WELL.

Here it is.

Everyone gasp in fear and shock.

OMG! She updated!

Promptly die from shock.

Chapter Five: Flight Through The Forest

If the members of the Fellowship noticed the sudden increase in weight of the last of the rowboats, they didn't mention it. Nor did they notice the sudden jerk of a carelessly thrown cloak as the boat rocked to a stop on the sandy bank of the river.

Inside the cloak, Naomi froze, heart pounding madly, waiting for the cloak above her to be snatched away with a triumphant 'Ah-hah!'

But the cloak was not pulled off, nor was anything slightly resembling 'Ah-hah' uttered. The frightened young woman controlled her breathing quickly, trying to keep the Elven cloak above her from rising suspiciously.

The sudden desertion of the water lapping against the side of the boat and the heavy breathing of the hobbit sitting before her in the boat had woken her with a start, and she still didn't know why.

Her traitorous eyelids sunk a little, and she noticed that the sunlight coming through the edge of the cloak was muted. The Fellowship must have stopped to rest the night.

And for the first time, Naomi questioned her motives. She'd been moving so fast, so breathlessly the night before that she hadn't stopped to ask why she was acting so crazily. What in the name of the Vala was she doing, following a group of dangerous men (and not-so-dangerous hobbits) on their secret quest?

No questions, hissed the voice.

By nature, Naomi was neither adventurous nor strong-willed. She preferred to spend her days quietly than out in the hustle-and-bustle of the rest of the small forested city where she made her home. It kept her both out of trouble and out of tumbles with the stable boys.

But weariness, hunger, and anger will make even the weakest brave. Yes, she thought. I have some questions. She didn't stop to ponder why she thought of the voice as an entity separate from herself. All she knew was that something was terribly wrong.

Her suspicions were confirmed when a deep pain exploded over her left eye, thrusting starbursts on the edges of her vision, and blurring the inside of the cloak with tears. Retreating to her quiet roots, Naomi decided to forget about her questions and motives for the time being.

See where they've gone off to, ordered the voice. As if warning her to obey, the pain over her eye throbbed. She was rousing herself to comply when the cloak was snatched away from her.

" . . . Boromir and Frodo gone?"

Naomi caught a glimpse of one of the hobbits as he disappeared out of her field of vision, clutching the Elven cloak. He hadn't seen her.

Fear once again flooded her veins. What would they do if they found her? Find them, worry about it later, the voice hissed.

She counted to fifty slowly, then gently lifted her head to peek out over the edge of the boat. The first thing she saw was the immense tops of immense trees, before she saw the tiny camp settled at the base of the forest, nestled between land and shore.

It was deserted. Naomi silently prayed to the Vala that it would stay that way, and stood. Her balance had never been as good as an elf's, and the small boat lurched ominously as she dismounted. It had slipped back a bit into the water, and she doused the hem of her grey gown with a significant few inches of water.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she lunged for shore, managing to scramble to dry land without much more water damage. She let herself sink onto the sand, her limbs cramped, for a few minutes. Then she staggered up, and pulled the boat onto land.

The wind swept immediately through her thin dress, chilling her skin and raising gooseflesh. Shivering, she stumbled to the remains of the fire. She had started out as a housemaid, and with some more twigs and blowing, she had a hearty fire crackling in front of her.

She knew from significant experience that her dress wasn't going to dry if she left it on. The heat from the fire would keep her from chill until the dress dried. Secure in this knowledge, Naomi pulled the grey dress off quickly, settling it near the fire enough that it would dry quickly, but not so near that it could catch fire.

As she rubbed her chilled fingers, Naomi didn't really care if the Fellowship came back and found her. Continuing on that vein, she dug some bread out of the hobbits' storage and crunched happily. Her shift wasn't as wet as her dress, and it was already dry when she finished the bread.

The voice was thankfully silent, and Naomi settled down into the sand, now certain that the Fellowship was off somewhere that wouldn't release them for a while. She watched the flames, her vision crossing sometimes, and played one of the games that had been a favorite when she was a child.

They'd called it Figures, and they would sit by the fire, finding pictures in the flicking flames. It was a way to tell one's own fortune. A dog meant a home, a sword meant war, and so on. It was ridiculous, but they all imagined themselves great prophets.

Dread

Beauty

Shrink

From

Pleasure

Naomi gasped.

She was certain that she wasn't imagining them; for all that she knew that fires didn't write words, wine didn't brand things on walls, did it?

Beware

The

Eyes

Of

Storm's

True

Grey

The first stanza was familiar, but she couldn't remember how. Then a picture of blood red wine rose to mind, splashed with arcane knowledge across the wall in Lady Galadriel's chambers.

Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure. Beware the eyes of storm's true grey.

It was then she realized that the words hadn't been written in Common. Hadn't the Elven prince said that the lines were written in and ancient Elvish script?

Since when can I read ancient Elvish? Naomi asked herself. I can barely read Common.

Beware the eyes of storm's true grey, mused the voice. It repeated the entire poem. Dread beauty, shrink from pleasure. Beware the eyes of storm's true grey. Then it swore. Of course, it chuckled. You are a wily creature, Janthea.

"Janthea?" asked Naomi aloud, and the voice didn't answer.

She didn't have time to muse over the new development when there was slight rustling behind her. The first thing that sprang to mind was her state of undress. The second was how to protect herself. Her roving eyes quickly sprang to the crackling fire in front of her. She reached out, secured one end of a glowing branch, and then swung around.

She put as much force into her swing as she could, and sailed over the head of her assailant; a hobbit. The force whirled Naomi around in a pirouette, and when she stopped, her head was lolling on her shoulders. "Who are you?" she managed.

"Who are you?" demanded the hobbit angrily. "What are you doing here?" Recognition dawned in his gaze.

"You were Lady Galadriel's maid."

She opened her mouth to deny, or maybe to explain, but she was suddenly pulled off her feet. Frozen in shock, Naomi could only gape at the arm securing her waist; thick and hairy, the hand was as dark as dirt.

Her mind slowly processed that this was not the hand of a member of the fellowship.

"I've got one," grunted the creature that held her, his words rumbling through her body. "You get the other."

It was then that Naomi's brain began to function.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Shut up," grunted the creature.

Naomi realized that she still held the fiery branch. Still screaming, she tensed her body and swung the branch up and behind her, into the general direction of the creature's eyes.

It roared, its arm loosened slightly, and Naomi kicked one of its knees. The arm slipped again, and she struggled out of its hold, shimmying like she would out of a tree. The ankle-length hem of her slip caught on its boots, ripping, and she tore it, barely caring.

Her slip now brushing her knees, she stumbled into the forest, running and screaming. "HELP! HELP!" She knew that the members of the fellowship were out there – they wouldn't leave their supplies behind – and all she had to do was find them.

The creature started after her, and Naomi turned to try to see it. Her foot caught on a branch, and she fell, her wrist twisted under her. All the air whooshed out of her lungs, silencing her.

She scrambled to her feet, and pushed herself to run faster, away from the creature. She forgot to scream, to breathe, to do anything except run.

Run faster, you stupid girl, hissed the voice, and an invisible force put wings on her feet, a diabolical presence.

She jumped over a fallen tree branch before she even saw it, twigs and bushes scratching her cheeks, bare arms, and legs.

Her hairpins tumbled out, and she didn't care that she was loosing the most possessions she had. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, tangled with curls, and she didn't notice.

Escape, escape, escape.

Yet another branch was in her way, and she leapt over it, landing with a hearty crack that had her wincing for her aching ankles. Somewhat limping, she found herself able to scream again.

"HELP ME! HELP! HELP!"

There was a breath of hot air on the back of her neck, and it propelled her faster. Ahead, she could hear something over the pounding of blood in her ears. Voices, and metal clanging. A clearing. Her screaming grew ragged as she stumbled into chaos.

More of them, she noticed dumbly. Tens, scores of them, and only one man. Boromir, maybe. Hadn't that been what the lady had called him?

Fear, icy, flooded her heart. There were arrows sticking in his chest, and as she paused, he fell, still valiantly fighting, and then yet another arrow was loosened. His eyes, blank with almost death, passed over her. She blinked back sudden tears.

She was too busy watching the death of Boromir to see Legolas and Aragorn race into the clearing, to see the creatures begin to fall. She did, however, notice when the creature yanked her off her feet. Tearing her eyes from the horrible sight of the fallen man, she began to scream again.

Something whizzed by her face, and she fell, for perhaps the fifth time in six minutes, with a heavy weight above her. She couldn't scream because there was no air to be had. All she could do was wheeze pathetically, her arms trapped.

"Help," she wheezed, but it was more of a whoosh of valuable air.

By the time the creature was lifted off of her, she was semi-conscious, her legs and arms bleeding lightly, her ankle and right wrist swelling noticeably.

"What are you doing here?" asked the Elven prince, but Naomi was slipping into unconsciousness, and didn't answer, as his face swam above her.

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