Chapter 21. Snatched from the Jaws

Pick’s arm was aching abominably once more, though he made no complaint. The brown one had restored it to its proper place, but had warned him that muscles and other things had been damaged and would take time to heal. His ribs, too, hurt him and his breath came short, but he forgot all discomforts as Grandalf slid from the stag’s back to brush the snow away from… a dead gobble-un.

Pick saw one of Blackthorn’s arrows protruding from the creature. It had to be Blackthorn’s, for Pick had watched his brother fletching that very shaft, with its pattern of blue and yellow feathers. Hobbits always recovered their arrows, always, without exception; no, that wasn’t quite right. Sometimes they couldn’t recover their arrows, because the prey fell in a stream or some other inaccessible place. This gobble-un was right on the path, perfectly accessible.

The stag’s head came around to nuzzle Pick's toes and the grey one looked up at the movement. Pick realised he was shaking his head and trembling violently only when Grandalf rose from his crouch to take the hobbit in his arms. ‘Black,’ the young hobbit whispered. ‘That’s one of Black’s arrows.’

 ‘We can go on,’ Grandalf said gently.

 ‘No,’ Pick said, taking hold of himself. ‘No, I have to know. I have to see.’

Grandalf nodded. He set Pick on his feet a moment, removed his tattered-looking but warm cloak and laid it on the ground, then placed the hobbit on the cloak, wrapping him securely. ‘Sit here,’ he said, ‘while I look.’ Though he appeared old, he didn’t seem to be bothered by the icy wind whistling through the pass, nor the snow that blew around them. The stag folded his legs and laid himself down upon the ground, careful not to crush the hobbit, but close enough that Pick could lean back and take some comfort from the warm hide behind him.

The wizard moved from mound to mound, large and small boulders scattered on the path. Not boulders at all, Pick realised sickly, watching Grandalf stoop over each and brush away the snow. They were gobble-uns... and hobbits. The grey one, displaying strength far beyond his appearance, picked up the bodies of the gobble-uns and piled them to one side of the trail. He picked up the hobbits one by one, placing them in a line that seemed to Pick to go on forever. Finally the task was finished and Grandalf returned to the hobbit, lifting him gently and re-wrapping the cloak about him. ‘I did not find Blackthorn, I think,’ he said.

He carried Pick down the line of hobbits, stopping long enough for Pick to name each one. It was a long line, more than fourscore, but Black was not one of them, though Applethorn and Boxthorn were. ‘Some may have fallen from the path, as you did,’ Grandalf said softly. ‘I have one more to show you.’

Pick knew, somehow, that his father would be this final hobbit. Thorn lay propped against the wall, his face unmarked by pain or sorrow. In truth, he might have been asleep save the deathly pallor of his skin. His eyes were closed, and he smiled.

 ‘Not a bad end,’ Grandalf murmured, ‘and he accomplished his purpose. He saved his People.’

Pick looked at him in astonishment. The grey one nodded slowly. ‘He saved them,’ he reiterated. 'Had the goblins won, no bodies would lie here. They would have carried away your hunters, you know.’

Pick’s mouth opened wide in surprise, but his gasp hurt. Grandalf reacted at once, carrying him back to the stag, which hurriedly gained its feet, divining his urgency. ‘We’ll send a party of Elves back to care for the bodies properly,’ he said. ‘We’ll not leave them to the beasts and the weather, but there’s no time now. I must get you to Imladris, and once Elrond has dealt with your injuries we will seek out the rest of the People.’

 ‘May the Lady watch over them,’ Pick whispered.

 ‘I would say She already has,’ Grandalf replied as the stag moved past the grim line. ‘No wolves or other scavengers have been here, no travellers at all it seems. I think they will lie undisturbed.’ He leaned forward and spoke strange words to the stag, and the beast quickened its pace, leaving the silent pass behind them.

***

It took several days to gather all the remaining Fallohides from their hiding places. Elladan wished once more that Elrohir had accompanied him in errantry as he usually did, but his twin was still in the halls of the Wood Elves and would not be crossing the mountains until Glorfindel was ready to travel. He wished he had not left Imladris alone, but the hunch, feeling, intuition that led him had been so vague... he’d had no idea that he’d find nearly two hundreds of worn and weary Halflings, badly in need of aid.

He’d whistled his horse to come, but he could have used several dozen more. As it was, Beech, Leaf, and a few more incapacitated hobbits rode, squeezed together on the horse’s back. Each of the adults carried a small child, and groups of children walked holding hands, encouraging one another.

 ‘How far is it to Imladris?’ the Thorn asked. He walked beside Elladan, his wife Lily beside him. Like Holly, she was obviously with child, and much too thin. She had pulled her hair back, twisted it, and shoved a stick in place to hold it. She walked with her head high, looking about alertly.

Elladan shook his head. Distances were relative. It was a day’s journey, for him alone astride his swift steed. At hobbit-children’s pace, several days, perhaps a week? ‘Not too far,’ he answered. ‘You’ve walked farther.’

 ‘There’s snow in the air,’ Lily said. ‘Will we arrive before the storm breaks?’

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Elladan said, but he was mistaken. The storm was upon them.

A thunder of hoofbeats approached, and the Elf-horse threw up its head and snorted, rolling its eyes. The hobbits stopped, pulling together in a compact bunch, the littlest in the centre.

 ‘The hunters,’ the Thorn hissed. Quickly all those hobbits who still bore weapons brought them to the ready, grim despair upon their faces. They were caught in the open, nowhere to hide.

Men on horses broke from the surrounding trees with shouts of excitement, bringing shafts to bear on the Little Folk.

 ‘Hold!’ Elladan roared, and the hobbits stared at him in astonishment. He seemed to have grown in power and majesty, not the merry friend who had shared their food but a mighty lord who stood between them and the Men.

 ‘Hail, Fair One!’ the leader of the Men said, reining his horse forward. ‘You have done Rhudaur a great service this day. Did you whistle these creatures from their holes, and now lead them enthralled to the river to drown them? We’ll save you the trouble. Our King has declared a fine bounty for each head we can bring him!’

 ‘These are not animals for the hunt,’ Elladan replied. ‘They are People, and under the protection of Imladris.’

 ‘People!’ the leader shouted, as his Men laughed in derision. ‘They are vermin! They have come to infest our lord’s hunting grounds, killing game that belongs to the King. Even were they people, the penalty for poaching is death! Stand aside! Or would you like to join us in our sport?’

 ‘You cannot slaughter helpless mothers and babes,’ Elladan said in horror. He was beginning to understand his father’s wary attitude towards Men. Once there had been a great alliance of Elves and Men, but Men seldom came to Imladris these days.

 ‘Babes grow up, and mothers bear still more to plague the land,’ the Man said. ‘Stand aside, or a stray shaft might pierce your heart. A pity it would be, for one of the Fair Folk so to shorten his days.’

 ‘This will be the greatest catch yet!’ another Man chortled. ‘Even better than two days ago, when we burned a warren of the creatures and shot them as they fled the flames!’

 ‘How many?’ Elladan gasped.

 ‘Fewer than an hundred,’ the leader drawled in a bored tone. ‘Hardly worth our while. This lot, now,’ he said, casting his eye over what remained of the Fallohides, ‘will bring us a pretty penny, or their heads will, at least.’

The attention of the Men was caught by Leaf, sliding from the horse, but his aim was not to cause them any inconvenience or harm. He merely embraced Holly and turned to face the bows of the Men. Thorn, too, had put himself between Lily and the arrows pointed at them, but now Lily stepped to his side and the two twined their arms about each other. Elladan realised that the hobbits were preparing to meet death, and he opened his mouth for another bitter protest when he was interrupted.

 ‘These People are under the protection of Imladris and the Lord Elrond. You are covered by many bows. Put your weapons away, or things will go ill with you.’