Chapter Two: Naukavausan Avhaumn (Nasty Thing)
The fellowship is finally leaving Lothlorien. I can't wait to get out of here, to embrace the feeling of freedom from this nasty place of light. I can barely contain my excitement, my pack is prepared and my scimitars are cleaned.
Feeling exalted, I slip into a dip as the chattering group starts prepping to leave. A couple minutes later finds them thanking the elves and bidding farewell. My eyes skim over them, lingering on the halflings. Now that they've been fed they look like the fat, happy weaklings they are. It is almost disgusting that one of these has been entrusted with such an honor. Still, if all goes well soon I will have the ring in my possession. And it looks like that moment is ever growing closer, they are finally getting a move on, unknowingly leaving the place that had protected them from me
The sun is shining bright overhead, dappling the forest floor with hues of gold and vibrant green, the hazy rays filtering through the dense woodlands. The beaded grass is soft underfoot, allowing me to noiselessly pad after the trudging fellowship. Their packs are bulging with supplies, and their sallow faces have been replaced by a spring in their steps.
They take the river, which makes me think that they are finally realizing the danger they are in. The river would be where I would go to, in the small boats that are easily defended and being able to see the attackers long before they arrived, it is the ideal way of travel. I, however, must trudge along on the muddy bank. Mud and water sloshing in my boots, twigs in my once normally immaculate hair, and tears in my tunic from the shrubbery I have had to dive into so as not to be seen. This journey is not going my way, not in the least bit.
Whenever they go on shore to rest I harbor hopes of possibly sneaking onto a canoe and tucking myself under supplies, but whenever I consider making a dash to one of the boats I hesitate until it is too late. And I've tried crawling on at night, but the night guard always stands watch from either one of the boats, or in direct view line, making it utterly impossible. I develop a new hatred for this traveling group with every day that passes by. And I still have no idea which one of them is carrying the blasted ring.
I do get some slight satisfaction from the small joys, like sneaking rocks into their packs whenever possible which is sadly not that often but still. There is almost nothing more satisfying than watching a halfling attempt to wrestle with a weighted down bag. Pity they're not hiking anymore.
The other presence that I have felt has not vanished and though they are far enough behind me I am still a bit put off by it. It is worse than a warg howling when I am trying to sleep. The inability to do anything about the lowlife that slinks in the shadows drives me insane, though in a way that describes me too. But I am much more elegant in my ways, much more dignified than this "other". Sighing, I curl up for the night and hope that nothing interesting will go on under my nose.
The dawn comes bright and early on the third day of river travel. I pull my cloak around me in hopes of getting more sleep, but the fellowship is already packing their sleeping mats away and eating breakfast and so my plans are foiled. I hope they will stop for a lunch break today, at least so that I can actually get a good bite to eat. They can eat anytime they want in their elvish boats, I, however must be constantly running through shrubbery or knee deep mud to keep up.
However, as they eat more and more one of their boats is growing less and less full. If I ever get the opportunity, I will have no problem stowing away on that ship. Some of their supplies are packed in crates, and there is one at the very end with a small space underneath. Though it will be rough, I can squeeze in there, and the crate is so large and heavy they won't ever lift it, so I will remain unexposed, if not a bit cramped. Fueled by my new plan, I hardly notice the rough jabs of the vegetation and the mud lapping at my feet, trying to suck me into the river. Water makes me slightly uncomfortable, Mordor isn't exactly filled with streams and lakes so I never learned how to swim. It can't be that hard though, happy fat weaklings do it all the time.
The next day, I wake up only to realize I've fallen behind. The rest of the morning is a blur of sprinting over the rough terrain; at one point my foot gets caught and I get tossed flailing into the water. I have a moment of panic as I sink beneath the surface, but after a second my feet find the bottom and push off, sending me sputtering to the shore. I almost pathetically crawl out of the water, my body shaking from my coughs and shivering.
I'm glad I'm still a bit behind because otherwise my splash and swearing would have given me away. Still, now as I run my wet clothes rub my skin raw, and I look like a bedraggled beast, which I suppose I am. But I put all that behind me when I finally catch up, the delightful smell of roasted fish welcoming me back while at the same time taunting me.
As night creeps in and the fellowship wind down, my heart rate picks up. What if I were to board the boat now? It would be perfect, they are all eating dinner and it looks like they will be a while because of the bags under their eyes and their voices weary from a rough day on the river. But just as I am about to make my break, I see a grossly pale blur streak by, right towards the boat. The sneaky bastard. It looks like the Presence beat me to it, and in my moment of distraction the human gets up and goes towards the boats. He skims them and finds nothing. Still slightly suspicious he moves on nevertheless, taking his watch position on the center most boat. As I look at the boats and my missed chance, my heart sinks slightly. At least the strange creature didn't take my hiding place. Still, I am bitter because it lost me my opportunity.
The morning comes, once again too early, and I must force myself to rise with the fellowship. They begin to eat and I watch for any openings in their guard. After last night they are sure to be more protective and careful. Which is rather unfortunate for me, as it keeps me on my toes. The stale biscuit accompanied by half of a practically raw rabbit (not a problem for me, raw meat is just fine for those born of the night, but it doesn't taste as good) barely satisfy my growling stomach as I watch the fellowship.
But, persistent, I push on. Weakness is not in option in my home, and I will not start giving in here, surrounded by lesser beings. Instead, as I trudge the day away I devise several new plans and like it or not I would be on one of those boats by tomorrow morning, or die trying though I doubt they could ever harm me. If all goes well I can hopefully distract them during their dinner and creep onto the little vessel. Hopefully, as soon as they stop I'll head off into the bushes and light a fire, throwing some vegetation over it so it'll be nice and smoky, very attention grabbing. Some of them will go to investigate while I sprint back, also using the trees for passage. While the rest of them are not looking I'll undo the knot on one of the boats, so that they have to chase it or risk losing supplies. In all the pandemonium I'll sneak aboard, maybe with some of their warm dinner. And if things don't go well, I have multiple plan B's.
Of course things don't go well. As I am trying to light the fire, the Presence slips by me, unexpectedly knocking me off balance. I curse far too loudly and the elf, with his perfect hearing, is alerted. I run through the bushes, climbing swiftly into a tree. Holding my breath, I feel like a child again, playing hide-and-go-seek with the ever patient Ring wraiths.
The elf turns back after ascertaining that the threat is not close enough to go after and I let out my breath slowly. Once over the initial shock of almost being discovered, I begin to seethe with rage. Who does that little git think he is to go about foiling my plans? If only he knew who I was! After contemplating things for a while, I decide to strangle the Presence the next time I see him.
Thoroughly agitated but never the less determined to carry out my plans, I noiselessly drop from the oak, scattering a curious squirrel. I silently pad through the surrounding trees until I've put some distance between me and the elf, but it isn't enough to put me at ease. Now that he is closer than I would have liked, I will have to light my distraction much farther from camp than I had anticipated, leaving me less time to dart back, and with the dilemma of making a much larger fire. The latter turns out to be easier than I thought, this gnarly, seasoned wood practically bursts into flames before I've even lit the fire. With the help of some ferns and green tinder, the clearing is soon choking with smoke. Satisfied, I start sprinting back, my eyes watering and my lungs hacking. I know I am getting close to camp when I hear the fellowship exclaiming in alarm, and the sound of hurried footsteps rushing by the tree I quickly pulled myself into to avoid getting discovered.
Finally, I slink into camp and towards the boats, the remaining travelers entranced by the puffs of smoke rising over the trees and oblivious to the danger lurking behind them. I feel my heart stop as I get a thought: what if I just finish them off now and take the ring? But I push it away before it takes root, the ring is not the sole purpose of my mission. Instead, I sidle closer to the boat nearest to me and start pulling at the knot keeping the vessel hostage, until it releases and the boat starts to drift away, downstream. In the few seconds where nothing happens I duck back to the where the forest meets the clearing, making it just before the chorus of flustered shouts commences.
When I emerge from my hiding place, none of the fellowship is to be seen. Swiftly, I run to the food boat and pull the chest up, my muscles straining. I barely slip under, the group that went after the fire is just coming out of the bushes and I gently drop the chest over myself. I let out the smallest sigh of relief, the Presence has not interfered this time. Just as I am thinking this I see something slip into the river, a small thin grayish corpse like body, the Presence.
Peering out from under the crate, eyes narrowed, I watch it slither through the water towards a boat to my left. I shudder as I imagine the plants twisting up from the sandy bottom, tugging at the Presences legs, dragging him under where the murky water would swallow him whole, his struggling body churning in the current. But as soon as it came, the image bursts, and the paranoia with it, as the Presence effortlessly pulls itself onto the other boat. Like a turtle tucking its head into its shell, I pull myself back under the musty crate and shiver, listening to the black water lapping at the sides of the boat. Though night has fallen, I know I won't be getting any sleep.
I lay awake, nervous, the elf has uncanny hearing, not better than mine though. I was born and trained to become the personal assassin and guard to Him. Thoughts of home fill me with something close to sorrow, though I would never admit to such a thing, I am a bit homesick. The rocky, fiery landscape that one can fly across for ages, never getting bored, just flying and watching it go by under you. I smile as I imagine AgonZajar flying back home, her wings unfurling, the wind blowing around her eyes. With those thoughts, against my better will, I nod off.
When I wake up, clothes damp from the soggy floorboards and my back aching, I try to to stretch as best I can given how small and cramped my new "home" is. Giving up, I flop down, gently rocking the boat. I freeze, but nobody seems to have noticed. From the faint light I can see shining through the crack between the crate and the boards it is resting on (the crack which doubles as my peephole), I deduce that it is late morning. My stomach seems to notice too, as it growls, a plea for food. Food might be a bit of a problem, seeing as I can't just go out and in all day without getting spotted or breaking my arms. But I don't really need food at the moment, the average human can go without for three weeks, and I am much tougher than that so I'll survive. Still, it doesn't help my whining stomach.
Scowling, I wriggle over so I'm no longer on my back and prop my head on my hands after scootching forward. Maybe I can distract myself by admiring the view. Five seconds later, I am bored. I can't help but groan, what was I thinking stowing away on this dismally dull boat? But a glance towards the riverside, laced with menacing thorns, rocks, and tree roots, is enough to make me a little more grateful.
I pass the time listening to the fellowship, which is boring and fairly uninteresting. I do get a confirmation on who the wizard was though. Gandalf the Grey, the third most powerful wizard in Middle Earth, felled by a Balrog. I think of the look on His face if he knew that Gandalf the Grey, one of His least favorite menaces, was taken down by one of His experiments.
Time seems to stretch on forever, my legs grow more and more cramped and my stomach is whining even more. These things I can ignore but, the overwhelming urge that overcomes me at around noon cannot be ignored. I need to get of this boat and soon, though I might be more Ringwraith than anything else, I have some of the most human needs to. It frustrates me that I cannot hold in my needs but, that is life I suppose.
To my relief the boats begin to slow, apparently the halflings are hungry. The crate is opened and food is lifted out of it. This will make it lighter for me to lift, something that I am grateful for. I'm tall, and fairly strong, but after being stuck in these cramped conditions for so long, thoughts of lifting the box seem painful.
As soon as the sound of their merry laughter and chatter has faded away slightly, I gently lift the crate up ever so slightly, and look out. I can see the fellowship huddled around a fire, same as always, the smell of their supper taunting me. But I have one purpose, and one purpose only, so I quickly dart out from under my crate, silently leaping from the boat and rolling into a cluster of bushes. Weaving through the maze of branches, I put as much distance between us as possible before the urge becomes too great.
After relieving myself, I can't help but sigh. There is nothing worse than lying in a tight, dank space for hours with a full bladder, and nothing better than releasing the pressure and enjoying the fresh air. Content, I make my way back through the darkening woods, stopping every once in awhile to gather berries and game.
As I am making my way back to the boats, I catch glimpse of something. Before I have time to react a slimy gray thing leaps onto my back. I snarl, the Presence, I should have known. My scimitars are out in an instant but, the mud and branches surrounding us make it hard to swing at it. I back up, getting closer and closer to the river as I do so. Soon I can hear the water lapping against the shore, I swing at the Presence, my scimitar making slight contact. I hear a small yelp and blackish blood runs down my neck.
I start to gain the upper hand, flipping the Presence over my head, it squeals again. I am about to press my scimitar against its neck when it surprises me. Leaping over my blade he slams me into the shore, the water getting dangerously close to my head. Against my better instincts I let out the scream like call for AgonZajar. Though I know she is nowhere near me, I desperately wish for her to come.
Moving so quickly I can hardly keep track of him, I barely see him take my scimitar. I release a wrangled cry, but it's too late. Pinning me down, he lifts one, a cruel smirk on his pale face and satisfaction gleaming in his bulging eyes. As he brings it down, I do the only thing I can think of: I forcefully roll away from him and into the water, the greedy waves grabbing me and pulling me under. I desperately claw for the surface and manage to kick up, grabbing a breath of air and releasing an anguished shriek before I am tossed back under. The Presence gives one last smile and throws my scimitar at me, not as a favor but, as another thing to weigh me down in my struggle for air. As I try to stay afloat, I am wrenched to the side, my head hitting a rock, and as I sink under the waves the world fades away.