Chapter 11
To say Sierra was sore the next day was a grave understatement.
Aragorn had been the one to find her and administer whatever first aid he could. This first aid had, unfortunately, included forcing the orc arrow the rest of the way through her body so the point could be grabbed on the other side. He'd snapped off the feathered tail when the arrowhead had broken through her stomach skin and pulled the arrow the rest of the way through and set to cleaning the wound. Sierra was overjoyed to have been oblivious to all of that, but quickly sobered when she remembered Boromir's passing.
The dwarf, elf, and man had used one of the two remaining boats and set their fallen comrade over the waterfall, his blade held tight in both hands and shield at his head. They told her he had his elven cloak on his back and his bedroll to cushion his head. It was a warrior's sendoff. Sierra was late to give her respects but had sent her prayers over the waterfall to accompany the fallen warrior.
The four loaded their two boats carefully, throwing out what could be sacrificed and making sure all the necessities had been bound down tight. When it came time to leave, Legolas and Gimli sat themselves in one boat while Aragorn and Sierra took up the other. The feeling of death and the departure of comrades had hurt them all deeply and conversation was hard to come by. When anyone spoke, it was to bring up where dangers lay and report what they'd seen in the distance. Though, there were times where Sierra hissed curses and clasped her aching side. Though when she'd first cursed the orcs, Legolas had corrected her, stating they were half-orcs or Uruk-hai; a breed apart from simple orcs.
Sierra's thoughts would always wander to the hobbits when everyone had stopped to rest. Were Sam and Frodo alright? Did Merry and Pippin survive the Uruk attack? They were dear friends to her, akin to little mischievous brothers, and she could take little solace in what comfort Gimli offered. Sierra gently ran her thumb over the stone Faroth gave her and gingerly cradled her apartment keys, careful to keep the keys from making noise. The dwarf then came and sat next to her.
"What's that ya got, lass?" He asked softly as he plunked down.
"My keys from home...and a stone Faroth gave me." Sierra answered with a mumble, "The stone is supposed to bring me luck." Gimli pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. She sounded almost angry at the stone for all that had happened to their group, but he knew better. Sierra was looking for a way to express and process her feelings on what had happened over the weeks they had been traveling. Gimli patted his gloved hand on her shoulder and gave a firm squeeze.
"It's been hard on all o' us, lass." the dwarf stated, "Losing Gandalf is still raw yet and now that Boromir...and the hobbits too..." he shook his head with a sigh. "It never gets easier to let the hurt go. Aye...it ain't never gettin' easier..." Sierra nodded her thanks and the two sat side by side in quiet worry. On the other side of the small fire, Aragorn and Legolas sat in their own quiet, the man using a stick he'd found for some idle whittling and elf watching over the distant area and the rise in the rocks that led to their resting place.
"Legolas." Aragorn started, catching the elf's attentive ear, "Boe den eithad."
"Sevin ú-naw, ni ú-firen." the elf replied solemnly.
"Ú-ben câr." the man murmured, "Raitho an glass, savo amdir, avo faro an drastad...little more than pretty words..." Aragorn truly felt tired then, both for their trek and for all that the group had faced together. His whittling slowed and he stared blankly at the roughly-carved piece of wood in his grasp. He then sighed and stood to walk over to his bedroll, bidding a good sleep to everyone. Gimli followed his example shortly after. After a short while, Sierra felt the exhaustion taking hold. She stood and stretched carefully, mindful of her arrow wound, and bid their watch elf goodnight.
As the days passed, Sierra's wound had begun to heal nicely and the four moved quickly to catch up to the party of roving Uruk-hai or "Uruks" for short. It helped that none had horribly heavy armor and that their party was such a small one compared to the heavily-armored horde of orc-men. Aragorn was currently pressed against a stone, his body lain prone as he listened to the massive group not far off. Below and behind him, Gimli, Legolas and Sierra had taken the moment to slow their pace and catch their breath, watching for any other signs of their quarry. Sierra heard the metal scrape of his equipment as Aragorn stood and commanded them to hurry. Legolas, being the most fleet of foot hurried up the hill to Aragorn's command. Gimli, being short-legged and more bodily laden, was slow to keep up with even Sierra's wounded half-jog up the incline.
"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas encouraged, looking back and forth between the trailing dwarf and Aragorn. As soon as Sierra had reached the elf's side, he'd run off to keep an eye on their leader. While she huffed for breath, she glanced back piteously at the worn-out dwarf as he huffed and puffed for air.
"Three days of light pursuit..." He all but gasped, "No food...no rest...little sign of our quarry..." Sierra had understood his frustration fully, though she'd been lucky to have been carried through the worst of her weariness for her injury. Now that she was on the mend though, she would receive no such luxuries from here on. She was quite happy though that she'd managed to keep a full bag of the lembas bread on her person; it was with it that she and the others had managed to get so far in the chase despite their difficulties.
"We'll get to them, Gimli. We're close now, I can feel it." Sierra assured the dwarf as she helped him scale the last of the slope of the hill and guided him as quick as she could to where Legolas and Aragorn had run off to. As the terrain flattened and sloped in their favor, Gimli and Sierra had caught up with the elf and man and the four hustled along at a smooth, loping pace. Soon they came on a muddy track, slightly dried but still with big, distinct footprints and one very telling clue.
"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall." Aragorn muttered as Legolas and Sierra came up beside him. Aragorn offered the leaf pin to Sierra and she studied it for a moment, noting a distinct scratch on one side of the leaf.
"This is Pippin's." She confirmed, "He scratched this clasp when he tripped and tumbled the first night we camped out on the river."
"They may yet be alive." Legolas added with a tone of relief in his voice. Sierra was also relieved, a good deal of her worries sated but not yet completely assuaged.
"Less than a day ahead of us." Aragorn confirmed as he once again took off in the lead. Sierra struggled with her bag for a moment, slipping the clasp to the secure pocket with Faroth's stone and her keys, and then hustled after Aragorn and Legolas. She heard a clanking thud and turned to see Gimli had tumbled down into the shaded space.
"Come Gimli! We are gaining on them!" Legolas encouraged as Sierra doubled back to help haul Gimli to his feet.
"I'm wasted on cross country! We dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances!" Gimli said as he affirmed his claim with a burst of speed. Sierra could very much agree with the dwarf, this long-distance running was not at all her style, but she had felt a second wind come on with the pin in her bag and she hurried to keep the two speedy warriors and the slower dwarf within sight. Now they were close to their quarry and two of their lost companions. Again they all crested a stony hill and looked out over the land that heaved and dipped around them; Sierra would say the landscape was textured like a windswept ocean in a violent storm.
"Rohan, home of the horse-lords." Aragorn said as Sierra lightly gasped to catch her breath beside him.
"Horse-lords?" She wondered.
"Those who live in Rohan are famed both for the horses they ride and raise and for their skills in riding them." Aragorn explained, "When I was a boy, I was often told that Rohan children were raised on horseback and in pasture." He seemed nostalgic and a little entertained by the memory. Sierra was also entertained, taken to imagining Aragorn as a baby, dressed in a onesie and a cowboy hat riding the biggest, baddest stallion in the herd. She imagined she'd laugh if her side hadn't felt like it was burning. Sierra would need to redress the wound when next they rest to stave off infection. If Aragorn had a laugh in mind, he quickly snuffed it out, "There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets its will against us."
Now that Sierra had thought about it, these Uruks were indeed moving incredibly fast. Yes, they had a head start with the four Fellowship members taking their time the first two days on her account, but with the size of the force that was moving, she figured the smaller group would have caught up and found the Uruk-hai by then.
"Saruman or Sauron...perhaps even both." Sierra agreed as she gazed out over the horizon. She could see no indication of the army anywhere, but perhaps the elf with his superior eyes could. As if obeying the silent suggestion, Legolas hopped down from the perch and moved forward to get a better view on some distant, unseen thing.
"Legolas!" Aragorn called, "What do your elf eyes see?"
"The Uruks turn northeast." The elf replied, spying a distant clod of dust along the ground far ahead. Suddenly, the realization hit him, "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!" So, it was indeed Saruman's doing. Sierra cursed and kicked a small stone off their ledge into the rocks below. The wizard had seemed to have eyes everywhere and knew the Fellowship's every move before it was even made.
Sierra hated that wizard with a refreshed passion.
Were any of them able to see the coming havoc Saruman intended to wreak on the people of Rohan, they all would carry a bloodlust for the corrupted white wizard. Within his lands, hordes of Uruk-hai were being bred and prepared for battle. Outside those very borders lay the forest land of Fangorn, the victim of the forge fires of Isengard, and the remaining lands of the men of Rhûn swore allegiance to the wizard in their blood. At his bidding, the men moved to attack the peasant villages of Rohan alongside the Uruk-hai.
Be it by fortune or happenstance, the night before the Fellowship came across Pippin's cloak pin, the Orc and Uruk-hai force had taken the time to rest. They all were tired, frustrated, and hungry for food that wasn't moldy or bug-infested. This hunger did not bode well for the two captive hobbits, especially as the less-disciplined orcs craved the meat of halfling flesh to sate their aching bellies. It was the unexpected mindfulness of the Uruk-hai that allowed the two hobbits to live through that night without losing their legs, something which Merry and Pippin would later worry about feeling thankful for.
After taking a brief rest to eat and sleep properly and redress wounds, the Fellowship was up and chasing again. Legolas remarked the rising of a red sun and its sign that blood had been spilled in the night. Had Sierra been born and raised in this world, she would have taken this information at face value, but really, she knew the sun had become red from stirred up dust in the air, something that could happen with a powerful windstorm, a distant fire's smoke, or a battle which would kick up a lot of dust. Whichever was the cause, Sierra's stomach turned in worry for two of her favorite hobbits.
The party of four hurried along the landscape, pausing only to check for tracks and traces, when they heard a distant scream. Aragorn glanced to the side and recognized an armored stampede of horses and riders were coming their way and fast. Quickly, the group ducked out of the path of the charging animals and their riders, tucking in under a rocky shelter. As the last of the riders passed, Aragorn came out from the shelter and called to them.
"Riders of Rohan!" He shouted to catch their ears, "What news from the Mark?" Legolas then appeared from the rocks, followed by Sierra and Gimli. With a signal, the riders all turned their horses and came to a stop to regard Aragorn. Soon, however, the group of four were forced into close quarters, putting their backs together. They were surrounded by snorting and stomping horses, every one wearing battle armor and their riders aiming spears at them. Sierra gulped nervously and kept her eyes glancing around as her hands rested nervously on the hilts of her knives. One of the riders came forth from the crowd.
"What business does an elf, a man, a woman, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" the rider demanded. Sierra noted his ornate helmet, metal decorated in what appeared to be gold. He was certainly the leader of these horsemen and someone of importance. "Speak quickly!"
"Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give you mine." Gimli piped up, polite yet stern. With that comment, the rider dismounted, seemingly offended by the dwarf's words.
"I would cut of your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground." the rider spat. Legolas and Sierra both moved in quickly, the elf with an arrow aimed at the rider's face and the woman with her dwarf-crafted blade pointed neatly at a gap in the man's chest armor. The other riders seemed to jump in surprise before they adjusted the point of their spears.
"You would die before your stroke fell." Legolas affirmed, defending his dwarven friend. The rider glanced around at the four, holding gazes longer with the two aiming weapons at his person. It was only when Aragorn stepped forth, pulling Legolas' bow arm down and gently pulling Sierra's blade hand away. Quietly, the elf and woman put away their weapons, though Sierra kept her hand rested on the hilt as she stepped back from the lead rider. Gimli seemed quite surprised to see the defensive display from them and also quite relieved neither had gotten hurt. The riders around the four had pulled their spears back, still ready but not as worryingly close as before.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." the man spoke up, catching the leader's attention. "This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the woodland realm, and Sierra Brander of the Shire." Sierra glanced at her companion before return a watchful eye on the leader. "We are friends of Rohan. And of Theoden, your king." It was then that the lead rider looked downward, in shame and in sorrow.
"Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." He remarked dimly, looking back up to meet Aragorn's eyes, "Not even his own kin." He pulled off his helmet then, revealing a long, messy mane of blonde hair, a short beard only just growing in, and a tired, grimy face. This man looked tired and well-worn, much like the four members of the Fellowship did for their three-day chase of the Uruk-hai and orcs. Once the leader's helmet was off, the spears of his followers retreated, apparently trusting their leader's judgment of the four journeyers before them. Even the horses seemed calmed and pacified. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over his lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." This was something no one of the four knew beforehand. "The white wizard is cunning," the lead rider warned, "He walks here and there, they say. As an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets." Obviously, all suspicion had not been dropped from the situation.
"We are not spies." Aragorn promised, "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They've taken two of our friends captive."
"The Uruks are destroyed, we slaughtered them during the night." the rider explained, prompting a startled reaction from the whole party.
"But there were two hobbits!" Gimli jumped in, "Did you see two hobbits with them?"
"Both of them bore cloaks like ours. One with a leaf pin and one without." Sierra added, hoping beyond hope that these riders had indeed seen their friend.
"They would be small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn stated calmly. There was an awfully silent pause between questions and answer.
"We left none alive..." the rider replied with remorse, "We piled the carcasses and burned them." He indicated a distant cloud of smoke that was only just visible between the girths of horse bellies. Everyone was devastated; Aragorn hid it in a mournful downcast glance, Gimli murmured a questioned 'dead?' in disbelief, Sierra's heart fell into her stomach and she almost felt sick, and Legolas looked away, both angry and sorrowful. The leader murmured a soft apology, regretting that he might have been the cause of the death of two allies. Suddenly he let out a sharp whistle, "Hasufel! Arod! Mildgyd!"
On his summons, three riderless horses approached and he guided their reigns to the four. Aragorn received the steed Hasufel, a fine stallion with a chocolatey brown coat, mane, and tail. Legolas was given the stallion Arod: white in coat and gray in mane and tail. Lastly, Sierra met Mildgyd, a silvery gray and white dappled mare with a silvery blonde mane and tail. All of them had armor on their faces, fur pelt saddle blankets, and saddles to match their face guards held secure with wither straps on each. Though, one of the straps on Mildgyd was cut and mare bore a shallow scratch where the strap would have lain.
"May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell" Sierra looked sadly at the leader as she stroked the mare's long face. The men who had last ridden these fine beasts must have died in battle, either from an older fight or from the night before. The leader placed his helmet back on and mounted his horse once more. As he prepared to leave, he gave them one last parting remark. "Look for your friends, but do not trust a hope. It has forsaken these lands. We ride north!" He finished by calling to his riders and they all set out to follow their leader, all except for the three horses that now belonged to the man, the elf, and the woman. Soon, the troupe had disappeared over a hill and the four people and three horses remained.
"We should go to the battleground." Aragorn surmised, stroking his horse gently before mounting up on the stallion's back. The others all agreed. Legolas and Sierra helped Gimli to sit behind Legolas on Arod and then the elf mounted up himself. Sierra had to pause to adjust the stirrups and thought to pull a spare blanket from her pack to act as padding beneath her rear on the saddle.
"Have you ridden before, miss Brander?" Legolas asked, curious how much the woman knew of horses.
"It has been a long while." Sierra said as she hefted herself easily onto Mildgyd's back and swung into the seat of the saddle. She was instantly glad she thought to add the blanket and instantly regretful for swinging herself around so quick. She jammed her hand on her side to try to ease the sting of moving so suddenly. "The saddle is harder than the one I'd last ridden with, but I should manage. Midgyd seems a brilliant mare; she will bear me safely whether or not I'm comfortable." With a final confirming nod and a careful check to ensure Gimli would not fall off, the four set out towards the distant smoke, praying that their two hobbit friends were still alive despite the horseman's words.
Phew, my hands are TIRED!
I went on a marathon writing session, doing my best to get this and the next few chapters ready. I will warn you, readers, I will be going on another vacation fairly soon. I will have very limited internet access during this two-week vacation, so I cannot guarantee I will be able to post according my usual schedule, but I will try my best to keep faithful to my readers.
Also, my apologies for the shorter length on this chapter, this just felt like a good place to cut it off before going on another really long typing spree. The net one will be back in the average 4,000-5,000 word length.
