It was about ten minutes before sunrise. The Fellowship is preparing for their journey, with each member having prepared their weapons, provisions and all else that would be needed. Chief and Cortana have also prepared themselves, and know that there is an arduous task ahead of them.
John had his ammo ready. A quiver for the heavy steel bolts, more like spears than arrows, a total of 37 bolts hung at his shoulder. He also had eleven 'clips' of the smaller kind, placed around the magazine holsters around his armour, with another already loaded into the stock and hopper. He had done a little more reading in the morning, of all the creatures he could face in the future. One in particular called a fell beast had taken his attention. He had also read something about a species called the Onodrim, or as said in the common tongue, Ents. These were something he didn't want to face head on.
First came morning exercises, as many press-ups as he could manage before breakfast. A mountain of breads and fruits, high energy food stuffs to build up before the mission. He also had a new sidearm, a sword fit for a Spartan. A stocky weapon in its least, used by elven Great-swords (Zhennu-killian), an elite formation of shock troopers within the elven armies. It was a claymore, the largest blade ever conceived by man.
An elf needed two hands to use these massive swords, a Spartan needed one. It was an ideal tool, and the only blade that he could have considered using. It would be like a weapon of mass destruction in this era when wielded by himself. He would be able to do great damage with it, without breaking the expertly crafted weapon. Anything else would have been too flimsy. He also had his knife, a fast and tactical option inside of tight, enclosed spaces.
But these weapons, and himself would only take them so far. They couldn't fight armies, and any engagement or skirmish would wear the Fellowship down and exhaust their supplies quickly.
"It's so...foolish really!" Cortana had begun telling him. "We fail, or die along the way, everyone, all the free peoples are dead. If we fail long before Mordor, the ring is lost, and all hope for victory in this war alongside it. If we fail and are killed even remotely close to Mordor, then the enemy will retrieve the ring, and we will be responsible for unleashing a literal demigod on the world. Like I said Chief, it's all mad and foolish really".
She was right. They'd all gotten caught up in the euphoria of Elrond's council. Now the true gravity of what they were planning to attempt was beginning to set in. Such a mission was nigh impossible for normal men, far more than they could ever hope to accomplish. "But, the Fellowship is not made up from normal men". John replied, voicing his thoughts as they came. "This Gandalf is the real deal. No bullshit, a real life sorcerer" John had read up all he could about Gandalf, alongside the rest of his kind. "He should be impossible, it is impossible. But he isn't, he's real".
With such a being at their head, what was and should be a futile effort, had now become a real and viable goal. With Gandalf at their head, and with a Spartan, himself and the others to aid him they could well and truly walk into the heart of their enemies' stronghold, and successfully dispose of the ring. They really could end this war. Of course, there were still enemies, entire armies to defeat. But without Sauron's guiding hand, a being with power and wisdom that terrified even Gandalf dead and gone, in the inevitable turmoil created by this power vacuum, final victory would only be a matter of time.
Divide and conquer, plain and simple.
"Let's get moving John. It'll still be a hell of a trip all the same!" Cortana replied, her doubts now answered.
He was as ready as he would ever be...
Chief joined the rest of the fellowship. Legolas, Boromir and Gimli were stood idle, waiting for the others. Sam, Merry and Pippin were also ready, rubbing their eyes, not used to such early starts. This was the way that soldiers worked, they had to get used to it. He was still in two minds about leaving them behind! But they were more resourceful than they appeared, and now that they had seen a bit of action Chief was confident that they would be useful.
They would keep Frodo's moral up if anything. The hobbit would need a couple of friendly faces to keep him going. They weren't soldiers, but by the end of it, all five would be hardened and bloodied. Chief had watched war destroy people. The little ones would never be the same after. It was saddening, but he couldn't dwell on it. They all had duties to perform now.
All who were left to arrive were Gandalf, Aragorn and Frodo. Frodo was with his elderly great uncle, Bilbo. A truly remarkable hobbit, 111 years of age, such an incredible feat for someone of this era. Elderly, but perfectly healthy. The old man still had years of life left. Chief had seen him handing Frodo a small sword, a fine quality looking weapon which looked like an elven blade. If so, it would serve Frodo well. He gazed at his own blade, knowing that expertly crafted weapons were a lifeline in this violent and primitive world.
Gandalf meanwhile was either meditating, as Chief had once walked in on the wizard, or attending some last meeting with Elrond or Glofindel, whom he had learned was a prestigious general within the elven armies. The elves were at war, right across the entire continent. The fellowship were in need of all the wisdom and Intel they could get. They needed to slip past the enemy.
The other yet to arrive was Aragorn. He was saying his farewells to the elf that had gotten Frodo to safety, the daughter of Elrond, lady Arwen. Chief knew that the two were in a relationship, he had realised the day he had met her. It was the way the two had looked each other, such as the look of worry in Aragorn's eyes when she had set off for Rivendell.
Chief had a pragmatic and sober understanding of such things, but he understood companionship. It was hard to let go of the people you fear to loose. Aragorn was going through the same ordeal. Whether love was involved or not, was no concern of his, and also none of his business!
"Good morning Chief." Pippin said pleasantly, stifling a tired yawn upon seeing the Spartan. Upon hearing the name of their mightiest companion, all the other members of the fellowship immediately looked around at the seven foot warrior. He might have been tempted to wave if he had been more like Cortana!
"Where are the others?" Merry asked, he was itching to begin his great adventure!
"Tying up loose ends, saying their farewells" John replied.
"Nothing seems to escape your gaze, Spartan" Legolas replied suddenly drawing everyone's attention. "You have a keen eye for detail, a most vital skill in a dangerous world" Chief nodded understandingly.
"It is necessary. Missing important details can be a difference between life and death. It's something that's been drilled into me since I was a child" This took the attention of Gimli, who instantly detected the context in which John was speaking in.
"A child you say? How long have you trained to be a warrior?" Gimli was gruff and dry, but Chief could tell he had a good heart. It was like Sergeant Johnson all over again! Chief therefore felt at ease with the dwarf, or at least more so than the others. Minus the cheerful little hobbits of course.
"I was conscripted into the military at the age of six. My training has continued ever since then" The hobbits and Legolas were shocked profoundly by this. Gimli less so, he had been using axes since he could walk...yet full blown military training at such a tender age was taking things to a new level!
"Do you have any family where you come from Chief?" Merry asked, trying sound considerate.
"I used to, before I was conscripted. The Spartans were taken from their families, all of them, permanently". This really shocked the innocent young hobbits, and deeply saddened the others, who all had strong family connections one way or another. Legolas placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, making John flinch ever so slightly, still so unused to any kind of intimacy.
"Were your family sad when you were taken from them?" Sam asked him, his pity and concern evident. Chief turned his head, looking into the young hobbits eyes. He didn't want to tell them that his family had never known. The stolen Spartan candidates had been replaced by flash bred clones, ingrained even with memories, which had covered the tracks of the kidnappings. They obviously wouldn't understand about clones.
"It's complicated" Chief replied, turning his head away, feigning the body language accosted with unease and emotional discomfort. The others detected his 'discomfort', and wouldn't press the topic further.
Chief decided that he was comfortable around these people. Confident in this, he walked over to a nearby willow tree, next to the high standing, moss covered boulder which Gimli was pressing against. He took a look at the team, and then he began to talk, watching as green lights danced to and fro on his motion tracker: The fellowship members, and occasional elf of Rivendell. He would have to get to know the people who were to become his comrades...
He learned about the elf whose name was Legolas. Prince of the Woodland Realm and son of the Elven king, Thranduil of Mirkwood. The fair yet ancient elf, thousands of years old, was a master archer who also had a keen eyesight and sensitive hearing, sharp and remarkable even by elven standards. Legolas would have made the perfect sharpshooter. Sublime dexterity, keen and hawk-like eyes, with centuries of prior shooting experience. It was remarkable, even Chief couldn't comprehend such a thing, such a level of experience. Again, he feared these elves slightly. What would they be capable of should they ever develop to a level comparable to that of the UNSC?
He learned that the dwarfs name was Gimli, son of Gloin. Gimli like all other dwarves favoured an axe as a weapon. Chief imagined that the dwarf would have a basic, but brutal style of combat. He couldn't miss the parallel between Johnson and his way of war, brutal and no nonsense. Gimli had many axe types, a heavy double sided type, and three smaller ones, like lengthened tomahawks. Like the tomahawk, the weapons were shaped and weighted for throwing, but the long handle also meant they would be effective close combat tools. Because of their lightweight nature, and given that dwarves had dexterity that rivalled that of the elves, he wondered if Gimli could duel wield these axes. That would certainly be impressive to watch.
The next he had learned about was someone he had met at Elronds council, someone who did not trust him, and who Chief did not fully trust either. This was of course Boromir, eldest son of the Steward of Gondor. He held the title Captain of the White Tower, yet unlike his counterparts within the UNSC, had full command over many hundreds, if not thousands of troops. His rank had more in common with that of a Lieutenant general. The man would have extensive influence within Gondor's military. Again, one of the reasons why Chief wanted to keep on his good side. Keep your friends close, and potential enemies closer!
A powerful warrior, schooled by the greatest fencing masters of his capital city, Minas-Tirith. The city of Minas Tirith was said to possess splendour and magnificence beyond that of anything else in this world. A great spire was said to extend into the sky itself, and that the city had been hewn and built into the mountains themselves. Made of white stone and marble, it certainly sounded impressive.
Boromir struck him as an idealist, a very dangerous thing for a warrior. The captain was potentially fighting for all the wrong reasons. He was also very single minded, and fought only to defend his people. It was something John could easily relate to. And yet he still didn't trust him. This man was complicated, and he didn't fully understand him yet. He would definitely be keeping an eye on him.
Chief picked up some movement in his right eye. It was Frodo, he was coming down to join the Fellowship. He was quickly joined by the rest of his friends, at least they had each other during this arduous quest. This was the reason why he was letting the other hobbits along for this quest. Samwise seemed resourceful, yet all three were unproven and inexperienced. Spirit was the only thing that was going to get the little ones through this, and they needed all the positive moral they could get. It was quite sad, in many ways. Chief honestly didn't know how many of them, if any at that, were going to make it back.
Frodo was followed a few minutes later by Aragorn and Gandalf. The fellowship was fully prepared, they were now ready to go. Frodo turns around and walks past the Fellowship members, uncertainly. Before him, the path winds away to either side. "Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?" He asks in good spirits.
"It is left, Frodo Baggins" Gandalf replies, a light smile playing across his face...
They depart beneath an old arch of lichen-encrusted stone. Yet Aragorn remains where he stands, seeing Arwen standing just behind him. Chief also stops in his tracks just outside the arch, seeing the ranger as he gazes at his love. Across the path between them they look into one another's eyes. Arwen's face is sorrowful. The grizzled ranger smiles faintly, and nods faintly, a nod of farewell. He can't say it out loud. Too stubborn.
As he made to leave, he notices Chief is looking his way. The two men look for a moment, then they both move on. As Aragorn passes Chief, our Spartan looks back at the elves of Rivendell, as if reminding himself of what he was working to safe. Then he turned, finally ready, ready to help the fellowship on their perilous quest. Arwen silently whispers goodbye, finally breaking her doleful gaze. Looking down, expressing a great sadness, feeling alone.
The Fellowship departs from Rivendell as the sun's rays pierce the great valley. They leave their safe haven, passing over mountains and river crossings, bleak but beautiful wasteland and lonely steppes, past ancient human structures, huts, foundations, old abandoned outposts. They see weather stations, and monuments to times lost and forgotten long ago. Skeletons of a lost Golden Age of human kind.
The group made their way over hill and plain, their feet (Or hooves, in the case of Bill the Pony!) pounding on the ground as they made their way west. From time to time, they'd stop and rest. The Hobbits would make their brunch, second breakfast, dinner, supper, or whatever meal they were preparing for. He'd honestly lost count! The Chief marvelled at how their tiny bodies could consume so much food. They did reminded him of worms!
Gandalf knew the ways of the world, and John had his maps. He had access to every map that Middle Earth had ever made, and scans which Cortana had constructed for him. He could bring them up on his HUD at any moment. Cortana had even amalgamated every byte of information that they had collected from The Dawn, and the end result were a set of concise and geographically accurate folders from which he could draw information and coordinates from. However, John almost never needed them. Gandalf knew these ways and passages seamlessly. How many times had the wizard come this way? How many generations of men had passed him by? Mankind would be like ants, children in the eyes of his kind. And yet the wizard was willing to do all in his power to help them. There was something of a Spartan in the Istari's resolve.
They had been going for thirteen days now. Gandalf was taking them over the southern passage, the most direct route. It was a risk, according to Gandalf, to hold their cause along the southern passage, west of the Misty Mountains. It was a forty day journey, and it was risky. Gandalf had told him all about the wizard Saruman, his previous ally, a 'fallen angel' if you would. The being was anything if Gandalf's equal, Chief sensed. He couldn't imagine a more daunting enemy than these seemingly immortal mystics.
Had Chief possessed his usual armament, he might have stormed the traitors' kingdom personally. But he would have been facing hundreds, perhaps thousands of enemies, and then with no knowledge of what the wizard could do to him. Either way, if the fellowship was discovered, they would be vulnerable, they needed a guard, not a one man army. His place was with them.
Dangerous as this route was, it was still the most direct one. If their luck held, Saruman would not discover them, and they would beat the snowfall that would render the route impassable. John could see the route on his HUD. It was hazardous even when travelling under favourable conditions. Weather was unpredictable here, and only he was fully shielded from the elements. The others weren't exactly wearing artic gear.
If they didn't beat the snow, he didn't expect that anyone other than himself would make it through. It they did beat the snow however, from there, the road would turn east, straight to Mordor. They had limited supplies, and four hungry hobbits to feed. This was the best route for the time being. They could not afford to keep doubling back!
On the fifteenth day, after travelling for hours, the group then stopped to rest at on an outstretched arm along the low lands of the Misty Mountains. Sam was cooking sausages and the other components to a fried breakfast. He took a generous helping of the kindly prepared food, climbing up onto a rock besides Frodo to give him his first and only breakfast of the day. The fellowship had agreed on reducing the eating periods of the hobbits to four meals a day. It was out of charity that they were getting that much.
Nearby, Boromir spars with Merry and Pippin, tutoring them on basic sword fighting, currently sparring with Pippin. Nearby him and his tiny warriors, Aragorn and Chief were watching them spar, giving them additional guidance. Gandalf was sitting on a high rock overlooking the group with Gimli, the two smoking their pipes. Next to him on the ground below, Legolas was intently standing on watch.
"Two, one, five. Good. Very good!" Boromir says to Pippin as he slowly cuts down towards them on every number.
"Move your feet!" Aragorn says, noticing flaws in his technique, yet still speaking encouragement.
"You look good, Pippin!" Merry says to his cousin, even himself seeing that they are improving "Thanks." Pippin says back, acknowledging how quick a learner he was.
"Faster!" Boromir says, repeating the exercise for Merry, pushing his ability this time.
"Never take your eyes off you enemy, not even for a second!" Chief begins to tell them, repeating the words that Sergeant Mendez had told him all those years ago. "Try to mimic their movements...mimic your enemy, his footwork and his stance. Learn by imitation!" He then added, once he knew they were capable of doing that. They would begin to get a feel for combat. Both Chief and Aragorn looked at each other, each sharing a complimentary nod.
The ranger was someone who fascinated John. There was so many dimensions to him. Born into royalty, duty bound to a life he had no choice in. And yet he had forgone it, chosen to be a soldier. Not a king. There was no one to answer to out here in the wilds, not outside this 'squad' of men. The liberation of it had to be why Aragorn lived as he did. He had the mentality of a Spartan somewhat. A true Spartan. A lone hunter. Although, he wondered how long it would last. Everyone's life caught up with them eventually. John himself had this issue. What purpose, what point of living did a Spartan have without war? Perhaps it was fortunate that he'd gotten stuck here, he thought to himself. Both he and Aragorn had the exact same problem.
Meanwhile, Gimli and Gandalf were deep in debate about the course the fellowship should take. "If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note that they're not, I'd say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria" His suggestion creating a look of horror on the old wizards face, "My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome!" Gimli says with honestly.
Gandalf takes a pipe he was smoking from his mouth. Faint surprise registers in the old wizard's eyes. "No Gimli, I will not take the road through Moria unless I have no other choice!"
Chief was noting further improvements in the hobbits technique, and Boromir was responding in kind, pushing the hobbits further and further. Chief then noticed that Sam was coming towards him. Chewing on a sausage in his hand, he was sure to have more questions!
"What is it Sam?" Chief asked pleasantly. The good thing about being in control of ones emotions was that he had a lot of patience. He could listen to them jabber away for hours and feel no irritation. Fortunate for him, Sam was only curious about things.
"Its about that day on the Weather Top, Mr. Chief sir. The way you were able to toss those wraiths here and there. Aragorn told me that wraiths are far heavier than any man. How were you able to do all that?" Chief thought for a little about what to say in reply. Aragorn stopped watching the fight for a moment and started listening to Chief, he too intrigued at what the Spartan's answer would be.
"I cannot really explain how it is possible, without going into terms that you wouldn't understand. Us Spartan's, we were made to be unlike men. Our armour allows us to do things other warriors can't. It makes us faster, stronger, and can react to our enemies' movements with remarkable speed. A Spartan weighs nine times over that of a normal man with our armour on. A Spartan can also lift nearly three times their own body weight. Our bones are unbreakable, and our muscles do not fatigue easily. A Spartan can even run fast enough to keep up with a speeding horse" Sam was amazed, his revelations had caught the attention of the hobbits, and Boromir.
Pippin blocks a strike from Boromir, and then looks at Chief "So, you're pretty much faster and stronger than anyone of us here?"
Merry then had a very good idea! "Yeah Chief. Why don't you show us what you can do?" Pippin immediately joined in.
"Yeah Chief. Go on! Just one thing to show us what you can do!"
Boromir shook his head in disbelief, always a cynic. "Do not fall for his bare faced lies my small friends. He is faster and stronger than any man we know, but he is still a man, and no MAN is capable of doing all that!" But then a curious smile spread across his face. Here was his chance, to reveal the Spartan for the fraud he was!
"Why don't you try and demolish the rock you're lazing upon Chief? Prove me wrong!" John knew he shouldn't rise to it, but then again, he didn't want to disappoint the hobbits. He at least wanted respect from this cynical captain.
"Go on Chief. Do it for the hobbits. Do it before they start to beg!" Tried Cortana. She was bored sat cooped up inside his armour, she needed a show too! "Don't make me start to beg!" That finally convinced him to give it a go. He took his blades, crossbow and quiver from off himself. The grenades wouldn't catch anything, and he didn't want a curious hobbit to find out the bad way what happens when you play with detonators.
He did some warm ups, psyching himself up a little whilst the three hobbits stared with eager eyes. Boromir looked away, laughing sceptically. Chief grabbed hold of the rock. It was as wide as he was, and came up nearly to his chest. "Re-route all power to the motor systems Cortana, just in case" He would still need everything he had to do this. His armour was older than it used to be. "Power re-routed, optimum application will occur in three...two...one..."
Then Chief grabbed hold of the rock, digging his hands into it and punching a two inch-thick craters on either side. With all his might, he hefted the rock onto his chest. He leant back, and squatted, preventing himself from being thrown forwards. Then when he was stable, he pushed, and the rock started to move upwards. Only just. The armours systems were at their technical limits.
However, whilst muscles fatigued, cybernetics didn't. His armour was functioning like a hydraulic press, and the rock kept slowly rising. He pushed it as far as his armour would go, taking around seven seconds to achieve it. The hobbits were in uproar, dancing about and willing him on. "Go on Chief! Go on Chief!" They kept crying out!
With one fluid movement, he straightened out. Allowing the rock to remain where it was he then leant back again. It was so difficult to balance. His back was throbbing, and even with his armour support the pain was excruciating. Chief wasn't even sure he'd manage it himself. But he wouldn't give up, and now the rock was on his shoulders. Boromir couldn't believe it. His jaw wide as it would go, knowing that what he was seeing wasn't possible.
"WHOA!" Sam gasps.
"WOW!" Pippin and Merry say in unison. Everyone else is now looking round now. EVERYONE. With open mouths. Gandalf simply smiled, and went to re-filling his pipe. He'd seen it all before!
Chief was stony faced, suppressing all the pain, feeling no pain. He gradually pushed the rock upwards, slowly...then flipped back down, moving his backbone like a whip, the armour stopping his vertebrae from dislocating. And then he was below the rock, one step away from completing this task! Pushing up with his legs, he drove the rock one meter into the air, letting go completely. It came down onto the scree below with a terrible crash. You could have heard the deafening sound a mile away.
Everyone was in awe, but John wasn't done yet. He axe kicked the hemispherical pole of the boulder, focussing the energy of the strike into a specific point inside the stone. Then, he impaled the rock with his fists, throwing his entire bodyweight into the strikes, causing fractures to appear all over. A couple of violent hammer fists later, he rose up, motionless, breathing ever so slightly harder than he had been doing before. He had finished.
His head turned coolly towards Boromir. "Were you trying to make it break?" Sam asked in awe. Then, just as the hobbit finished, there was a god awful crack. The unmistakable sound the sound of heavy stone moving against stone emanating from the petrified rock in front of the powerful Spartan. No one other than Chief, Cortana and Gandalf could believe what they were witnessing, as the massive boulder began to fall to pieces.
"More than that, Sam" John said sardonically.
He had made his point. He sat back down onto a similar stone next to the one he had just annihilated and sighed. That had caused his heart rate to rise a little! As Legolas finally tore his gaze away from the ruined scree, he saw something that took his eye.
"I see something, something moves against the wind!" John turned his head, following his companions gaze. There certainly was something moving out there. Everyone else was looking now, individually coming to their own conclusions.
Gimli took one look at the area Legolas was gazing at. Then turned back sniggering a little "Don't be a fool, it's just a whiff of cloud!"
Yet Chief had far superior eyes to and aging Gimli, he knew much better. "No Gimli, Legolas is right...the mass is moving fast, against the wind" John zoomed his HUD into the cloud. He could see that it was birds. Why was that important?
"Huh! Birdies tapping at our chamber door. Only this and nothing more!" Remarked Cortana, paraphrasing the lines of Edgar Allan Poe's famous narrative to suit the current situation. But Chief was wary, something was off. Then he recalled one little piece of lore he had read in a book in Elrond's library. Something sinister.
"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas yelled suddenly, as Chief remembers the reason why birds are not all that they seem in Middle Earth.
"Hide!" Aragorn yells, realising the implications.
"Merry, Pip, Hurry!" Boromir says to the two Hobbits, as everyone else springs into action. Chief quickly grabs all his equipment, re-holstering it with great speed. He and Aragorn then went round the site, collecting any gear they come across.
"Frodo! Hurry! Take cover!" Aragorn says to their most important member, and moving bill the pony under a thick layer of shrub. The Fellowship scrambles to gather their things, and Sam puts out the fire. They hide behind the scree and scrub. Chief jumps under a rock outcropping, crawling down as far as he can go. They wait for a few moments, and then darkness descends upon them.
In a burst of shadow, against the light of day, the flock of black birds' flies overhead, cawing loudly. They circle the hill, passing round and round again, searching for whatever they are looking for. On the flock's seventh pass, they bank sharply, turning back, now flying southward. As the birds retreat, the Fellowship come out from under their hiding spots, watching as the last of the large birds begin to disappear from view.
"Spies of Saruman!" Gandalf explains grimly "Our passage South has been watched" Everyone is looking to him for guidance. All except for Boromir. "You damned and bloody fool!" The captain shot at the Spartan as he walked past him and cut across his way as he came out from his hiding place.
Chief, like most of them know that this requires an immediate change in direction. He was cursing himself, the Crebain had discovered their position and learned their heading all because of him. His reckless, child-like behaviour had put everyone at risk now. Boromir was right to be infuriated. He felt like a novice, a stupid boy, good for nothing and wet behind the ears. But, there was no purpose to scolding himself. It helped nothing, fixed nothing. To where would Gandalf now lead them?
"We must take the Pass of Caradhras". He finally announces, looking onwards at a great, snowy mountain on high. John followed his gaze and steadied himself, staring at the geological marvel towering above them. No one was going to enjoy this. The quest wasn't even going to be as easy as his pragmatic mind had guessed. The fellowship's fragile luck had just run out!