The East Gate
Authors The Eastgaters
Cast list
Frodo – Baylor
Samwise – Budgielover
Pippin – Marigold
Merry – Llinos
Legolas – Mainframe
Aragorn – Nilramiel
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker
Gimli – Q
Story Editor Llinos
Beta Marigold
Chapter 7 –Trapped and Tracking
As the beast came closer it became clear to Legolas that there was no hope of fighting off the warg and maintaining his hold on Merry. It was at that point that the elf became aware that Merry was not only conscious but had actually spoken to him. So absorbed was he in trying to maintain silence and formulate an escape plan, whilst at the same moment recalling battle tactics and referencing his past encounters with wargs, that he almost missed the broken, whispered name.
Not daring to look down at his young charge he remained perfectly still as only an elf can and whispered one word, "Warg" just loud enough for Merry's mortal ears to hear before he very slowly, very carefully, reached up and began to deftly un-knot the cloak fastenings that held Merry to him.
As Merry became more coherent so the pain increased until it was a screaming misery that filled every corner of his existence. But still in the distance of his mind he heard Legolas whisper that there was a warg. Even through the mind-numbing pain he sensed the tension of danger in the elf's body and knew that he must be quiet. His eyes filled with tears as he frantically tried to stifle his sobbing breaths.
As the cloak slipped from his shoulder to rest in a heap nearly obscuring the poor hobbit, Legolas allowed Merry's trembling body to slide from his lap until he lay on the ground just in front of him but further under the bush. He blindly rearranged the cloak so that Merry was once again completely covered.
Merry trembled as he felt himself being lowered to the hard ground, he wanted to stay in the safety of the elf's arms. But then as he slid to the cold earth he realised he was naught but a burden to Legolas, that with him hampering the movement of his friend, they would both be killed. He was almost dead anyway, there was no need for Legolas to die too.
Merry whimpered as Legolas withdrew from him and began to reach for his second scimitar, the elf placed his warm hand against the hobbit's sweat-soaked brow and allowed his thumb to lightly stroke over his eyebrow in a soothing gesture before hardening his resolve and drawing his weapon.
Merry still longed for the physical safety of the comforting arms, he did not want to die alone, out on the wold and he whimpered at the sudden isolation. As a hand touched his face and rubbed his eyebrow and Merry longed for the contact to stay, but the hand withdrew and a voice whispered something unintelligible above him.
"Peace tithen muin, I'll not let it pass me. Stay here pen-neth, I'll be back as soon as I can."
By this time the warg had stopped its advance and was heavily scenting the area where the hobbit and elf hid. Legolas pushed forward through the thin foliage and, taking a wide stance, raised his knives at the beast.
Merry through his haze suddenly realised he was alone, dying alone. His darling Pippin was lost and dear Frodo and good old Sam were gone and now Legolas had deserted him, but it was probably for the best, Merry thought. He was only a piece of luggage now and would be the death of everyone in his pathetic state.
But Legolas had said he would return. That would put him back in danger again. They both would perish and then Frodo, the Ring-bearer, the one who truly mattered, would not have the protection of the elf.
"At least I can spare Legolas the encumbrance." Merry whispered to the leaves, "He should not have to worry for my life when it is nearly spent."
Gritting his teeth in agony, Merry reached out his arm to the side and managed to grab hold of a clump of grass. After several false starts, he eventually pulled himself over onto his front and laid still for several moments, breathing raggedly into the wet bracken.
Merry's plan was to try and get far enough away so that Legolas would return and think him taken by wild beasts and dead – indeed that would probably happen one way or another. As he gained a little more strength from his rest, Merry dragged his weight forward, painful inch by painful inch, until he suddenly found he was at the top of a sharp incline. He breathed an agonised sigh of relief as he saw he could just roll himself down the slope and no longed needed to torture his poor wounded chest.
The hobbit realised that the fall would probably jar him enough to finish him off in his present state, but he could not let his friends be endangered because of his failing. "Sorry Pip! Sorry Grandmamma… I'm sorry…" Merry whispered his apologies to the grass and then let himself fall down the hill, rolling over and over, faster and faster, jarring and scraping, falling, falling into the black void beyond.
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As Boromir looked on in concern, Peregrin sat down with a plop and slowly began to crumble. The man automatically catalogued what the hobbit was saying as he watched for the critical break in composure.
It tore at Boromir's heart to listen as incoherency took hold and the Halfling rambled about his cousin being eaten by orcs. If it hadn't been so wrenching, he'd have laughed because Peregrin's descriptions of orc lunches would have been amusing under different circumstances. Yes, the lad was beyond lucidity but he was at a loss as to what to do with a weeping hobbit
Boromir had seen this gentle but heartbreaking anguish before. He'd even had a soldier cling to him in desperation as the young man's world crumbled around him, one of three from a battle where 200 had been sent out. He suspected if Peregrin had been that young man's size and with less of a hobbit's need for touch, that he'd have found himself simply sitting beside this lad, perhaps even consolingly patting a leg. But he'd noted many times in the past, hobbits had a strong need to have contact with others. In an attempt to act the surrogate, Boromir wrapped his arms about the hobbit. The thought of his nurse holding his brother thus years and years ago sprang to his mind. Try as he might to hold steadfast to the fact this was a nearly grown soldier, he couldn't help but start a gentle rocking while Peregrin rattled and wept.
"Boromir, I'm sorry, hic…" Pippin managed to splutter between sobs, "S-sorry to cry…"
The Man furrowed his brow and clicked his tongue in response. "Believe me, little one, I would fear greatly had you not broken down and grieved. It is dangerous not to feel."
Pippin paused for a moment mid-snivel and looked up in surprise. "It is?"
"Yes, it is necessary during the heat of battle to keep your thoughts on your tasks or you life becomes forfeit. But there is a time and a need to say goodbye to your friends and comrades. Gandalf will be sorely missed. As much as I thought him a wagging old greybeard sometimes, still..." Boromir looked away as a telltale prickle in his nose warned of his own tears. "Still, he will be sorely missed." He took a moment to swallow and wipe at his eyes. "But he did not give his life for naught. The others got out, as will we, now that we've got your little bit of information. Here now..." Boromir shifted to let Peregrin settle more comfortably against his chest.
Then something clicked in Boromir's mind causing him to stare down at the bundle in his lap. 'Merry', 'stories', 'body' 'eaten' ... oh, no! Pippin thought his cousin orc food! A vicious image popped up, of Meriadoc's body flailing in a mass of hideous maws and claws, flesh being ripped from bone while the lad screamed in agony. The beasts were eating him piece by piece and he was not dead! Boromir gasped and opened eyes he had not realised he'd closed. That was what Pippin had thought had happened to his cousin? Clutching his charge tightly and burying his face in the lad's hair, he found himself crying as well. "He is not dead. He is not dead," he whispered feverishly.
A moment only and he'd recovered himself enough to realise he'd nearly squeezed the life out of Peregrin. He loosened his hold and sighed. Calming his breath he hugged the hobbit close again, "I saw Legolas take Merry and bolt for the open door. He would have stayed to protect the others if he knew Meriadoc had not a chance. He would have fought, not fled, if he knew he carried a dead weight." Pippin looked up at him now with a vestige hope in his tear-bruised eyes.
Heartened, Boromir continued, "I saw the others leave safely as well, with Aragorn at the head. No, no, cry not for your kith and kin, they are all safe, of that I am sure. Aragorn and Legolas are strong and experienced. They'll not let our friends die. Peregrin, you did not leave your cousin to become dinner for those foul beasts." He laid his cheek atop Peregrin's head and prayed to his father's god he was right, and that Merry could be saved. "And speaking of dinner, how does roast duckling and pears sound?" Boromir added the last sentence as an afterthought, trying desperately to distract the hobbit in the only way he knew how – food.
Although Pippin wanted so desperately for Boromir and Gimli to be able to depend on him in the situation that they were in, it was such a relief to cry at last and Boromir seemed to understand. And then when Boromir spoke of Merry and the others, it was as if a weight had been eased that had been crushing him. He felt utterly drained at this moment of any happiness in being alive but there were some things now that he could cling to so that he could at least go on. "Did you really see that Boromir? Was Merry alive?"
"I saw Legolas carry him forth and run from the battle with him," Boromir could see clearly the logic, "He would not have done so if Merry were without chance."
Pippin at last allowed himself to believe what he had heard, he began sobbing in earnest even harder than before, this time in pure joy. He had been badly hurt, but Merry was alive! There had been so much blood where Merry had lain, but was there more than when Berilac had cut him with the scythe? Pippin couldn't remember, it was so long ago, but he didn't think so. Merry had lived through that and with Aragorn to care for him this time...
"Oh...oh..." For a long moment he could not speak and just nestled in the comfort of Boromir's arms, drinking in his words. Then with just the faintest hint of a grin he whispered, "With roast potatoes, and peas and mushrooms in cream sauce." He looked up at Boromir and felt himself smile when he thought he might never smile again. "But for now I suppose we will just have to be content with stale bread and dried apples."
"Ach! I thought I had at least some fresh meat here!" Boromir mocked and sighed heavily, smiling down at his charge. "Alas, bread and fruit it is then. And you are to wash them hands o' yours, Master Pippin!" Boromir did the best imitation of Samwise he could manage.
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Sam's head rotated sharply to the right. Something heavy moving over there, and no mistake. A snap, or a crack, then another sound that he couldn't identify. His hand eased itself to his scabbard and he loosened the blade in its sheath. Fatigue and pain were washed away in a sudden surge of terror and surprisingly, rage. Hadn't they been through enough this day? They were hurt and exhausted and had lost their guide and friends dearer than kin. Wasn't it enough for one day?
At the second sound Aragorn silently lowered Frodo to the ground beside Sam. Raising one hand to indicate silence to the hobbits, he turned his head slightly, listening and smelling the air. Just at the threshold of his hearing, he caught it – a long venomous hiss.
Gollum! It had to be the troublesome brute. Aragorn felt a shudder of disgust. He had hunted the creature before, endured its talk, and he had no desire to lay eyes on it ever again. Better than orcs, perhaps, but not much better, weary and wounded as they were. It had followed them in the mines, and how it had managed to escape the carnage at the gate, Aragorn could not imagine, but he had no doubts now that what Sam had heard flapping behind them was the cursed little wretch.
He turned to the two hobbits. "Something is up ahead. It may be Gollum, or something worse, but I think it would be wisest to confront it, rather than pass it by and have it come upon us from behind. Follow me, stay close, and keep your sword to hand and ready. If our luck holds, you will not need to fight." The Ranger turned and moved directly towards the source of the sound.
Frodo drew Sting and carefully followed Aragorn, fatigue and injury forgotten in the sudden surge of adrenaline that comes from being hunted. Gollum! He was surprised at the emotions that name aroused in him – revulsion, anger, fear. Gandalf had said his was a sad story, but at the moment, Frodo had no time to contemplate the pathos of the nasty creature's life, no sympathy left for any but his own Company. Pity may have stayed Bilbo's hand, but at that moment, Frodo felt certain it would not stay his.
As he picked his way after the Ranger, silent as only a hobbit intent on being silent can be, Frodo noticed that the ground here was strange. There were patches of what almost seemed to be sand along the banks of the stream, some with straggly grasses attempting to grow from them, and others barren. He dodged them, cooling his weary feet on soft grass whenever he could.
Up ahead, Frodo heard another soft hiss. Gollum must have realised they tracked him, he thought. He agreed with Aragorn – best to catch the creature now, and not worry about cold fingers around their necks in the night. They were approaching Lórien; perhaps the elves there would be willing to take him into custody, if they took him alive. Frodo pointedly did not think about the poor luck of the Mirkwood elves in keeping detention of the same prisoner. He was slippery, no doubt, but it was either capture him or kill him. However they dealt with him, Frodo wanted it to happen soon.
Somewhere up ahead, if Merry still lived, he was in pain, and without his kin. Even more than he longed for rest and respite, Frodo ached to be at Merry's side, even if it was for his last moments. That, more than anything, kept him moving doggedly forward.
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The warg, not expecting to see such large prey, paused in its attack and moved back trying to circle the elf while it reassessed its tactics. It had been injured three months before by tall ones and the injury had left a weakness that had almost caused its death several times during the hunt.
Drawing back its lips revealing a row of yellowing sharp teeth, nearly a finger long by the elf's reckoning, the warg allowed another growl to trickle from its throat, this one more threatening than the last.
Legolas quickly realised that there was too little room to manoeuvre and decided to draw the animal away from the perian, after all who knew what else lurked in the forest's depths and would be drawn by the sound of battle and the scent of blood. This decided, he quickly put his plan into action, his Ada had told him once long ago, before he had even reached his thirtieth birthday, whilst out on his first hunting trip, that if you ever ran from a predator they would take it as a sign of weakness. This information Legolas was counting on.
He stabbed at the warg and as it leapt out of reach he deliberately showed it his back and fled through the trees opposite. With a howl of rage the warg followed and the hunt was on.
It felt strange, he reflected, to be parted from the hobbit; his arms seemed strangely light as if missing the hobbit's now customary weight.
An unexpected surge of anger burned up from his stomach in waves. The warg behind him seemed to sense the change in the prey's mood but sped up as much as its injured hind leg would allow, scenting the air for a clue that his eyes and ears could not discern.
Legolas allowed his anger to build and wash through him lending him strength and taking with it his uncertainty, his pain, his grief, his cares. This creature delayed Merry's aid and it was from this thought alone that this emotion blossomed.
He broke through into a clearing large enough to manoeuvre with ease and spun to face the animal, eyes narrowed and blood singing in anticipation of the fight, Legolas rushed the warg.
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Gimli woke to darkness, pain, and quiet, anguished voices. He remained motionless, trying to orient himself: Where was he? Who was with him? Those weren't dwarf voices, nor were they speaking Khuzdul but Westron, and each with different accents.
Slowly the voices grew clearer, and he identified them: Boromir's soothing baritone, and Pippin's lilting tenor.
And Pippin was weeping softly, Boromir comforting him.
Now Gimli knew where he was, in Khazad-dûm, not far from the East Gate, trapped. He had failed his comrades, and was listening to them as they mourned the loss of their fallen friends. He remained motionless, remembering the antics of Merry and Pippin, how Boromir had spent time training them in swordplay. Gimli had not made the effort to teach them knife-work or bothered to recount to them the tales and mysteries of Khazad-dûm. He had failed in so many ways.
And they had lost Gandalf, his father's old friend and an infrequent but welcome guest in his country. How could Gimli face his father and king or the old hobbit Bilbo, so beloved of Gloin? Gimli himself had argued for this route, in the hopes of impressing his companions with Balin's welcome.
But instead of a welcome he had brought them to ruin.
Gimli swallowed, deeply affected by the voices behind him. Pippin, in particular, had evoked in him the same feelings that the rare young dwarf could. Dwarves lived long but reproduced infrequently; all youngsters were thus a treasure, to be carefully taught and helped at every step. He had shirked his duty, allowing his stiff-necked pride to notice only the differences between himself and the hobbits, rather than the similarities. He had chosen not to remember his father's long affection for Bilbo, finding it odd and un-Dwarvish.
Yet now he understood. Hobbits, or at least these hobbits, had grown dear to him without him fully realizing how dear. And now three of them were missing, possibly dead, and the Quest might be in ruins. 'Why, we might be the only survivors!' he thought in a sudden panic, and reached for his axe, trying to sit up.
The pain washed over him as sharp as a knife, as bitter as his realization of letting these good folk down. His head fell back onto the stony floor, the room swam, and his spirit fled. Gimli! he heard his father scold him. Why have you come back? You have been appointed a task worthy of Durin himself. I expect more of you.
"So do I, Father," he murmured, "so do I!"
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"They follows us my Precious, yess follows poor Sméagol! Wants to catch uss and then what will they do to us? Hurts uss with the nassty cruel steel. But Sméagol knows the way, yess we does Precious, we knows where to puts our feets. They don't know, they step in the fool's sand!
Aragorn trotted lightly after the sound, the hobbits close behind him, as he ran, he scanned ahead continuously. Sam drew his sword and angled his ears towards the hiss, but it was not repeated. The Ranger had excellent hearing, Sam knew, but he rather thought hobbits had better. Had Strider heard those sibilant whispers, and that almost inaudible shuffling, which had ceased now? He closed his eyes and listened intently, but could hear nothing more.
"Man follows uss and the hobbitses wait for him. But he won't come back. Lo lo lo! Ha he hi! Grsshh!
Frodo, too, paused for a moment to turn his head towards a nearly unheard hiss. He frowned. Something was wrong here. Why did Gollum not flee, and come back later and follow their tracks, after dark, or at least until he was assured they were no longer actively hunting him.
Gollum stopped suddenly in the tracks of his weaving, dancing route, moving anxiously from one foot to the other, uncertain of what to do. "Noo not the skin and boneses hobbit! He hass the Precious! It will sink… sink in the fool's sand. The stupid hobbit will drown and take the Precious with him!" He had wanted the Ranger to follow him so that he could attack the hobbits; he had not expected the hobbits to walk into the same trap.
With a glance at his master, Sam fell into line at Frodo's back. That nasty creature would have to come through Aragorn and him both to get at Mr Frodo. Tired as he was, exhausted almost beyond endurance, Sam was surprised to feel such willingness in himself to engage the slinking shadow or, more accurately, to put an end to the thing.
Forcing his sore feet to walk with hobbit-stealth, Samwise was shocked to feel such bloodlust. He was a giver of life, not an ender of it. But he would kill that Gollum-thing, and gladly. After all he had seen and felt and experienced this horrible day, he would welcome the chance to make the world a slightly cleaner place by ending that foul creature.
Frodo halted again, the creature had to be aware that they were following him, yet he lingered near enough that the hobbits, at least, could still discern his foul breaths. Could the pull of the Ring be so great that Gollum was unable to even hide himself properly, or flee from an oncoming foe? Frodo stopped, turning his head slowly as he studied the ground. Where was the creature leading them? Something was wrong here…
"Aragorn, wait!" he called suddenly. "He leads us somewhere! This is some kind of trick!"
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Legolas rushed the warg. But he never reached it. The creature fell dead even as Legolas, knives in hand, surged forward. A long arrow had caught it through the neck.
Seconds later, several tall, regal golden-haired elves stepped from the woods to reveal themselves. They lowered their bows, yet kept arrows nocked.
"Welcome," said one, stepping forward from the group. "Long has it been since we have greeted any of our kin from the north. I am Haldir, and I keep watch over the borders of the Golden Wood. I had news of your coming, yet I expected a Company, not a single elf. Tell me what news."
"Ma-Mae govannen, Haldir o' Lórien! You startled me, but your timing is most welcome." Legolas's heartfelt honesty seemed to amuse Haldir as his eyes twinkled with mirth.
It was at this point Legolas realised he still held his bow drawn, frozen as he was, before he remembered himself and replacing the arrow in his quiver belatedly touched his hand to his breast then brow.
He realised with a start that he had definitely kept the company of mortals too long to have been caught so completely off guard by his kin. First impressions were all important and correct etiquette had been drilled into him from an early age, being the youngest son of King Thranduil meant that any mistakes he made reflected poorly on his father.
Allowing his face to become blank as he swallowed his emotions he quickly studied the three before him. The one who had introduced himself as Haldir stood at the same height as he, yet this elf was uncommonly broad of chest, with a carriage than almost rivalled Lord Elrond's he mused. His complexion was pale, as most elves were, with slightly arched dark brows that gave the elf a natural air of arrogance, contrasted strikingly with long silver-blond hair light winter-blue almond-shaped eyes that studied him in turn. A beautifully crafted bow rested comfortably in his left hand and, upon closer inspection, Legolas could make out the warrior's name carved just above where his hand gripped. The bow itself was intricately made and he suspected the markings he could not discern were a protection spell, meaning that only the rightful owner would be able to draw the bow. Truly it was a masterpiece and he felt an uncommon twinge of envy.
Haldir's two companions stood to his left and right flank, both bore the same silver-blond locks that denoted them as Silvan elves, though the one to Haldir's left was at least a hand span taller than he, while the other was slightly shorter than all, both were slim of build. It was then that Legolas registered the same dark brows and almond-shaped winter-blue eyes, though the brows were straighter and their face shapes not so long, they were clearly related to each other. All three wore the grey garb of the Galadhrim that allowed them to blend into their surroundings perfectly.
Legolas smiled as Haldir introduced his companions as his younger brothers, the smaller as Rúmil, who returned the prince's gesture and the taller as Orophin who mirrored his brother.
Formalities exchanged, Legolas gave a soft cry at Haldir's question, as his young charge came back into his thoughts.
"Merry!" He whispered, before turning from the Lórien elves, who were somewhat stunned at his reaction, and bolting back through the undergrowth. Confused and concerned, Haldir and his brothers followed the strangely behaved elf.
Legolas's heart had practically stopped beating as the vision of Merry wounded and alone in the middle of this strange forest assailed him.
In his haste to draw the predator away from the little perian he had taken scant note of the paths taken, they had just seemed to open up before him and he now realised that, whilst the trees had been silent and had not carried warning of the warg, they had helped guide him to Haldir and his brothers.
He bolted through the bush, along a path of the trees' choosing, feeling the little grains of soft, rich top-soil that had been compacted by larger animals through the soles of his boots. He was dimly aware of the full power of the mid-day sun breaching the dense canopy creating a mottled patchwork on the uneven ground.
He felt strangely detached as he ducked and dodged before finally taking to the trees. The branches called to him guiding his step as his pace quickened. The feel of the damp, cool moss-covered bark beneath lightly calloused hands as he now swung even higher, his eyes traversing the more open plain, the warm breeze brushing his face to play in his hair, none of these things that usually pleased the wood elf most about the forests of Arda registered now.
The river Celebrant was close, her waters swift and deep. The silver-birch that had welcomed him into its branches directed him to the bush under which he had left the hobbit, yet even as he dropped soundlessly to the forest floor, fear gripped at his heart as he approached the bush and drew back the thin green branches.
Nothing.
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Pippin grinned at Boromir's imitation of Sam, appreciating the effort, though in all honesty the man's talents in that area were sadly lacking. Merry now! He had a real gift for mimicking the voices of others, though he was not so wonderful with a truly fine Tuckborough burr for all his mother was a Took. Such joy it was to have a thought of Merry that didn't make him hurt with loss.
He wanted to throw his arms around the man's neck in gratitude for his wonderful news, but he suddenly was aware that not only was he exhausted, he had begun to hurt all over. Every muscle in his body had started to ache and throb it seemed, and the scrapes he had got in the small airshaft were beginning to sting. He managed to reach up and hug Boromir's neck gently, still beaming despite his discomfort. And he was hungry he realised! Being a warrior was hard work.
"Where is the waterskin then Boromir, so that I can 'wash m' hands'?" He had to admit that in all fairness his own imitation of Sam was not that much better than Boromir's. "I am hungry!" He looked around, wiggling his shoulders a little as his neck seemed to be stiff and sore. Spying the leather bottle lying next to them, he reached for it, then hissed in pain and hunched over.
"Ho now, careful. Let me get that." Boromir easily reached the skin of water and a piece of cloth. After spending an inordinate amount of time trying to carefully remove the most obvious muck, blood and dirt from Peregrin, he realised it would be a daunting task unless he treated the hobbit as he would a normal soldier.
"This is going to hurt," he said regretfully, thinking on all the times he'd heard that said to him. Having someone else tend your wounds was necessary when you couldn't reach them or were not able. Boromir shifted the hobbit forward a little and said, "I will clean those you cannot reach and leave the rest of the torture up to you. Can you stand now? I must see your back."
"Yes I think so," Pippin climbed gingerly to his feet and presented his back for further cleansing.
Looking at Peregrin's back caused the man to hiss and narrow his eyes. The collar of the hobbit's shirt was torn and what he could see beneath the long curls did not look good. "What have we here?" Boromir got to his feet and then changed his mind and knelt behind the hobbit to better examine the grizzly looking wounds. Carefully he peeled off the hobbit's filthy shirt and then tossed it aside. Lifting Peregrin's hair with one hand he steadied the hobbit with his other. And couldn't help but click his tongue. "When did this happen? Do you remember?" As he waited for a response he got up and went for his pack. Those wounds would require more than just water.
"Boromir? My arm is bleeding, too." Pippin held out the injury with a plaintive look, "Do you have something that you could wrap it up in?"
Turning about Boromir saw Peregrin trying to look calm as a light stream of blood trickled from a nasty looking slash. He moved over to the hobbit carrying his pack with him and knelt back down to survey the damage.
Gimli took a deep breath, and cautiously raised himself. "Pippin, my lad. I have some ointment in my pack that may prove helpful. Orc blades can be…" he hesitated, and carefully selected his next word, "…can be dirty. We need to wash your wounds thoroughly, and bind them well. And use that salve," he repeated firmly.
He glanced from under his bushy eyebrows at Boromir; did the man understand that by "dirty" Gimli actually meant, poisoned and that no further chances should be taken with this courageous youngster? In his heart, Gimli did not believe these orcs used poisoned blades, but anything was possible, and their luck had proven so ill lately. "You should boil the water first," he mumbled, and then turned away from them, ashamed of his weakness.
"Aye, if you have something better than my supplies, we'll use that," Boromir looked over at Gimli, wondering when he had regained his consciousness, and got ready to give the stubborn stiff necked dwarf an order to lie still and rest when Gimli's words rang true in his mind. Orc blades could be poisoned. He was absolutely sure even before he saw the raised eyebrows that this is what the dwarf had meant by "dirty". In the past he had carefully couched descriptions of bad situations when young ears might be easily panicked. "My salve contains horehound, garlic, ground bezoar stone and birthwort. I may also still have some of the tincture of foxglove, though I hesitate to use it unless we know specifically what we are treating as it is so ... potent."
Peregrin was a bit unsteady on his feet and Boromir realised he should make the lad sit before he fell. He glanced over at Gimli while he was bathing the worst of the orc blade cuts on the youngling. The dwarf looked almost as bad as the hobbit. He wondered briefly if he looked as awful as they did... Pressing the back of his hand to his eyes, he went back to his task of cleaning and bandaging.
"Here, sit, lad, before you fall. After we get these cuts treated and bandaged on your arms and back, we'll let you lie down for a while. How does that sound, eh?"
"Gimli, what have you in your supplies? Do we use my concoctions or yours? I bow to your larger experience with these demons and their ... crafts." He stopped short of saying 'foul poisons'.
Going over, one more time, the hideous wheals on the lad's neck he decided they must be teeth or claw marks – most likely claws. Didn't an orc try to pull Peregrin down by the neck? Oh, if the blades weren't intentionally poisoned the claws would most certainly bear disease. He scrubbed a bit over zealously and caused the marks to bleed. Better to bleed out the grime than to let it sit and fester. "Well, my lad, you are certainly going to have a scar worth bragging about to the lasses!"
Pippin found it hard not to grin at Boromir and Gimli pretending that they weren't talking about the possibility of the orc blades being poisoned. Adults could be so transparent sometimes. Besides, as he had told Boromir, he knew plenty of stories about orcs, some he probably should not have listened to as they gave him nightmares.
"More likely I will use it to horrify my mother and sisters!" He said with a wicked grin. "Although I won't pretend I might not make use of it if the right lass to impress should come along." When his friend had clucked over him and finally released him, Pippin put his ragged shirt back on and moved to pick up his pack, intending to use it as a pillow and to lie down near Gimli for a much-needed rest. Exhausted and hurting all over he stumbled when he turned around and tripped over one of the pieces of old ladder that had not been used to splint Gimli's leg.
"Ow! Ow, ow, owwww!" He hopped on one foot, and loudly muttered an expletive that would have caused Merry or Frodo to box his ears for sure and certain. "Owwww!" He complained again, and still balanced on one leg looked at his foot then looked at Boromir. This was just the last straw! Hadn't he put up with enough for one day? He looked at Boromir, a single tear running down his cheek and knowing he looked and sounded like a petulant child, but no longer caring. A hobbit could only take so much after all. "Boromir" He whined. "I have a splinter in my toe!"
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Merry's mind was taking a pleasant holiday. He was back in the Shire, running through the early morning meadows. The tall green grasses were topped with whispy pink fluff that made you sneeze and the field was peppered with red and blue as the poppies and cornflowers played hide and seek with each other amongst the high Summer wheat.
Only Pippin's head and shoulders were visible as he bounced ahead of Merry through the meadow and into the field, shaking droplets of dew as he ran and soaking his shirt through. Merry laughed as he tried to catch him, eventually giving up and calling, "Yoiks Pip, wait for me!" He smiled as Pippin vanished from sight, dropping into the wheat to become invisible.
Merry carried on with trepidation. He knew what was coming; Pippin would double back and leap on him out of nowhere. He would try to see him coming, but knew that he never would, Pip was too light on his feet and… Whump!
Merry came to with a shock of pain and cold, he had stopped rolling and was under water. His eyes and mouth both opened and, as he tried to breathe, he took a large gulp of river instead.
At that moment the elven cloak, that Legolas had wrapped the hobbit in, billowed up and lifted the little one up until he was floating on the water's top. He choked and spluttered and managed a few good breaths as the current bore him along.
Grobble Tugman had fished and ferried these waters that he knew as Silverlode, but the high folk, those strange elves, called Celebrant, and in all his years of fishing many was the time had he had cause to pull a body from its waters, but never had he found a live one.
Not until today. He saw the strange little form as soon as it rounded the bow in the river. It was small, a child no doubt, and buoyed up by its clothing. Quickly he cast his net aside and, with his long pole, fished the waterlogged babe from the fast flowing stream.
At first he thought it was dead. It was deathly pale and hardly breathing, so he sat it up in his lap and slapped it sharply across the back several times. The poor little mite gave a cry of distress, tried to gulp a breath but gagged and then expelled water, blood and vomit upon the floor of the boat.
"There, there, don't thee be fretted none. Oi'll be careful o' thee little mite." Grobble took his jacket and wrapped the child in it. "Thee seemed hurt bad enough small boy. Wonder where thy mither or thy ferther be at?" He cradled Merry to his chest as he began to one-handedly manoeuvre the boat to the shore. "Praps an thee been stolen away by those strange elfs. Oi don't be trusting those. Don't thee fret none, Oi'll take thee home to the missus, she do crave another child to clem to she."
Merry was only vaguely aware that he was being lifted back onto dry land. The arms that carried him seemed big and strong and it felt good to be cradled again in warmth and safety. In the back of his mind he heard the strange accent of the man that held him. It was not anyone he knew and as Merry opened his eyes he saw the face of his rescuer. Broad and covered with beard, long flowing hair obscured much of the forehead and neck, but he could make out two bright green eyes that looked filled with concern and kindness. Merry screwed his eyes shut as the pain from his wound, jostling and near drowning surged through his body once more. He began to hiccup small distressed sobs of hurt.
"Don't thee weep little boy, my missus'll make thee fine. Don't thee weep, hush, hush now."
Merry stifled his crying for a moment and looked up at the green eyes, thinking suddenly of Pip making the grief well up again. "I- I'm not a child, Mister Sir," he managed to breathe through his tears, "I-I am Merry." With that he lost consciousness again, his head falling trustingly against the chest of his benefactor.
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To Be Continued
storyfish: You guys must've had way too much fun writing this--I'm impressed how seamlessly everybody's writing fits together.
Gimli: We all have the amazing Llinos to thank for that. She is a wonder.
storyfish: Did you all decide upon a plot beforehand or is this more of a freeform whim-shaped story?
Legolas: Mlle Baylor specified a basic plot in which we would be overwhelmed at the Gates, that Meriadoc would be injured and Boromir, Gimli and Peregrin would be left behind while the rest of us made our escape, and that I would, because of my fleetness of foot, bear Meriadoc to Lothlorien and healing. The rest comes from our individual, very active, imaginations.
Nayana Baggins:! Frodo is the sexy one! But Merry is too if you look at him in angle! Just joking! They're both sexy!
Gollum: What about us, Precious? No one ever thinks that poor Smeagol is the sexy one. Why not, we wonders, yesss we wonders…
Domstygerr: Pip my little buccaneer, you have really risen to the occasion in this chappie. You are a true hero and my champion!!
Pippin: Thank you, I am trying very hard to be brave. I will try hard to live up to your praise!
Domstygerr: Boromir, you're a great man among men. Keep Gimli and Pippin safe.
Boromir: I am aren't I? Yes, Gimli and young Pippin are most fortunate to be in my manly care, are they not?
Domstygerr: Damn that Gollum anyhow!
Gollum: The peopleses, they always misunderstands us, yess! What did we ever do to them, gollum!
Domstygerr: And lastly, Sam, stop whinging about everything
Sam: Sorry Sir… er ma'am? I'll do m' best I'm sure.
Tari Elensar: This story is one of the best stories I have read in a long time. Hugs and cuddles to all of the hobbits and a big slap on the back to the rest of the characters. Thank you all for such a nailbiter! :)
Boromir: Thank you for that manly slap on the back. Pippin does try, but as is he is so short he always winds up slapping my…never mind.
boromir: And comforting the Little one is no easy task
Boromir: Who are you, that has stolen my name? And what know you of comforting my Little One? Pippin, what have you been up to?
Pippin: Nothing! I've been stuck here with you the whole time, Boromir. Goodness, you get so jealous sometimes.
Adalia: Let me just start out by saying how great this story is!
Aragorn: That is a wonderful start, my lady. On behalf of us all, many thanks!
auntiemeesh: Pippin is being so brave and mature, but poor lad! I hope he'll feel a little better now he's had his cry.
Pippin: I do feel a bit better now, especially now that I know that Merry isn't dead and hasn't been feasted upon by orcs. That was really getting me down!
Auntiemeesh:And I hope Legolas gets Merry to help soon. That warg needs to leave them alone, they've been through enough for one day.
Legolas: Never mind the warg, where did Merry go? Anyone? I could use a little help here…
nitedancer: Oh! my poor Pip...It's about time!...
It's on let it all out..Let the tears come at last...Here!.. You can use my shoulder to cry on if you like!!There!..There!..Sh...Sh...Everything is gonna be alright!..Honestly it will...Merry loves you too you know!...So much!...He would be so proud of you!..I know I am!...
Pippin: I LIKE you!
Sam: Hehe, the part where Legolas gives himself a bath was so funny! My younger sister adores Aragorn and so I always pick on her about how he appears to never take a bath.
Legolas: Really, one must take advantages of grooming opportunities when they arise, something that Aragorn has never quite understood.
Sam: Pippin is such a cheesehead.
Pippin: Well, I suppose I'll take that as a compliment, since it's food related.
Lindaleriel: This is really cool! The whole idea of getting a bunch of people together and writing a story together is brilliant! And it sounds like a load of fun! Oh, please do post more soon!
Gimli: We had a grand time writing it and there is much more to come, lassie!
melilot hill: I especially loved the ending. I just had to read that twice.
Pippin: That part made Baylor cry when it was written, which pleased my author no end, though it was a very emotional scene for me to enact. Marigold and I are both pleased that you liked it.
Birch tree: I was getting claustrophobic while reading about Pippin crawling the tunnel and finding a dead end...please don't do it again!
Pippin: It WAS rather scary. I have to do it at least once more or we are stuck here, but as I know where I am going now it will not be nearly so scary.
Elbereth: Wow, this story's FANTASTIC!
The Fellowship: Thank you!
Hyperactive Forever: I hope everyone survives the next chapter!
Legolas: As do I. I admit that I am very worried at having misplaced Merry!
Pip4: I'm so proud of Pippin, he deserved to be able to break down like that after he got out and Boromir is such a good friend, I'm glad he ended up with Pippin.
Boromir: Yes, I am quite proud that Pippin held on for as long as he did, but he needed to have a good cry. I will do my best to look after him, as I have grown quite fond of the lad.
girlofring1: But what is this you throw into our midst? But a tricksy Gollum and his quick sand?!
Gollum: Yess!! Trickssey, clever Gollum, we'll get what's coming to uss, we will, yess, we will!
Celebrean: The part with Pippin going through the hole thing...I would have panicked if I found a dead end.
Pippin: I nearly panicked and it turned out not to be a dead end.
RosieCotten: So, in other words they will look at him soon? Because undergoing that type of injury for so long usually someone finds out by now that something is wrong.
Aragorn: I shall do my best, and put forth all my skill, as soon as the opportunity arises. I have been rather busy you know.
Kit5: nice job.
The Fellowship: Thank you!
ringmarciel: Ah my friend loves them (hobbits) but I like rangers more!
Aragorn: You have excellent taste.
Frodo, Merry, Sam and Pippin: And so does your friend!
hobbitsandkilts: Go Pippin. That was very brave of you to see what was on the other side of that air vent.
Pippin: That's close to the bravest thing I've ever done I think!
KumQuat1: Oh Goodness (grabs hankie and blows nose) Pippin's breakdown is making me tear up...
Pippin: For some reason hearing that makes Marigold very happy.
lindahoyland: Whyever did I not think before that Aragorn would have 2 birthdays like our Queen?
Aragorn: Well, now that you know, I shall expect a card on both days, so mark your calendar.
Neige: You hurt Gimli! This is brave new territory! Most people leave him alone! admires
Gimli: Well actually I did bring it upon myself, but I am glad that you are enjoying my brave struggles to function through my pain. There are many more exciting deeds that I will be doing in future chapters, so keep reading.
Lindelea1: Pippin is so very brave. I got claustrophobic just reading the description of Pippin crawling through the hole.
Pippin: How do you think I felt?
Lindelea1: Legolas is so very--but really, doing his hair? In the middle of everything?
Legolas: It was a mess. I had a moment. Why do non-elves have such a problem with understanding my need to be well groomed?
Lindelea1: Ai! A warg! (Is it a white warg, by chance?)
Legolas: No, it is a very smelly warg, and very dirty, which could use a bath actually. Unlike me, who is once more clean and fresh.