Chapter 4: Along the River
With no sign of any of the Nine, Coran and Merry had decided to give Suldal and themselves a rest after a fairly hard ride. They had taken the road, but even still, it was still laborious. Coran did not risk fire in the early afternoon for they had not the time. She reached into her pack and offered Merry some hard bread and dried meat. She had nothing else and it had kept her going for about a week or two. Passing her canister of water to him after realizing that the pony had kept all of their essentials, she watched him drink viciously as if the water was the last he would see for days.
She let Suldal wander, but kept a wary eye on her. As they settled down to relax a bit, Merry looked up from his food. "My lady?"
"Just Coran," she corrected.
"Coran, may I ask you something?" Taking her silence as an answer, he continued. "How badly does it hurt? The loss of your husband?"
She sighed, taking a drink as her eyes skimmed the desolate horizons. The burning sun did nothing except heat the air and the land to irritating temperatures. She had no love for the sun and preferred the moon. Feredir was different. He worshiped the sun. He would dance in its rays and would go exploring like a young lad. And as she thought of him, she answered. "I cannot explain it." There were no more tears. She felt no more sorrow. Yet, there was a deep ache, a hole in her heart where she had treasured him. This hole needed to be filled with good memories and love from his life. But she had not the time to dwell on it, nor the strength.
Merry cast his eyes downward. "I remember what my mother told me when my father died. She said, 'Merry, unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.'"
With a soft chuckle, she replied, "The wise speak only of what they know. Your mother had a kind heart to tell you such a lie." In uncomfortable silence they sat. He did not wish to offend her anymore but would have liked for her to clarify herself. Gratefully she did. "Memories fade. How much do you remember about your father? Do you remember his laugh, the way he would look at you with love, his eyes, his hair? How much do you remember?"
As he began to think about his father, he understood her point but did not wish to accept it. "Of what I do remember, I remember love which has only grown stronger as the pain has ceased. There is still not a day I do not think about him, but I think what would he say to my witty sayings or how would he react to certain events?"
As if holding higher knowledge, she retorted sadly, "But those are of your own imagination. What he would say and how he would react are of your own make. He may never die in your memories, but they are not your true father."
Merry stood, anger flowed from him as he reprimanded her. "What use is hopeless depression to an already saddened heart?! What would your husband say to this? Tell me: would you listen to the distorted memory of him in your mind if he told you not to dwell on such details or would you dismiss him? Do you remember who he was in any sense? I do not see the man you loved dwelling on such poisoned thoughts."
Her eyes burned with a cool fire as he sat back down, returning to his food. He huffed with disappointment and did not look at her for the rest of their break as they sat in silence. Rising a little later, she caught Suldal and forced her for come over to them. Checking her hooves and her legs, she made the horse prance around a little. Deeming her fit for another ride across of land's road, she helped Merry into the saddle. She checked their rest site for any remaining signs that could leave clues for the enemy to trace.
She found their campsite clean and climbed up onto the horse behind Merry, wrapping a strong arm about him. He tried to be as far away as possible from her, but she pulled him in tighter, whispering, "How we are to ride you will want me holding you."
He grunted a little, either in displeasure or comfort. She told Suldal to run and run she did. As the land moved past them, she paid little heed to it for the time being to the trees and what they hid. Surely they were too far behind the Ringwraiths and the elves to even help them. She had to stop so that Suldal could rest. Elvish horses were stronger and tired less quickly than the horses of the Dúnedain. She did not feel as if the enemy would be turning back, unless they knew she was behind them. Soon they would be upon the river and she would feel safer. She slowed Suldal down a bit as they neared.
The trees dropped out of sight as they came along the banks of the river. She suddenly stopped Suldal as Merry gasped and pointed. The Black Riders were on their side of the river. On the other side, the male elf and Arwen raised their swords in challenge.
Receding into the trees, she hushed Suldal as they watched what transpired.
"Give up the Halflings, she-elf." The dark voice tore through the air, polluting it like a festering wound.
"If you want him, come and claim him," she commanded, drawing her sword as they did.
As they wraiths began to wade across the river, the elves whispered in Sindarin. As they finished, a great rumbling was heard and water crashed along the banks as if a great flood had suddenly surged down from the mountains. The roaring river swallowed the riders in black and carried them down stream. Upon seeing this, she urged Suldal out from the trees.
"Hail, companions!" she called across the stream, raising a hand to them.
"Well met," the male elf replied with a fast smile. He was kind-hearted, just as Erestor had been. She could not say the same for Arwen. Something deep inside urged caution around the she-elf for Arwen looked at her in despise.
Something happened for Arwen jumped from the back of her horse. "Frodo!"
Urging Suldal forward swiftly across the river, they were soon jumping from the horse to gather around the hobbit. "Move," Coran commanded and they did. Pulling back his shirt she looked at the wound. It festered with renewed strength. Digging carefully through her pack she found her medicine bag. She smeared her disinfectant cream and a pain reliever into the wound. She took the athelas that Aragorn had given her for her face and arm and sucked and chewed on it until she could smear it onto his wound. He continued to gasp as the darkness began to overcome him.
Coran looked up at the elves. Making a decision, she whispered, "The shard inside of the wound is already too deep. It does him no good for the wound to be open. I will seal it." The elves had no problems with that as they kept silent and moved the other hobbits away as she prepared a small fire to sterilize her hooked needle.
"Will he feel any pain?" Merry asked, always the brighter of the two.
She looked up at him as she held the needle in the fire. "I will not lie to you, Merry, for I have done so far too much in your presence. He will feel pain when I sew the wound. But, it should comfort you that pain is relative. This small amount of pain may save him from delving deeper into the dark or from a disease such as gangrene. He will live. I promise you that."
Merry muttered under his breath, "He will live only to become a wraith." She did not acknowledge him as he walked away.
Deeming her needle sterilized enough, she inserted the fishing line into the needle. She worked quickly and cleanly: sewing and knotting, sewing and knotting, sewing and knotting. As she finished with the last stitch, she checked her work before she rubbed more disinfectant on the wound. Bandaging the wound with some gauze, she deemed him much better. She felt for fever, but found it had gone down. "Arwen," she called.
The elf appeared next to her and said nothing. Coran motioned for her to come closer. Pointing at the wound, she explained some simple care, she would need to give. "Change his bandage twice a day and each time you change it, apply these three creams. They are a disinfectant, a pain reliever and an athelas cream to slow the poisoning."
"Thank you," she replied as she received the items. "I fear, though, that he may not last the night." Arwen took her aside, away from the other hobbits.
Coran wrapped her arms about herself and thought. "I have no knowledge of wounds from a Morgul blade. I have no idea how to treat them. From looking at his wound as just a simple stab wound, I would say that he would live if proper cleaning care is given. But, I agree, this is beyond me."
"My father will know what to do with him. But still…"
"The quicker you can get him to Rivendell the better." Coran led them back to their makeshift campsite. The blonde elf was already helping lift Frodo into the saddle. He whispered a quick blessing to Arwen and they were off.
Merry and Pippin shivered with the wind the cut across the river basin; sitting very close to the fire she had built to sterilize the needle. Coran called out to the elf. "My lord, are we to make camp here?"
The male elf came over to her, standing about a foot taller than her average frame of 5 foot 6 inches. He bowed to her, introducing himself. "My lady, I do not think I have had the pleasure of meeting you yet. I am Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin."
"I am Coran, of the Dúnedain, cousin to Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Isildur's heir." She bowed quickly.
"We must move. We should move closer to the valley, for it is safer there." He told the hobbits the plan and helped Pippin into his saddle.
Coran did not move to pick Merry up, but instead climbed into the saddle herself. She brought her feet under her, and slowly stood on Suldal's back. "Still, Horse-mother," she cooed as she surveyed the land. Looking down the river, she saw no trace of the Nine. Looking back to where they had come from, she saw a small fire on a hill in the distance. It was surely Aragorn and Sam. They were about a day or so ahead of them. Night was falling and she understood they needed to make camp.
Settling herself back down into the saddle, she jumped and put Merry in his place before mounting again. After she was settled, they headed out.
It was after dusk when they stopped to make camp. They all went in search of wood and within the hour had a nice fire going. The hobbits were not pleased again with the bread and dried meat that Glorfindel and Coran had to offer, but ate it anyways. As the hobbits drifted to sleep, Coran announced that she would keep watch.
"No," was the soft reply of Glorfindel. "I shall keep it as I do not tire as easily as mortals."
Coran narrowed her eyes at him. "I hope you do not take offense at this, but I do not trust elf-kind much." She generalized her thoughts of Arwen. It was only the she-elf she had problems with; it was not the entire race of Elves.
Glorfindel stood and kept an eye on the horizon. He never once turned back to look at her. "I sense that. Tell me, what is it that makes us so untrustworthy? I would like to know in order to put your fears at rest."
Coran wrapped her cloak tighter about her body, trying to keep warm. She could not look at him as she said, "From where, do orcs come from?"
His voice darkened as he answered, not pleased with her accusation. "Corrupted elves."
"How very quickly man and elf are corrupted. I trust neither elves nor men. As far as I am concerned, there should be no trust given at all, including oneself. I would not trust myself or you or Aragorn with my life. It is a simple concept."
"That is a harsh way to live."
She sighed with great sadness. "But it is a way that works."
"But," he commented a short time later. "That does not explain the almost hatred you have for Arwen. If you equally do not trust anyone, why do you treat Arwen differently than the hobbits or Aragorn?"
"That is not something I wish to discuss with you at this moment." She refused to talk with him the rest of her watch, even when he checked her wounds. She silently fell asleep after she woke Merry, who went back to sleep after being assured that Glorfindel could keep watch the entire night. When she awoke the next morning at dawn, both of the hobbits were still asleep and Glorfindel was still at his post.
"I am glad you are up. We are being tracked…" Glorfindel made no move or other gesture towards the river, where his gaze was fixed. "It is not Aragorn or Sam or Goldor. It is something fouler."
Coran roused Merry and Pippin quietly and gave them something small to eat as they were placed in their respective saddles. Glorfindel made no move to cover their campsite as the horses would leave tracks anyways. Finally they left, galloping to Imladris which was only a half a day's ride by then.
When they next stopped Pippin asked, "What was it that was tracking us?"
Before Glorfindel could respond, Coran spat, "Gollum."
The elf swiveled around, his eyes narrowing. "Are you sure?"
She nodded and clarified. "He's been following me since Bree."