Chapter Two

When Frodo did not answer, the hobbits began calling shrilly, frenziedly, their teasing forgotten. Aragorn hushed them with a hand tight around the two younger hobbits’ mouths. Sam clamped his hands over his own mouth, eyes frantic above his overlaid palms. "Do not forget the need for quiet," the Ranger hissed in their ears. "Just because we have seen no watchers does not mean there are none."

Sam leaned out so far that Boromir caught him with a hand on his shoulder. Small stones and dirt rained down upon the ledge, lost to sight in the deep shadow. The hobbit shrugged him off, peering distraughtly into the dark. "Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, sir?"

There was no reply. "Get the blankets out," Aragorn ordered roughly. "I need to get down there."

Even with the help of the hobbits, by the time they had unpacked the blankets and Aragorn and Legolas and Boromir had tied them together and tested the knots to be sure they would bear a man’s weight, the sun had risen high enough so that the deep shadows that had hidden the ledge had receded. Except for a crumpled sweet wrapper, it was empty.

"Pippin, take the guard," Aragorn snapped. When the tweenager would have objected, Aragorn said more gently, "I need Gimli’s strength, Pippin. You can help most by taking the watch, so he can hold the rope and keep me from falling." Pippin nodded and went to the dwarf. Gimli picked him up and set him on the boulder, then paused for a moment to squeeze a small shoulder in reassurance. Pippin caught his balance and turned his back to them, watching the deserted countryside fiercely.

"The point?" Gimli suggested curtly, and at Aragorn’s nod, sat down near a tree at the cliff’s edge and dug the heels of his heavy hob-nailed boots into the rocky earth. Once he was satisfied he would not slide, he nodded to the others and Boromir dropped behind him, catching up the length of the blanket-rope. Legolas took the end, wrapping it around his forearm. Gandalf stood by Gimli’s side, his staff dug into the ground, eyes vigilant.

"Ready?" Gimli held up the close end of the improvised rope and Aragorn wound the end around his left forearm, using his right hand to grip the length and control his descent. Turning to face them, he stepped backwards and let himself slip. The ‘rope’ took his weight, snapping taut. Sam and Merry watched the knots carefully but they were tight and none gave as the three lowered the Ranger down the sheer slope.

Aragorn released the rope and dropped the last foot, landing on his the balls of his feet with a jar that went clear through him. Hands splayed flat against the wall, the Ranger breathed deeply for a few moments. He had deliberately estimated the blankets short so that the end would not brush the ledge and possibly dust out any sign that he could read. He could barely move on the small ledge. But he turned one foot laterally and swung his body to the side, dropping to a crouch with one foot tucked behind the other. His bowed back hid his actions from those above.

"Well?" Gandalf called. Gimli handed the blankets to Sam, who began coiling up them up, testing each knot as he wrapped. The stocky hobbit said nothing, but his eyes watched them all worriedly.

"Where’s Frodo? Did he fall?" asked Merry, all of his earlier amusement at his cousin’s predicament gone. Pippin turned to look at them, then jerked his attention back to the watch. Unnoticed by any of them, Sam dropped the make-shift rope behind the tree and hurried back to their pack-pony.

The Ranger did not reply to Merry’s questions. Instead, he peered closely at the scuffed earth, running his fingers over the disturbed dirt as if touch alone could tell the tale he needed to read. "My own shadow hides any sign," he called up to the others. "Will one of you kindle a torch and drop it?"

There was activity above him, then a flaming arrow sliced cleanly into the wall opposite the ledge. Aragorn resisted the urge to fling himself to the side and instead looked up coolly. "Thank you, Legolas. A little warning would have been appreciated."

The Elf’s head appeared over the incline. "I knew you would be prepared," Legolas called back calmly. Aragorn stifled the rejoinder that rose to his lips and knelt, his face close to the earth.

By the light of the burning rag tied around the arrow’s shaft, Frodo’s precipitous arrival on the ledge was clear—here and here the marks of unshod hobbit-feet, scuffing the dirt as they scrambled to catch their balance and achieve the safety of the wall. They moved little after that, and of the method or reason for the Ring-bearer’s disappearance, the earth could tell him nothing.

Aragorn slid down on his hands and knees and tried to peer down into the depths of the chasm. The rag was burning out and Aragorn waited, watching as the consumed shaft fell. Its dying light illuminated no hidden crevices, no concealed mantles. Certainly none large enough to hide a hobbit. Grimly, Aragorn went over the scraped ground again, taking advantage of the sun as it moved ever higher in the sky, revealing more and more of the featureless rock walls. The lack of vegetation continued down to the narrow canyon at the base of the crevasse, and only a few tumbled stones and stunted bushes graced that soil-poor space. The ground cover was not thick enough to shroud a hobbit, even one unconscious from a fall.

Aragorn reared up on his knees and steadying himself with a hand on the wall, drew the great knife at his belt. He reversed the blade and began hammering the hilt against the wall. "What‘s he doing?" Pippin called, hearing the blows.

"He’s looking," Merry breathed, his eyes locked on the Ranger.

"For what?" Boromir asked.

"For a … hole … or a tunnel," Merry replied, thoughts passing like quicksilver behind his eyes. "A secret entrance. We are looking down—perhaps the vertical wall hides an opening from us. If there were an indented place, we would not see it from up here."

"There is nothing," Aragorn called up, slamming his fist against the cliff wall more in frustration than in seeking. "It is solid rock." He inched around on the ledge and sheathed the knife, replacing it with his sword. Reaching out over the abyss, he used the point to prod the opposite wall. When he poked the scrubby bush opposite the ledge, his point did not stop. Off balance, Aragorn pitched forward.

Those above saw his long body start to fall, then Aragorn did the only thing he could—he pushed himself off from the ledge and caught the bush with his free hand. Not loosening his hold on his sword, he reached up and caught a spiny branch just as his first handhold tore loose. For a moment he struggled against the drop then caught the brush at its base, clamping his fingers around the rough bark. The poor plant creaked and rained a small shower of dirt down on him, but it held.

"Are you all right?" Gandalf called.

"I am not hurt," Aragorn assured them, twisting so that he could look up at them. "And … I think … yes! There is an opening here!" the Ranger shouted. More of the dangling branches were cut away as he slashed at it with his sword, until the watchers could see a fair-sized hole. It looked like a dark mouth, jagged with rotting teeth. "It is a tunnel," Aragorn informed them, using the remainder of the bush to swing one leg up far enough to clamber into it. He disappeared for a moment, emerging a moment later on his hands and knees, stabilizing himself on one of the ‘teeth.’ "This is a shaped stone," Aragorn called, patting the tooth, "shaped and put in place using mortar. Something built this tunnel."

"Is there any sign of Frodo?" Gandalf called.

"I will need more light," Aragorn replied. "Legolas, will you—" He was interrupted by a second flaming arrow neatly imbedding itself in a fleshy root near his head. Aragorn merely reached up and snapped the shaft off beneath the burning cloth, and withdrew inside the hole with it. His head emerged again almost immediately, coughing, the hand not holding the torch clamped over his mouth and nose. "There is a foul odor inside," he explained. "It is rank." Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and went again into the darkness.

Gandalf drew back from the edge, trying to see inside the opening. Defeated by the angle and lack of light, he turned to the dwarf. "Gimli, can you climb down to that tunnel and look at it?"

"I’ll go," volunteered Merry, clamping down on thoughts of dropping from such a height. "I would have an easier time sliding down that slope and landing on the ledge."

"But you could not tell us about the stonework of that construction, Merry," the wizard replied as Gimli secured his throwing axes and other accoutrements that might impede his gravity-impelled descent. Boromir moved forward to take the point, Legolas behind him, and Gandalf left his place to take the end of the rope, flexing his hands. As Gimli sat down on the edge, Aragorn reappeared at the tunnel mouth and tossed the spent torch into the crevice. It bounced on the rocky earth and went out.

Aragorn held up something that glittered, and it took those above a moment to adjust their foreshortened view to recognize the slender object the Ranger held. It was Sting.

"There is a thick layer of dust," Aragorn said grimly, "but the track is confused. Cloaks or some such fabric were swept over the dust to obscure the trail. Here, near the opening, someone was dragged in on his back, to judge by the two heel-marks in the dust. He fought … the dust is smudged in all directions. Many footprints surround him, of what nature I cannot tell through the dust and the dark." The Ranger paused and coughed, and the others noticed that he was covered in grey grime. "I found the sword some ten feet in."

"Ten feet?" rumbled Gimli. "How far does the opening go back?"

"I cannot tell," Aragorn replied. "I need proper torches. It is utterly dark in there."

"Why did Frodo make no sound?" asked Legolas.

"Perhaps they caught him unaware," Aragorn replied, returning his sword to his scabbard. "They must have taken him when the rising sun cast this place into shadow. If he were facing the cliff, he’d not have seen them. Whatever they are, they are quick."

"And silent," murmured Legolas. "I did not hear them."

"And well disciplined," Boromir added. "It takes training and coordination to overwhelm a target with such speed and stealth."

"Swift indeed to see an opportunity and seize it," growled the wizard. "Why did they take Frodo? Certainly not to help him—that purpose would have been better served by alerting us and then rescuing him. No, they wished to separate us." He paused, thinking, and the Fellowship could tell by his furrowed brow that his thoughts were not pleasant. "Master Gimli, go you down there and tell us what you can of the stonework Aragorn has found."

The dwarf nodded briefly at those anchoring him and glanced once down at the ledge. After a moment’s thought, he turned around to descend the cliff facing outward, knowing he had no chance of turning his burly body around on that small ledge. Gimli grasped the rope effortlessly, hands locked around it over his chest, his shoulder protected from the burn of the fabric by his chain-mail. He stepped off the ledge and allowed the others to take his weight. Despite their boots entrenched into the earth, Boromir, Gandalf and Legolas were dragged forward until Gimli tilted his feet and dug the heavy hobnails of his boots into the wall. Kicking his heels backward, he slid down the embankment using a hand to slow himself. Gimli landed on the small ledge with a bone-rattling thump, teetering uncertainly. His eyes widened and he stared across the chasm to Aragorn in supplication. The Ranger had been waiting for him; as Gimli struggled to catch his balance, Aragorn raised his sheathed sword and reached across the gap, pushing the tip of his scabbard against Gimli’s chest to shove him back against the wall. The little ledge trembled with the armored weight of the dwarf, and hair-thin fissures appeared in the stone. Hastily, Gimli shuffled over to the uncracked half of the rocky shelf.

Aragorn drew back again into the opening, giving the dwarf room to work. His reach shorter than the man’s, Gimli had to lean forward with his feet on the ledge and his body over the crevasse, supporting himself with one hand on the rock outside the tunnel. Merry looked down at the sheer drop beneath the dwarf and shuddered.

"Hewn," Gimli muttered, examining the blocks with his free hand. "See the chisel marks? These were cut from a greater stone and shaped to need. They are even in thickness and level. No small degree of skill, that. Not up to dwarven standards, of course, but no duffer’s work." Thick fingers tried to pry out the greyish, flaking mortar that made the blocks resemble rotting teeth. Gimli worried a piece loose and held it up to his face, closing one eye to squint at it. He tightened his grasp and it crumbled in his hand. The dwarf shook his head. "Old construction, this. Very old. This opening has been here a long time, but the breaking of the mortar is new. Otherwise, rain and wind would have softened it and washed it from between the blocks."

"Why would anyone build a tunnel that leads out into a crevasse?" Merry asked.

"I’ve a worse question," Aragorn responded grimly. "Why would they wall it up?"

"I can go you one worse than that," Gimli rumbled. "Why would they wall it up … from the outside."

"The outside?" Gandalf repeated hoarsely.

"This wall was blocked from the outside, to keep whatever was inside contained. But it was broken open from the inside." Gimli nodded, his expression grim. "See, the blocks have not fallen inwards. Pressure has been applied from the inside, bowing the blocks outward until the mortar gave. If you look down among those bushes at the bottom, you can see them." The Company followed the dwarf’s finger. Now they could see that the stones they had dismissed at the bottom of the gorge were indeed square-shaped and the product of intelligent making.

"Then we have something that was walled up from the outside," Aragorn summarized grimly, "and it escaped from the inside." A silence settled over the Company.

"And took Frodo as he waited for us to recover him," Merry murmured.

"Well, are we going after him or not?" interjected Sam. "I’ve the water skins ready an’ Bill’s staked on a grazing line. He’ll be all right for a day or two."

"A moment, Sam," Aragorn replied. "We do Frodo no favors if we take off after him unprepared. "

"We are not so far from Lord Elrond’s lands," Legolas said. "Would he know what might have been imprisoned here?"

Aragorn shook his head. "He might, though I do not recall that he ever mentioned this place. Still, in over seven thousand years of life, I imagine there is little he does not know." Aragorn still held Sting in his hand, and he turned the elven-blade idly while he thought. "We are beyond Elrond’s borders. This is unclaimed land, though once it was populated and prosperous. The ruins we have passed testify to that." Their eyes roamed over the desolate land, studded with the remnants of a once-great civilization, abandoned and lost from memory. Atop the boulder, Pippin made a soft murmur of sorrow.

"Are we going after him or not?" Sam interjected, too worried for propriety.

The Ranger’s eyes focused on the hobbit. "We are, Sam." Aragorn looked up at Gandalf, and some communication seemed to pass between them. "But we go carefully. We do not know what we face in there."

"Best to face it with a Dwarf, then," Gimli rumbled. "Help me in, laddie." Aragorn laid aside Frodo’s sword and knelt at the mouth of the tunnel, locking his hands around Gimli’s arms. The Dwarf drew a great breath then flung himself forward. He struggled for a moment then again used his boots to dig into the rock and push himself up, gaining the sanctuary of the opening most ungracefully.

"We do know that it is swift and it is silent," Aragorn continued, shifting to the side as Gimli dusted himself off and straightened his mail. "And we know that it is our enemy."

"How do we know it is our enemy?" asked Merry.

"In war," Boromir answered him softly, "you seek to capture that which will cause your enemy the greatest grief and black despair. In capturing Frodo, whether they know what he bears or not, they have seized the single hope of our world. If we cannot recover the Ring-bearer, then the darkness will roll over us like a wave."

* TBC *