Sorry about not updating yesterday – the site was down, or at least it was for me. As ever, please forgive any mistakes, and I hope that you enjoy the writing.
Chapter Forty-Three: Around the Riverbend
When night fell, they steered their boats towards the bank. There were no helpful beaches around, nor anywhere that seemed to be a particularly good place to moor, so they rowed as close to the bank as possible and tied the boats to some nearby willow trees. Here, it seemed, the Great River was just as deep at the edges as it was in the middle.
As such, they had to jump ashore. This was much easier said than it was done for everyone other than Legolas. The elf leapt to the bank as nimbly as if he was strolling up a staircase, and his steps hardly rocked the boat at all. However, when Gimli stepped up, the boat swayed, and he grabbed Bróin's head to keep his footing.
Then, he tossed himself into the air, and onto the bank. Bróin went next, as soon as the boat had steadied, and then Aragorn and Boromir both sprang to shore. Which left only the hobbits.
"I could come back, if you'd like me to carry you," offered Boromir with a smirk, to which Sam waggled his finger.
"Now, now, Master Boromir, don't you be giving any cheek. We'll get out in our own time, thank you very much. Hobbits aren't built for boating, after all!"
"Well, that's a load of Hobbiton poppycock," said Merry, grinning at Sam's disgruntled glare. "We Brandybucks are very fond of boats."
With that, Merry stood up slowly. He could feel the boat swaying, but he bent his knees and moved with the water. Then, he put a foot on the side of the boat – he let it settle – moved his weight forward and –
Pippin sneezed, and grabbed at the side of the boat. It jerked backwards and Merry fell face first into the Anduin. It was cold as all of winter, but Merry could not help himself. Almost before he broke the surface, he was laughing.
"Pippin, you oaf!" he cried, splashing his cousin and making both Pippin and Nelly shriek.
"You dirty great troll, Merry, I didn't push you!" protested Nelly, leaning over the edge of the boat to splash him back. Then, she grabbed Pippin's head as Gimli had Bróin's, and vaulted right over Merry and onto the shore. Merry grinned and swam the short distance to the bank. Before he could clamber up, Boromir had reached down and dragged him up by the collar.
"C'mon, go change into some dry clothes. I've seen you catch the cold before, I don't want to see it again!"
Raising his eyebrows, Merry laughed. "You sound like my Grandma Menegilda."
"Oh, you do!" gasped Nelly gleefully. "Still, he's right Merry. Put some clothes on."
"You sound like my mother," he said.
Nelly grinned and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I take that as a compliment."
Merry grinned. She should feel flattered – though he would not say that aloud. And he did have Pippin throw across his pack, so that he could fish out some new clothes. Miraculously, Merry was the only one to fall in, so before too long they were all sitting in front of a decent fire. The land was not yet too barren to make a campfire dangerous, and Merry was grateful. Beneath his dry clothes he still felt rather cold, and he wondered how long it would take his other clothing to dry. It was hung over a nearby branch, close enough to the fire to claim some of the heat, but winter was upon them, and the nights grew very cold.
They chatted to each other here and there as Sam went about preparing the dinner. Merry had worried that the peace they had shared in Lórien would leave greater fear in its absence, but that did not seem to be the case. If he sat back, he could quite easily imagine that this was just a camping excursion among friends – that the river was chosen just to spite Pippin and Sam, and that their nights beneath the open sky were for stargazing.
By the time hot food reached Merry's belly, he was perfectly warm again. Out of curiosity, he checked his clothes, and found that while his shirt, trousers, waistcoat and jacket were still sodden, his elven cloak was all but dry.
Well, he thought, count me impressed.
When their meal had ended, Nelly sighed, standing up and stretching towards the sky. "I'll see you boys in a minute."
She disappeared into the brush. No one thought much of this. She was a girl, after all, and needed more privacy then they did for relieving herself and – well – for other things girls needed privacy for. Merry was not sure how Nelly coped, to be honest, but he did not really want to think into it too deeply, and he was sure that Nelly had it handled. Like the others, he was content with understanding that a couple of times a day Nelly would disappear, and would be armed and within shouting distance, and that she would be back soon.
Today, when Nelly returned, she was wearing the bodice that Galadriel had given her over her undershirt. She had not put her tunic back on – it hung over her arm – but she hardly looked indecent. The bodice mirrored one that a hobbit lady might wear attached to her skirts, though it was longer, and flared out to cover her hips with folded fabric that would allow for movement. It also covered the entirety of her back, right up to the base of her neck. It reminded Merry of a vest in the way that it had arm holes, but no sleeves, and secured in the front, though it was tied with laces, as opposed to buttons.
Merry supposed that it must have been made just for Nelly, though he could not fathom how it could have been made in the brief time they had spent in Lórien. Not only did it seem to fit her like a glove, but it bore none of the peeves that she complained of in other clothing. By having it lace at the front rather than the back, Nelly was able to put it on without any assistance, and the decoration was beautiful without getting in the way of its function.
Furthermore, Nelly famously loathed anything that came too close to her neck, even if it were armour or chainmail, because she said it felt like she was being strangled. Pearl often wondered aloud how her sister could wear scarves in that case, but Nelly was adamant that it was different. The collar of the elven gift was not too high, being a hands width or so down from her collarbone, so she could breathe easily without leaving her breast vulnerable.
It was beautiful and, and modest enough that she could wear it above her underclothes without being indecent by the standards of both hobbits and dwarves.
Of course, Pippin felt duty bound to ignore this last fact, and he let out a low whistle. "You best be pleased that Papa's not here, walking around like that."
Alarmed, Boromir looked at Pippin quickly, and Merry smirked. The man had learnt his lesson about irking Nelly. But Merry knew there was no need to panic when Nelly screwed up her nose and stuck out her tongue. "The Valar forbid I wear less than three layers. And a bodice is not necessarily underwear, Pippin. You'd know that if you had ever been with a woman."
Sam spit out his tea and Boromir, Bróin and Gimli roared with laughter. Frodo shook his head with a fond (though rather exasperated) smile, and Merry chuckled.
Pippin went red as a tomato, but drew up his chin. "I'm going to ignore that comment like the gentleman my parents raised me to be."
Nelly snorted. "Gentleman? Don't make me laugh, Pippin. You need poise to be a gentleman, and class. You, little brother, have neither."
"At least I don't prance around in front of ladies in my underwear."
"I told you, this isn't underwear."
"Technically you said that bodices aren't 'necessarily' underwear. You didn't say anything about that one being outerwear. Put your tunic back on."
"Put your brains back on," retorted Nelly. "Oh wait, you never had any."
"Oh, that was a weak one," commented Pippin, his eyes twinkling.
She paused, and then shrugged. "Fair."
Pippin smiled. "Looks Nice, Nell."
She swatted the back of his head and grinned. "Ta."
"How's it for dexterity?" asked Bróin curiously.
Rather than replying, Nelly bent over backwards until her hands met the ground behind her, and her body was arched in a curve as perfect as a round shield. She paused a moment, took a deep breath, and kicked her legs up over her head to land on her feet. Then, she sat down cross legged beside the young dwarf, and bent down until her nose tickled the ground.
Bróin snorted, and bumped into her with his shoulder. "Show off."
It was not long afterwards that they turned in for the night, and as he tucked his cloak up to his chin, Merry wished that this could last for a while. The easy comradery, the laughing and joking. He knew that it was not likely to, that where they were going laughter would not help them, but he was sure that it would not hurt. Since Moria, he had noticed shadows in his cousin's eyes, and noticed that Frodo often shifted the ring's chain as if it hurt him. Merry could see that Frodo found things easier when everyone was smiling.
But as the days on the river passed, the land grew barren, and the laughter dwindled to smiles, which then faded into frowns. Spending hours upon end cramped in a boat watching nothingness go by, with nothing but the journey of the sun to count the time that passed – it was hardly an incubator for fair tempers.
No one wanted to bring up the subject of the path, but by the fourth night there was nowhere else for the conversation to turn.
"I think we should take the road to Minas Tirith," said Boromir strongly. "It makes much more sense – we can replenish our supplies, rest a while, and enter Mordor with fresh vigour."
"And you can see if your people need you to stay there," said Pippin, munching on an apple. The others had mostly finished their meals and were sipping on hot tea given by the elves. "You won't say it, but that's what you're thinking."
Boromir's cheeks grew rather pink, but he bowed his head. "I will admit that it has passed my mind. I would like to see how my city fares. But as I have always said, if I can help you, Frodo, I will."
"But the path across Rohan to Minas Tirith is long," argued Aragorn. "And Gondor is already embroiled in war. No doubt the city is being watched, and closely. Even nearing Minas Tirith will take us too close to the front line."
"Yet the alternative is the Emyn Muil," protested Boromir, "and that path is equally dangerous, if not more so. Assuming that we can climb through and navigate a labyrinth of razor sharp rocks, we will face no relief once we get out – we will be in the Dead Marshes. There is no path through that place, and the road around is frequented by orcs. There is no food, and little drinkable water there – and there is less in Mordor. We will enter the Black Land with meagre supplies, and by the time we reach Mount Doom there will be nothing left."
Merry winced at the thought of starving in a hot, dusty land, and the others seemed to share the sentiment, but Legolas did not look convinced, and neither did Aragorn.
"I would risk a few orcs before I risked being spied by an army," Aragorn said. "I do not think that Minas Tirith is the safest road."
"Then it is clear," said Boromir, his face darkening as he glared at Aragorn. "You do not trust me."
"I never said that." Aragorn's voice was calm and cool as the Long Lake, and Merry's stomach curled. He did not have a good feeling about this. "But I do think that you still desire to use the ring as a weapon."
"Only to defend my people!" protested Boromir. "You – you do not know what it is like to have the prayers of a city on your shoulders, to know that if you make a wrong move you could bring death to thousands of innocent people! You do not know how it feels to watch your home being chipped away, bit by bit, by forces you do not have the means to combat."
"Do I not?" said Aragorn dangerously. "I would not speak of your life as if I knew it better than you do – I would appreciate the same curtesy."
"And what would you even do with it?" asked Pippin, tossing away his apple core, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows. "You say use it – how? It's not a sword or a bow? Can it make you shoot fire from your hands, or control peoples' minds, and if it can, do you know how to use it? Or would you just throw it at the orcs and hope it clonked one on the head hard enough to knock it out?"
Wondering if it were possible to die from exasperation, Merry dropped his head into his hands, catching Boromir's expression as he did. The man looked both angry and incredulous, but the overwhelming look was one of bafflement.
"What does it actually do?" continued Pippin, as if he was discussing the weather. "Perhaps Frodo should try it on and see."
The atmosphere changed in a violent flash, from distrusting and frustrated to tense, and silent. Frodo went very pale, and put his cup down on the ground before him.
"I think Frodo should not," he said quietly. "You don't know what you're talking about, Pippin. I have not used it, and I mean for it to stay that way." He turned his gaze to Boromir, who was as red as Frodo was white. "I think you are misguided. We cannot wield it – so say all the wise. I have made my decision – I will take the path of the Emyn Muil. You all may join me as you will."
Boromir swore, and threw down his own cup. "Do you really trust me so little?"
"I trust you," replied Frodo, his voice strong as a king's – as Thorin's. "Truly, Boromir, I do. You are my friend, and I know that your spirit is strong. But there will be men in Gondor of lesser strength and honour than you, and them I do not trust. Nor do I trust to the path that is more likely to be watched, and already in a state of open war. It would not surprise me if the Dark Lord expects us to take it to Minas Tirith, or Erebor, or some place of such strength. If we are to keep the advantage that stealth will lend us, the thornier road is all the safer. If this means you must leave us, and attend to matters in your own lands, my blessing will go with you. I will take the first watch, Sam shall watch with me. The rest of you should get some sleep."
At no point did Frodo raise his voice or speak harshly, but authority rang from him stronger than any Merry had heard from his cousin before. A silence fell after Frodo's words, a silence not even Pippin was willing to break, and Merry knew then that their path was set in stone. In the sharp, coarse stone of the Emyn Muil. He himself had been leaning towards Gondor – he thought of their supplies, of finding food for themselves in the darkest realms of their enemy – but Frodo had said no, so that path was gone now.
He glanced at Boromir. The man's shoulders were hunched and his jaw clenched, but it was sorrow, not anger, that dominated his eyes.
"Very well," said the man. "I will see you all come morning." And then he stood, and set out his bedroll, and closed his eyes on them all. It had to be hard, Merry thought. The choice that was put upon Boromir was not an easy one, and he knew that the man's concern for Minas Tirith was growing by the day.
There was no more talk that night. Merry nodded at Frodo, offered him as good a smile as he could conjure, and went straight to bed. Pippin curled up beside him, his back pressed against Merry's, and he did not say a word. Out of the corner of his eye, Merry thought that he saw Nelly and Bróin passing signs in Iglishmêk to each other, but if they were they were only ones to converse.
Sighing sadly, Merry cast his mind back to the joy of earlier days and past times, but his thought kept wandering back to Frodo. When had Frodo become a leader, taken charge? When had he learnt to speak in a voice so strong – so calm and even, yet so firm and unyielding? As he drifted slowly to sleep, Merry realised that he had never heard that voice from Frodo before. But he had heard it.
He had heard if from Bilbo.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter, apologies in the delay! I hope to get back to schedule next week, so finger's crossed! There, we shall check in with Glóin, and with Bilbo's group, before returning to reach the falls of Rauros – I hope you guys are as excited as I am! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, or what you hope to see ahead, I'm really eager to hear your feedback.
Thank you for reading – take care!