Saberon was outwardly calm when the large black crows which served him delivered their news. Yet inside he raged and even the flagstones of the courtyard below his feet seemed to wither in the icy heat of his wrath.
All the members of the Fellowship of the Ring still drew breath. Time and resources had both been lost. He was not a hasty man, but neither did he have time to waste repeating failed objectives. With a sharp reprimand he sent the crows scattering and dismissed his men as well before retreating to the privacy of his study.
Sauron had bided his time, waited for the Halflings and his damned ring to show up on the threshold of his accursed mountain. Bodiless, it had been all he could do to send out his twisted minions. Saberon however was hale, powerful, and most of all - mobile. Though he had not intended to play this card so early in the game, he quickly came to the conclusion that the only one truly capable of destroying the fellowship was himself. He would have to confront them himself, one by one.
* * *
Sorry this chapter wasn't very good! Does it seem a bit disjointed to you, what with all the scene changes? I was going for an effect of things quickening, getting a bit more exciting (in an action sense) again. Now that I'm back in the habit, look for more updates again soon. Also, I've been waiting on a new beta reader. Hopefully she'll get back to me soon! Thanks for reading everyone!