The tall woman and the Hobbit were walking together, finding solace in the presence of each other, in an unexpected exchange. The little Hobbit reminded Bera that the world offered reasons to forget her regrets and to deeply dedicate herself, like a child to be protected by love and self-sacrifice. Bera showed every moment a surprising contrast: disarming naivety in her outdated conception of love, and unrelenting harshness in her duties as chief's sister. For Gerry, the first half personified all the young Hobbit girls whose flimsy romance had to be protected by honesty and loyalty. The second half summarized the laws of survival in a world marred by the black enemy. The ambivalence of her character fascinated Gerry, who transposed it into his world of the Shire, to the delight of Bera:
-« My dear Bera, you are positively the first woman I ever met, who gets involved in adventures!
- Do you mean that you are surprised, and that since most women do not, you thought that none may? »
The Hobbit shuddered. He had introduced as neutral and pleasant as possible a subject, just to pass the time, but existential considerations had immediately rised. But the Bearning continued:
-« Our people traditionally reserves the tasks of war to men, but the age-old custom of my line inspires my own conduct. Yet, raising litters of young cubs often resembles heroism, let alone delivering them! »
This remark amused Gerry but reminded him of the silent abnegation of his own mother and the stoic pragmatism of his grandmother, the two of them being authors of almost three dozen lives and proving tireless guardians of the family agreement. Bera continued:
-« Do not you meet such exceptions in your woods, women who leave their village?
- As far as a Hobbit can remember, there was indeed a famous chief-mother, once head of clan Chubb. It is said that her clan was the last to join the Shire. Maybe she was a romantic and fragile Hobbit before becoming the fearless and unyielding matriarch. She had given birth to six children; probably this amazing fertility had contributed to her transformation... »
Bera began to consider Gerry with different eyes. His children of men features concealed skills for reflection and sharp observation. Bera's protective arm resembled too much a pervasive mother bear paw, but she finally managed to respect the halfling as an adult, or at least a young adult looking for his way.
Gerry told her about his small country, on the middle of Eriador beyond the mountains. She discovered a world of order, sociability and conventions, which had exceeded the critical threats such as famine or survival, or rather delighted in this illusion.
The term "walk" for example, was not of the same significance for the Hobbit and the woman. Bera meant a slow, silent and watchful scouting and hazards spotting through distant forests, which could result in unpleasant encounters. Gerry meant a quiet hike punctuated by views of a well-ordered, recreative countryside, and especially pic-nics, highlighted with flirtation under the shades of walnut trees.
The Bywater shops depiction puzzled the Bearning. The possibility that such places were not looted by goblins could not be conceived. She fancied the idea to go there along with the Hobbit, if he consented, but without actually projecting the day when she could realize this fantasy.
While chatting, Bera guided the company towards North, sniffing and peering regularly. Then she resumed her soft and tireless stride. Thràin had to remind her several times that the ponies needed rest, while the rangers followed without complaint nor comment. The company therefore traveled a great distance, without meeting a soul, since the rangers maintained as usual their scouts screen during their progression. A massive and stealthy shape was sometimes glimpsed at, lurking at the edges of the dark wood, usually to the East and to the right of the company. The little Hobbit also spoke about seeing a large bear slipping into the foliage one furlong on their right; he warned Bera who said, sighing wistfully:
-« My brother remains with us as long as we stride within the territory of our people. I think he cannot help himself. Do not pay attention!
- He's worried about you ... Why did he not accompany us to the end of our journey?
- The dominant male of our tribe must protect the villages. He is a descendant of our ancestor, he commands the undergrowth. I would not allow that our people should suffer because of me, by depriving us of our leader. He will be leaving us soon...
- But your shaman seemed quite sure that the fate of your leaders was to go along with us...
- That old crafty fool would have tried anything to marry the dominant male's sister, especially if this male leader would be lost in a remote area... He tried to get into the same saga, all the outstanding and great males of our people, which was not safe.
- But is he not your shaman, the intercessor with the forces of your universe?
- Yes, this is true. He is also the narrator, memory and imagination of our people. He was a good man, but he became a figure of authority. His gifts have a counterpart: his lameness hurted him in many ways... In his dreams, he often takes his secret wishes for signs of fate... »
The confidence surprised Gerry in many ways: he could neither suspect a prominent figure might try to manipulate the omens of his people, nor that the innocent Bera had realized it.
- "Did he ask for your hand?
- My hand?
- Did he ask you to become his wife?
- What a lovely expression! He asked a few years ago when I left childhood. I refused then. Now I would probably think twice...
- But you were certainly courted by other suitors?
- Think again, little Hobbit. All other clansmen felt too intimidated by the sister of the dominant male... But tell me: are all Hobbits as greedy as you are? I mean both about food and the intimate stories of their companions? »
Gerry blushed. He confessed to being too curious and stammered some lovely excuse, with his half-fake air of old ladies' seducer. Of course, the tall Bera, who was already devoted to his manners, forgave him willingly.
After a few days walking, they no longer saw any signs of bears. The vegetation around them became denser and trees entangled with each other. Bera gave even more attention to the scents of the trail. At first her nosing had aroused incredulous condescension, then some doubt mingled with fear, but the infallibility of her predictions soon earned her the respect and confidence of all. Sweet hazel smells blended with fragrances of bark fungi growing on old rotten oak stems. Some strongest aromas, for example of a passing boar, sometimes distracted Bera who was going away for long huntings. Arathorn reprimanded her somehow, arguing that the expedition could not afford such long digressions. Bera, as upset as a squire at fault, said in retaliation that Arathorn would not enjoy the boar she carried on her shoulders, after it had been roasted. But she did not allow herself any more, to get overwhelmed by her hunting instinct.
One morning the Bearning said she had never reached this far, and the birds of this country had an unusual song. The trail seemed more and more difficult to them; the Dwarves were most often dismounted. The company therefore decided to go down the slope to the west, in order to journey closer to the great river and find greener trails through the woods. Hirgon, who had stayed behind, raised the alarm one afternoon. The Dùnadan scout had detected an animal following them. Arathorn ordered the company to stop and gather in battle formation. But no challenge was addressed to them.
Quickly Bera, the Dúnedain and Gerry had ventured, scouting backwards. But they could not track the pursuer down, who had deftly avoided their approach. The animal left few traces, and it was difficult to read them in the wake of their company. Bera and Arathorn ventured further. It seemed to them that a large gray shape escaped stealthily when they approached. After vainly losing a few arrows, they rejoined their companions. Arathorn showed great displeasure about the chaos he had seen after Hirgon's alert and insisted on repeating the operation of collecting animals, bonding them and placing them in the center of a defensive position. It goes without saying that the Dwarves' mood, and particularly Thràin's, worsened immediately. Arathorn haughtily replied that he had been entrusted with the safety of the company, and that in the wilderness, cohesion and obedience conditioned survival.
All concluded that was a false alarm, no sign of party or pack having been raised by the Dúnedain or Bera. Yet Gandalf and Arathorn, who had strayed for a moment, heard with concern the chattering report of their two young thrushes. The same evening they reached the edge of a large forest, overlooking a gentle, grassy slope leading to the great river Anduin, a mile below. Mosses and lichens invaded trees and stones. Some late thorny trees still let loose clusters of their yellow pollen.
They camped near the bank, on a rocky area with low vegetation cover behind a mound that looked like a stony ridge of fish. The smooth sounds of the mighty moving river completely surrounded them. Clouds of small parasites befell travelers and animals. The company quickly had to light hearths to get rid of them. Gandalf, looking around them with a mixture of surprise and suspicion, insisted that the company fires would carefully be arranged on a thick bed of stones, to fight the ground's humidity. Bera gazed at the stars for hours, while Gerry practiced reading for her, at the firelight.
-« It is perhaps time for Bera to follow the path of Baran, embrace the lore of the West, and learn to read. », she softly said to herself.
Arathorn was smoking with a few Dwarves, hoping to repel mosquitoes. He heard Bera but could not unleash his empathy. He refused to personify the cultural emancipation of the girl. In addition, he felt this fondness, he certainly did not seek for, somehow cumbersome, though he welcomed the enrollment of such a powerfull warrior. So he tended to treat her as a soldier, without special care. As he felt concerned about Bera's last remark, he wished to dispel any hope of hers, without discourtesy:
- « Our wizard will probably prove to be a more patient mentor than I. It is now too dark for that. You should ask him tomorrow. »
The Hobbit finally fell asleep, the tales he just read still in his ears, drifting on the ship of dreams. Elven princesses took his lady's face. A curious little character appeared there sometimes, vague but powerful ancestor of Hobbitkind in the chronicles of ancient days. The cool and quiet night of moonless Norui1 was well underway, when Forin woke Gerry up for his shift. The small cantankerous figure protested in the dream of the Hobbit, who reluctantly returned to reality.
Gerry, his mind still foggy, walked around the camp in silence, chasing mosquitoes and trying to collect the night sounds of the forest through the cacophonous sleepers's snoring and the dull roar of the river. He climbed atop the hillock overlooking the camp. Its huge smooth stones were roughly arranged in the manner of an old scale armor. From the river nearby, ghostly vapors emanated and immersed Gerry back in fairy Beleriand. There, a girdle of mysterious forces protected the rivers surrounding the gray Elves kingdom. The Hobbit sat on the edge of a huge stump, with a rotten and hollow heart. Some warm, very comforting and sweet smell of cedar rose from the cavity. Facing the forest, his back leaning against the stump, Gerry carefully peered towards the forest for the safety of his companions.
X-X-X
But his mind was still inhabited by the shadows that roamed the tales of old. He stood guard as the Sindar long ago prevented access to the kingdom of Thingol and Melian. The voice of his lord and lady dictated him not to doze, to focus on every little rustle coming from the forest, every movement of branch, each variation in the intensity of the shadows under the trees. He maintained his lookout for a long time, bearing on his frail Hobbit shoulders, the sleep of all his companions. This tension, he imposed on himself, slowly brought him to tap into his deep forces. He appealed to his treasure, closing his eyes to focus his sharpest senses at this hour of the night. He grabbed his ring and sank quickly in a curious awoken sleep, deprived of images of the forest, but aware of its sounds, its smells and its vibrations with a sharpness he had not experienced before. He swung back, and fell in the heart of the stump. It was hollow and bottomless. Gerry had the sensation of falling endlessly, still aware of the living and careful forest around him.
An acute skull pain had him straighten. He was seated on the stump, trying to guard his companions. His prosaic side noticed that he no longer suffered from mosquitoes that yet fluttered around him. Thanks to the ring, he thought, he had split, remaining at his post but responding to the call of the voices of the mound. Because he also sat in a strange place: a dark room covered with huge scales of slate, resounding with viscous sounds of the mighty river all around it. The top of the vault was pierced by a flint-colored day, through the hollow of a stump which roots ran along the arches of the room.
A curious little character was facing him and awkwardly scrutinized him, looking quite uncomfortable. The face of the gnome recalled the Hobbit some of his recent dreams. His broad and kind face seemed it had been furrowed for years by the pangs of doubt and loneliness. His hand clung nervously to his own red cap with long legs coming down to his belly. The gnome eagerly awaited to hear words, but dreaded he would had to respond. The Hobbit bowed respectfully and emphatically, as he would have started a speech from the rostrum of the Fair of Michel Delving, before a somewhat deaf elders audience:
- « Well, foreigners must claim their names in the first place... In any case this is the use in the West... And if I may, I shall submit to this use! ».
After a short throat clearing:
- « Gerontius Took, from Tuckborough, at your service and at your family's! »
The light but polite tone, with a cheerful pace but respectful of syntax, managed to please the gnome, who replied with pleasure, surprised at his own ease, as if he found without difficulty the arcane of long forgotten an exercise:
- « Eriol, from… the sailing hill, first offspring of... the great iris swamp, to oblige you in words and deeds! »
Without stopping at the gnome's vocabulary approximations, Gerry was fascinated by his inimitable accent and archaic turns of phrase that conjured in him the echo of an ancient kinship. The gnome and Hobbit competed with bows and curtsies.
Gerry suddenly remembered that Master Elrond had taught him about the Hobbits and the iris fields.
- « Master Eriol, can I ask you the name of where we are?
- Pike and algae! Now that is a hasty issue to describe a vessel that lives and transforms since the Great River travels the world! I live here on the hill, it is my home and my nest, I am his friend and he sails with me. No one gets here without my consent or his. Usually no one walks the irises carapace of Eriol's hill.
- But my company and I do stand on it, don't we for good?
- Swirls and eddies! The hill should not be trampled with impunity... Travelers sleep, lulled by the waves and mist of the river. But we had to meet – my faith! - cross each other, creature from the West. Eriol knows you through many spring, though your hills now sail far beyond the Great River.
- To be honest, our hills do not sail much any more now. My people founded a pretty colony that thrives in peace, far West of the mountains. And where does your family live? »
A fleeting expression of regret passed over the face of the gnome, who smoothed his short brown beard, as curly as the hair under his cap.
- Tadpoles and alvins! Eriol the lone has no more family! His daughters are gone establish their own homes when his beloved Loegwen2 returned to Mother River.
The wrinkled face of the gnome now bore an immemorial mourning. He continued slowly:
- « Eriol has known the small children with hairy feet who lived in the irises swamps, so many springs ago. Such beautiful and large families! And always his granddaughters blossomed among them. A beautiful little people, always so gay but stealthy and forgetful about their roots... The friendly and shy Swamp People, respectful of old uses. Of course there were some thieves and worse. I remember this despicable brat... But he's gone, never to return. The small nation has long hidden in the arms of the iris marshes. Then evil awakened in the forest.
- What did you do then?
- What does the river do when awful darkness perverts her waters? She tirelessly washes the dirt of the black enemy.
- So you pushed evil away?
- Always evil continues in one form or another. Small people fled, the daughters of my daughters have launched their boat on other rivers. And since that time Eriol is standing alone against the pernicious shadows of the great black forest, when they stride forward like today!
- Do you mean that they are approaching at this very moment?
- Can you not hear them? Hunters from Amon Lanc! Shrouded with a mephitic fog from Mirkwood, flying on the wings of hatred and guided by the packs of the underworld, they are running for the kill.
- But my sleeping companions, are not in danger, are they?
- Wyvern and aspic! Who is safe in this world? Sleep will leave them if you choose to overcome it for them. I shall grant you this right. But Eriol expects much from you... »
Seing Gerry's doubtful and anxious look, the gnome urged:
-« Eriol can no longer be alone. You are a son of the marsh dwellers. You are the novelty Eriol has been hoping since their departure! You cannot leave! »
The Hobbit understood very well the plight of the gnome, deprived of company for so long. Although he assumed they must be some kind of distant relatives, Gerry could not have admitted Eriol was a direct ancestor, if the ring had not played a role in the encounter. Had this venerable item belonged to Eriol? Sincerely sorry for the gnome and despite his own angst, he tried to entertain him the best he could, by telling him habits and minor events of the Shire. The escapades of young Hobbits particularly seemed to please him. Gerry told him that the ancestral habit of living in a cave had perpetuated, but the gnome was overwhelmed to learn that many Hobbits were living apart the edge of a river. The island-cave of the Hobbits did not float any more. Few now were the Hobbits to venture on a boat, except in the eastern farthing.
But Gerry felt the approach of the pack. Silently in the woods, it assailed now the Hobbit with interior screams of hatred and desire to snatch his treasure. A horribly familiar growl was heard in the distance. Gerry's blood skipped a beat. Eriol looked at him sadly, as if he guessed the weight of his burden:
- « It is haunting you... »
Gerry did not know if Eriol told him about his ring or the werewolf that obsessed him. But the gnome continued:
- « The Draugmori3 are approaching. »
Gerry needed no translation! The craggy gnome's face expressed horror and fear, while his stumpy body, dressed in old flannel with undecided colors, shuddered with disgust. Considering the Hobbit's distress, Eriol raised his hand with an imperious confidence that denied any fear. Gerry's senses extended their scope to reach what was approaching - a pack of unspeakable creatures dispatched to destroy them! The Hobbit quickly shouted:
-« Master, I fear for my friends. I feel the approach of our pursuers. We need to escape. »
The old gnome peered and sighed. The friendship of the Hobbit for his companions persuaded him that Gerry could not be held against his feelings. Moved by a sudden inspiration, Gerry reached into his wallet, pulled out a carefully silk-wrapped parcel and handed it to Eriol, saying:
-« Here is for you the gift of a relative, an egg of the new Elven year! I do not know what it is, but an Elf Lord assured me that it would come to open when its owner needs it most. I hope it will bring you hope for the duration of its maturation, and joy at the time of hatching! »
This unexpected gift moved the old gnome to tears:
- « Eriol knew, deep inside, that his people would not return. But now he is happy to see a young and generous branch sprouting from his tree, confident that it will keep growing. Take good care of yourself! Now join your companions. »
Then the gnome stroked the wall of the room. Immediately the ground jolted heavily, like the hull of a ship scraping the bedrock. Liquid noises surrounded the Hobbit. He emerged from the stump that was gently swaying. In the gray dawn he saw some huge dark creatures rushing into the river bed to reach the island that was retreating. Eriol's ship, now several fathoms away from the bank, swerved, raising a wave of green water which submerged the dark creatures. When they reappeared on the surface, they struggled in long sticky overwhelming algae. They did not survive the second wave. The pack broke over the bank, helpless and angry.
The island was still getting away from the eastern shore. It seemed to Gerry it was moving to the rhythm of a slow and powerful breaststroke. The Anduin flowed majestically, flooded with the colors of dawn with rose fingers in her cloudy crib4, when the island came to dock with the West bank, North of the Gladden Fields.
Gerry completely came to his senses, lying by the stump. He hurriedly put his ring in his pocket, ran and shook his companions, urging them to stand up. Pulling Gandalf to the top of the hillock, the Hobbit showed the stump, insisting: "right there!" After the wizard had cast an incredulous look inside the stump, Gerry checked himself: it was hollow indeed, but only a yard deep. The bottom, lined with dry leaves, had obviously been an excellent mattress for a Hobbit! Gandalf leaned to Gerry and asked him, with a fatherly hand on his shoulder:
- « So, you have dreamed too! Dreaming alone is only a dream while dreaming in unison is already a reality! 5 It turns out I too thought of strange creatures... Maybe we will have the opportunity, when this is over, to compare what we have learned from this dream? »
As for Gerry, he knew that his ring had saved them by soliciting his distant ancestor.
The awakening company was disoriented. For the most gullible, Anduin seemed to have reversed its course. But the captains immediately realized they had indeed crossed the river during the night. The opposite bank was swarming with enemies, who gesticulated and hurled curses to their address. Only Gerry could distinguish that they were fighting swarms of mosquitoes. Gandalf, Arathorn and Thràin gathered their people and departed quickly, heading due West out of sight of their opponents. Gerry shed a tear, throwing a last look at the mound. His heart ached as if he was leaving the Shire. Then only, from afar, he noticed that the island looked like the back of a turtle. Hobbit grandmothers' tales, populated with bogeymen from the woods and crossed by the Fastitocalon, flocked to his memory. Then the island covered with small blue stars, which twinkled under the rising sun. The iris of Loeg Ninglorion opened together, as if an old ancestor smiled at him beyond a dream.
X-X-X
The companions puzzled and suspected that high magic had saved them from an imminent disaster. Gandalf vigorously denied being the author of this mystery, recalling that Gerry alone had witnessed the phenomenon and was not surprised at their inexplicable rescue. The reputation of Master Took was highly affected by this episode: his great skill to dodge suddenly, his ability to hear a rustling better than a ranger, or the prodigies out of his pipe, were seen in a different light. More than anything, the collusion with Gandalf about this mysterious nocturnal dream, suggested there was more about him than appeared at first sight. But were they to be surprised by the companion of a wizard?
Rangers behaved with a discreet restraint and Dwarves showed a cordial deference, in the few days it took the company to reach the valley of Eitheland, heading North. Arathorn was struggling to deal with Gerry as an Esquire, teaching him how to handle weapons, but employing him a bit more according to his abilities. So the Hobbit often accompanied one of the Dúnedain for scouting. The Dùnadan captain behaved the same way as for Bera, who proved as competent as the most hardened of his men.
When breaks or evening rests left him some leisure time, Gerry used to take out his sewing kit from his pocket and kept his mind and hands busy, mending his belongings. For, as you probably know now, our Hobbit was a careful lad who hated wearing an outfit to his disadvantage. Despite these crafts he kept wondering about his treasure. In the light of the firecamp, while Gandalf taught Bera to read in the Hobbit storybook, the latter considered the progress he thought he had made in the control of his magic ring. Thanks to him, the company had escaped a deadly peril. But he could not claim for it. The desire for power was slowly growing up, deep inside his heart: for the sake of his friends, he was to silently rely on his talent. Of course Gandalf and Elrond had both warned him about the dangers. Confidence in his own abilities and the lure of power still seemed driven by his generous heart. Yet a remnant of guilt persisted in undermining the arguments of hir reason, when they seemed unassailable. But Gerry was to return the ring to its rightful owner. Any danger of corruption would be eliminated, he thought. But would he have the strength to part with it when time comes? The Hobbit was reassured by the thought that he had abandoned his magic egg without any regret. He wished he would feel the same detachment at the time of making a complete redemption!
Over these longest days of the year, the company progressed rapidly without making any encounter during its journey in the western valley of the Anduin. Summer burst into gold, dripping from the pristine celestial lights, down to the revived slopes of the Misty Mountains. Every morning fog, respite of the old oak trees, slowly withdrew, while Bera greeted the arrival of the star of day. Blessing the hour, she silently gazed dawn spreading over Middle-earth, in a caressing and fruitful embrace. The sylvan saps spread their vigor in crimson fruits. Then mordant rays overwhelmed men, Dwarves and mounts after the northern night's coolness. The company resumed its journey in the summer heat, seeking asylum and picking fruits under the heavy foliage. Every night the Bearning princess greeted the star that declined, thanking for its cup of life, overflowing through woods and plains.
At solstice, she really pressed to organize a party in honor of summer. Gandalf kindly supported her. Having maintained the fire all night, they began to wake the whole company one hour before sunrise. All washed and donned a light-colored clothing. Bera performed a ritual dance of her people around the fire. Then at her request, Gilhael carved on a log, a figure of the sun such as the Dunlendings used to sketch. They solemnly burned the log, while making wishes for the world cycles always to bring their share of light. Dúnedain associated with the ceremony by telling the story of the chariot of the sun. Thràin, who could not be outdone, sang the song of the lights of Khazad-Dum, backed by a Dwarven choir.
Meanwhile, Gerry said nothing: he felt very small and insignificant, the customs of his people seemed vain and empty, copied without understanding from more learned folks. His friends seemed animated by visions and perspectives, that aimed much further than his. The Dúnedain, skilled by necessity in the ways of nature, made it a point of honor to also develop lore bequeathed by their sophisticated civilization. Some carved, others practiced music, studied Elven literature, arts or science. As for the Dwarves, they grew deep in their heart the passion of gold and jewels, these toys they had been working to create beauty, using their techniques secretly refined and passed from one generation to the next. Even the Bearnings felt a rich communion not only with their forests and their inhabitants, but with the entire universe.
- « I had never celebrated the sun. In the Shire, we hardly celebrate fairs and anniversaries... » he said ruefully to himself.
- « Nonsense ! said Gandalf, who had been watching him for some time. Why do you think your main fairs are held when they are? Any farmer in the Shire knows exactly what products are popular in every festival. Spring fairs allow them to exchange breeding animals, summer is time for canning. Autumn Fair mark the end of the harvest, while winter emphasizes the eve's manual work. As for him, the gardener of your father has not forgotten, what he owes the sun! Only young idlers like yourself do not remember they knew this some day... »
As Gerry seemed dejected, Gandalf continued to comfort him:
-« You have learned a lot in recent days. Do not grieve if all your kind and absurd Hobbits seem to lack depth or memory. Maybe you were just not able to give them such a credit. Enjoy your adventure and encounters, either beneficial or disturbing. When you come back, your peers will seem commendable. So what they bring to the world will seem clearer to you, and you will cherish them all the more. »
X-X-X
The company reached the valley of the river Eitheland a few days later. A strong stream was singing in a meandering but fast rocky bed. Fir trees with soft green ends covered the rugged valleys. Purified on the snows of the peaks, a new breeze was blowing, carying smells of resin and flint. The little river kept them in check for long miles to the North-West, before revealing a crossable ford. After two exhausting days walking among the rubble, companions toiled a few hours to have the mounts cross on a slippery and dangerous bed, once being discharged.
Ingold was crossing with the last mule when the animal was seized by a sudden panic in midstream. It reared up, unbalancing the Dùnadan who fell into the water and was hurt. Barin and Krorin rushed to his aid. The Dùnadan's arm was bleeding and he could not resist the current. Skilful Krorin managed to throw a rope that certainly saved the unfortunate from drowning. As for Barin, he tried to control the mule that also seriously injured itself. The Dwarf in turn fell into the water, shouting:
- « I can't sw… »
The good Barin had not released the mule's lunge, for the simple reason he had solidly though unintentionally tangled in it. The mule, harmed at its right rear limb, seemed to calm down and proceeded reaching the bank with difficulty. But it dragged the poor Dwarf who waded convulsively and then floated unconscious. On the bank, his companions rushed to his aid, finding Barin's skin had turned bluish. It took several minutes to revive the Dwarf. Yet they would probably have failed if Ingold himself, dripping and grimacing in pain, had not directed the operation.
To the chagrin of Thràin, Arathorn ordered a halt of several days to allow both the injured and the animal to recover, and the troops to rest. A lively discussion ensued, during which the leader of the Dúnedain enforced his authority rather than display his persuasion. In reality, he had sent his scouts forward, since the ground had turned rough, mainly seeking signs of the squad that had theoretically come this way before them. But the Dùnadan did not explain his decision, and Gandalf regretted that.
The company moved into a hidden valley and built some defense. Some young pine trees were felled and assembled to keep their mounts safe from wolves and the Dwarves safe from the night wind. Seeking fodder, the Dwarves shot a few pheasants in the tall grass of a plateau a mile further north.
While the Dwarves were fortifying the camp, the Dùnedain, Gerry and Bera went into a long-range scouting. As the North side of the valley of Eitheland revealed more feasible, they went off in the morning to the plateau, that streamed with the colors of summer under a burning sun. Lush meadows rippled over a large area, bounded on the North by a gray line, uncertain and distant, and on the West by the majestic Misty Mountains. Journeying on foot, they followed the edge of the plateau for several miles. As the day progressed, the grassy undulations gradually transformed into hills. Farther West, the edge of the plateau turned steeper, overhanging the river from place to place. Then the companions had to find their way through the first shoulder of the great mountain range.
It was an opportunity for Arathorn to toughen Gerry. The group disbanded, taking the Hobbit as a center, whose progression was the slowest. Arathorn assigned him the goal to head West, trying to avoid being detected by his companions. After only two miles, Hirgon and Gilhael had already lost sight of him, and tried to follow his elusive tracks. Then only, Arathorn realized the natural abilities of his scout. He lavished some advice to him and changed the exercice. They walked a furlong away and each progressed in the scree, shrubs and conifers, communicating with each other by imitating the cries of small animals. The Hobbit showed encouraging provisions. Dùring their tiring march, they met several traces of game that the Dúnedain had Gerry read. Here too, the Shire truancy had stired, it seems, the Hobbit's naturalism skills, if not academic, at least practical.
Their search lasted the rest of the day. The company finally found the remains of an ancient road, which got lost on the hillside to reappear on the occasion of a bridge or causeway. The Dúnedain strove to find traces, old or new, anxious to get news of their comrades, who had scouted the area before them a few weeks ago. But before they found some, darkness overtook them in the middle of a long row of rocks at the bottom of which flowed a rivulet. Probably at times of meltdown, the flow had completely smashed and washed the road away.
At night, the company took refuge atop a gentle slope. A roughly flat area overlooked a bend in the valley, making it possible to survey two segments of about half a mile each. Behind them, a cliff of unknown height towered as a dark and indistinct mass. Scree adjoined their refuge, remains of a collapsed cliff, deeply cut like a chisel of the world's smith. The companions hesitated to climb it, but it seemed unstable and dangerous, besides the fact that the top could not be seen.
After a cold and meager meal, the small group spent a short night, interspersed with the cries of nocturnal hunters. The Hobbit suffered more than usual from his guard shift, in this desert of stones and thorns. Tall shadows of mist seemed to bend to him to whisper their woes. Several times he jumped in the dark when fingers of cold fog stroked his ankles or his neck.
Arathorn too dreamed of ghostly figures. Broad shoulders, wearing an antique gown, arose in his sleep, overshadowing the thin, fine and colorful figure of his beloved wife. The majestic profile raised his deep voice:
« Over the land there lies a long shadow,
Westward reaching wings of darkness.
The Tower trembles; to the tomb of Kings
Doom approaches. The Dead awaken;
For the hour is come for the oathbreakers:
At the Stone of Erech they shall stand again
And hear there a horn in the hills ringing.
Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them
From the grey twilight, the forgotten people?
The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.
To the North shall he come, need shall drive him:
He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead. »6
He had heard this poem before, it seemed to him. In the morning, Arathorn discovered he had slept - albeit with one eye - near a small mound of stones. He examined it carefully and exclaimed:
« Elbereth sent us news from our brothers during the night! Baranor and Eradan have stayed here! The message is dated two weeks ago and spoke of danger... a mortal danger! »
A shadow fell on the company. Moved by the memories of his prophetic dream, Arathorn felt the hour of his destiny was coming. He ordered:
-« Let us prepare to go! I have reasons to believe that the danger comes from the dead, not that we will face a mortal danger. »
Gerry, although his Hobbit heart was tight, remarked:
-« At least did the message mentionned no dragon! Are we properly insured that Scatha is dead? »
Arathorn sternly set him straight:
-« What good is it to convene you to councils if you do not listen? Scatha the great is dead, but obviously the rumor of her cursed gold is enough to frighten the timid. »
The Hobbit gritted his teeth, not daring to express his concerns about these dead that might prove dangerous. Bera, to ward off the fatal allusion, began her salvation to the sun, although it was not yet visible.
The small group progressed a few miles at the bottom of the ravine which edges were becoming higher and cashed. After a sudden slope up between the steep walls around them, they emerged at the entrance of a wide valley.
Arathorn contemplating the jagged landscape said slowly:
-« We have found the road to Barum-Nahal! The destiny of the North is in motion... »
1 Month of june
2 The Woman of the swamps
3 Black wolves
4 Homère
5 Elder Camara
6 The Lord of the Rings, Malbeth's prophecy. J.R.R. Tolkien. Several passages are re-interpreted by Arathorn. But is it knowingly or not ?