Yo! I nearly got stuck in town today, so you're lucky to get this one! Still, two weeks and I haven't broken the advent calendar yet! Thank you to my lovely reviewer, I appreciate your support so much! As ever, please forgive my typos.
Chapter Fourteen: Scouts in the Ruins
They were making better progress than Bróin had dared to expect. Seven days had passed since leaving Bree, and they had seen neither sight nor sound of the Nazgûl. So far, Aragorn's 'paths seldom trod' seemed to be paying off. But with every hour that passed without sign of their hunters, Bróin grew more uneasy. Especially as the evening wore on, and they approached an old ruined fortress atop a solitary hill.
He had been thinking – something his brother accused him of never doing – about their 'luck' an awful lot, and the silhouette of a crippled tower against a blood-red sky was eerie enough to prompt him to investigate. Gently nudging his foot into Nyla's left side, he urged his wolf towards the front of the group. You had to be careful when riding a wolf – if you dug your heels in too harshly or yanked to hard at their fur they had a tendency to get irritated, buck you off and then refuse to carry you for at least half an hour. Bróin had learnt that the hard way.
Now, though, he was an expert, and it did not take long to reach Aragorn's side at the very front of their group.
"May I speak with you?" Bróin asked.
Looking down, Aragorn raised an eyebrow and twitched half his mouth into a smile. "Given that you don't usually ask for permission, I take it something is on your mind?"
Bróin nodded sharply, and glanced around. If people were in earshot – particularly Frodo or Bofin – he could cause them panic. The nearest rider was Vinca, who looked curiously at him. He grinned at her, and then forced a sneeze. In a flash, Nelly was there, pulling her sister away to 'chat'. Bróin thought he caught sight of Vinca rolling her eyes, but she went with her sister regardless.
"Is everything alright?" Aragorn spoke in a low voice, his half-smile fading.
"I am not sure," Bróin replied, stretching his arm up to stroke the hilt of the sword that was sheathed on his back. "But there's been a worry in my mind, one I can't get rid of. I was thinking – we haven't seen hide or hair of these riders. Could that be because they've already found what they're hunting for?"
Aragorn's hands tightened around the reins and he looked straight ahead. "I hope not," he murmured, "but I have not the answers you seek."
Bróin's shook his head, but he had not expected anything more. Forcing himself not to dwell on the possibilities, he nodded at the ruins ahead. "Is that where we're camping tonight?"
The man nodded. "Weathertop. Once it was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl."
Well, that did not make him feel any better. Off to sleep in the eerie castle. Normally, he would be thrilled at the idea, but normally he only had to worry about himself. And Nelly and Nori. The idea of spending a whole night listening to Bofin whine about ghosts and demons and monsters was not a pleasant one, especially since his brother was supposed to be the older one.
Bróin rolled his neck and his shoulders. "Wouldn't it be wisest to scout it out first?"
"Are you volunteering?" Aragorn raised his eyebrows.
"No, no. I'm begging. Never knew it was possible to get stir crazy in the great outdoors."
Aragorn laughed. "Of course. Do not go alone-"
"Pfft, course I won't!" Bróin scoffed, glancing over his shoulder. "Nell, we're on scout duty."
His best friend gave a mock salute and rode over on her own wolf. "Off to check out the creepy dead hill place?"
"The old fortress of my ancestors," drawled Aragorn without malice. "Yes."
"Righty-ho," she grinned at Bróin. "Let's be off, then!"
The pair urged their wolves into a run, and Bróin felt just a little of his frustration leave him. Waiting to be attacked and worrying about his family were not agreeing with him, and for days he had grown more and more restless. Now, at least, he was doing something helpful.
And riding on the back of a speeding wolf was never less than thrilling.
Breathing in the sharp air, Bróin rolled his neck again and felt excitement trickle through his veins. Here was a little slice of freedom, a little chance to scare each other with a creepy old castle, and prove more useful than a couple of bits of unexpected luggage.
Here was a little chance to simply breathe.
He glanced to his right, where Nelly was riding two strides ahead of him – as usual. She grinned, and tossed her dark blonde hair over her shoulder. Like many dwarves, Nelly favoured a half-up, half-down hairstyle when she was on the road. Several braids met at the back of her head, keeping her hair from falling in her face, while the rest hung free to bounce as they pleased. In the fading sunlight, the curls glowed.
Damn, he thought, it's happening. Nelly's getting prettier hair than me.
Running a hand through his own wild hair, he grinned back at her, and pushed his heels into Nyla's side. The wolf lurched forward, overtaking Nelly and Kya. Nelly cried out with an evil grin, and her own wolf sped up too.
In a race that was, unbeknownst to them, almost identical to that of Fíli and Kíli's three days before, Bróin and Nelly charged for the archway into the old fortress. Unlike Fíli and Kíli, however, neither even tried to concede. It was Nelly who won, when she let Kya have her head and spring from a fallen rock, leaping through the archway and almost knocking Bróin's head off with her paws. Nyla growled in indignation, skidding through the arch herself, but Bróin was laughing. It had been far too long since they had a race like that.
"Well done, Kya!" cooed Nelly, dismounting and rubbing noses with her wolf. "You almost beat us his time, Bro."
Bróin laughed again. "We're biding our time, hey Nyla?"
The wolf growled and then let out a huff, and Bróin scratched behind her ears. Then, he slid from her back and removed his back-pack, placing I down beside her. "Here, girl, you watch this and have a rest," he said, slipping her a slither of dried meat. "Good girl."
Nelly did he same, rolling her shoulders with a sigh, and they set off together, deeper into the fortress. For the most part, it showed no signs of life. Weeds grew up here and there through the rubble, and ivy choked many of the pillars. There were no creatures there though – Bróin did not even see sign of a mouse. There were faint black scars in some areas from long dead fires, but nothing recent.
At least, there was no sign of life until they reached a small side room, where they found a pile of wood, stacked for a fire, waiting to be set alight. It was unburnt.
Bróin paused, his head tilting to the side as he analysed the way it was structured – there was enough skill for it to be the camp of a seasoned traveller, but it was not the would-be fire of a dwarf. It lacked the nuances, the specific air channels and stacking methods that allowed even their smallest fires to grow hot, fast. Beside him, Nelly crouched down and examined the ground, her hand skimming over the flagstones.
"It looks like one of Bilbo's fires," said Bróin, and Nelly glanced up at him.
"Aye, but so do most fires built by travellers that aren't picky dwarves. There're no clear tracks, not really. Whoever was here, why didn't they light the fire?"
"Perhaps they decided against it," Bróin suggested, peering around the chamber.
"And left perfectly good firewood like that?" Nelly pursed her lips and stood up. "Maybe they're still here."
They exchanged glances, and did not need to speak for Bróin to know that Nelly was thinking along much the same lines as he was. If it was the Bagginses, and they were still here, they would have no need to hide. Enemies hid, enemies and frightened folk. Both could be dangerous.
Slowly, quietly, Bróin drew his sword, and Nelly did the same. "I say we keep going," he said, his voice now barely louder than a murmur. "Find out if there are still folk here, after all."
She nodded, and they followed the passage that led from the chamber. It was very dark inside, with the lack of torches and the night closing in around them. Nelly gave a soft gasp, and Bróin froze. He waited for her to speak, or to signal him, and the pause felt like it lasted an hour.
"I found something," she whispered, and he heard her bend down again. "Nearly sliced my foot open – aye, that's definitely a knife, Bróin."
"We'll look when we get outside," he said, "but let me go first now. I'm in boots."
She was silent, so he guessed that she had nodded. He slipped around her and they moved on, but though he often brushed the floor with his feet, Bróin found no knives. Slowly, moonlight began to appear at the end of the tunnel, and they came out to the very top of the fortress.
It was round, flat, with a large stone in the centre. He would have thought it an alter or dais of some sort, if it had not been so oddly cut. It looked more like a hunk of rubble, flung from a catapult many years ago. Around the edges of the hill were what might have once been walls, but now were a series of crumbling, stone arches, which exposed them to the whole world.
Nelly held up the knife.
It glinted silver beneath the stars, and Bróin swallowed.
It was Nelly who spoke. "That looks an awful that like Fíli's sigil."
"Looks an awful lot like Fíli's knife," Bróin agreed, his stomach curling as he met Nelly's eyes.
She swallowed, and then, without a word, they began to move. Nelly began to scour the ground, circling the top of the hill, while Bróin ran to the crumbling walls onto the thin ledge that jutted out over the fortress. Once, he supposed, it would have been where men could patrol, in days of peace. Bróin peered out over the surrounding lands. He could make out the vague shape of their party, nearing the base of the hill. He walked carefully around the outside of the fortress, and narrowed his eyes. Something was moving in the east, a large, dark shape that was drawing towards them. Frowning, he tried to look closer, but the shape was several miles away yet, and he could see nothing more than a ripple in the shadows. Perhaps-
"Bróin!"
He straightened, adjusting his grip on his sword as he turned and flew back towards Nelly. For a moment, he did not see her, but then he spied her waving from behind the strange rock. Her face was so pale it could have been made of moonlight, and Bróin's heart dropped all the way down into his toes. He ran over, but before he could reach her she held out her hand and he stopped in his tracks. Then, he followed her gaze to the ground.
Blood.
Dark and dried but unmistakeable, red even in the moonlight. Two pools, linked by a thinner red river, separated by lines so clear it could only mean one thing. Someone had lain there. Lain there, and spilled enough blood to form a stain as long as Nelly was tall.
Someone had fought for their life here.
Had they lost?
"It's old," said Nelly, sounding as though there was a lump in her throat. Without pause, he stepped carefully around to stand beside her, close enough for the back of his hand to brush hers. "Completely dry. It must be at least two days, maybe three or four."
"Could they have got a two-day lead on us?" Bróin asked, though he feared he already knew the answer. "We have not travelled slowly."
Nelly did not answer. She did not need to. They both knew that Gandalf had powers beyond their knowledge, and they both knew what speeds their wolves could sustain. How fast their kin could travel if they had to.
Bróin gazed down at the knife in Nelly's hand. He took a deep breath, but then paused. Something caught his eye, beneath her hand, and he stepped around her.
"It may not be one of ours," Nelly said hesitantly, but Bróin grew close enough to confirm his suspicions. And set his heart to a race.
"There're footprints Nell. Bare ones – hobbit ones."
She whipped around so fast that her hair caught him in the eye, and stared down at the tracks. They were partial, and smudged, but unmistakable. Those were hobbit feet.
"Bilbo," she whispered, seizing Bróin's sleeve. Her eyes trailed down to the knife, then up to Bróin's. "Fíli."
"We've got to go," Bróin said, his own voice thick with fear. He began to back away, grabbing Nelly's hand when she did not follow. "Come on, Nell, we must tell the others! We cannot stay here, we have to go."
Digging her heels into the ground, Nelly hesitated, though she gripped Bróin's hand tightly. "What're we going to tell the others?"
"The truth." Bróin tugged her arm, his eyes called back to the blood. Whose blood? "We'll tell them the others were here, and that there's blood and there's been a fight and we have to go, now."
"But it's dark," Nelly protested, even as they began to run back through the fortress, "Where will we go?"
"Anywhere," Bróin insisted. "Anywhere's better than here."
But then he stopped, so abruptly that Nelly almost yanked his arm from its socket. She turned and stared at him. "What is it?"
"There's something coming," he said. It had just hit him, he had almost forgotten – how had he possibly forgotten? "Towards the hill, from the east, I couldn't see well. I was going to tell you, but you called me over and…"
"The Nazgûl?" she whispered, her fingers tightening painfully around his.
"I don't know," he replied, shaking his head slowly. "But they're coming this way."
"Damn it…" Nelly shook her head, then swore, loudly. "Let's go. Come on."
Together, they bolted down, back to the door where their wolves were waiting. They did not even pause to mount, with Bróin instead whistling for the wolves to follow them as they flew down the hill.
"We cannot stay!" Nelly gasped, as soon as they were in a distance that would allow them to be heard without shouting. "Aragorn, we must leave, now!"
"Leave?" moaned Pippin. "We only just got here!"
"Why?" asked Aragorn sharply. "What did you find?"
"This," said Bróin, as Nelly passed the man the knife. "It's Fíli's. And there's… there's…" He broke off as he glanced at Frodo. The young Baggins' eyes were wide and white as the moon, and he looked as though he was going to be sick.
"What, Bróin?" he pressed, pushing his wolf through to the front of the group. "What is there?"
"Blood," said Nelly tightly. "There's blood, Frodo. A lot of it. And Bróin saw something coming, something moving towards the hill."
Murmurs ran through the group, but Aragorn cut over them all. "What? What did you see?"
"I'm not sure, but it looked like a group moving in the dark. They're coming from the east," he said. "Dead east, near as I could reckon."
"We need to move," said Nori, riding to the front of his group and looking the opposite of authoritative on his shaggy mountain pony. "South East, around this group, away from this damned place."
"I am inclined to agree," said Aragorn tightly. "But our steeds cannot ride forever."
"We can ride 'till morning," argued Ehren from the back. "Daylight can offer us a little help, 'specially if it's orcs Bróin's seen."
"Very well," Aragorn said tightly. "We ride on – but slowly, and as quiet as maybe. You said they were coming from the east?"
Bróin nodded, remembering as best he could. "I think so."
"You think?" scoffed Bofin, but Soren smacked him before Bróin could retort.
"Let's just get out of here," Soren said tightly.
They made it only two miles before they heard the orc horn blow.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! No new scenes, per say, just reworking, but I like this one better, I think! Please let me know what your opinions are, I love to hear them!